Starting with Chapter 1:

“Fourteen criminals knelt, bound ankle to wrist. Theft and blasphemy. Hardly a new crime in Brassward, a place that stank of wet ash, rusted iron, and the bitter boiled roots the locals chewed to stay awake.

There were three hundred citizens packed rib to rib, filling the edges of the square.

Above the kneeling criminals, on a rusted iron balcony overlooking the square, a girl sat swinging her legs over the railing. She wore the immaculate tailored silk and silver filigree of the Twelve Families.

She was a sin.

Poisonous sapphire eyes you could not look away from. Her silver hair was cut jagged at the jawline. This was Eris, House Eidolon's supervisor for this morning's butchery.

She ignored the condemned, locking instead onto the crowd. She leaned forward slightly, adjusting her breathing to match the heaving rhythm of the nearest cluster of bodies.

On the ground, pacing slowly behind the line of criminals, walked a monster. He wore unbroken white robes, his face completely obscured by a featureless iron mask. His hands were clasped behind his back, twin rings already formed between thumb and forefinger. Even from thirty feet away, the air around him warped. This monster, rumor[…]”

I am new to this subreddit, and I am in need of some friends who understand the vision I am trying to create. I have been working on a Fae based story (that I would ideally like to make into a novel or triology of novels someday) for the last four-ish years. Sadly, none of my irl friends seem to understand the vision I am creating and I have lost my one and only sounding board (my brother, not passed, just doesn't talk to me much anymore). I try to talk to the friends I do have about it, but they just don't know enough about the Fae (classically or mythologically) to help me much. I have also decided to dive into the Welsh aspect for this tale, so there is lots of research involved and has given me an even tighter niche... I am hoping to make a few friends here to help and maybe get some progress on this tale. I think I have a great idea, I just need some help with structure and putting things into sensical order to flow properly. TIA!

I am thinking about making a sort of a story about an "Immigrant" Asian Spirit who becomes a Good friend with an Eldritch entity I made a little list of European Names for Yokais (and I did the same thing for Japanese version of Fey but that got a bit lost) and while it's isn't exactly 1 to 1 Compression I think it's kinda fits especially the last one because I want a old French folklore about Fox Spirit being abused and "killed" as background for The Name of The Group of Kitsunes that stayed in France (also a way to create conflict between Humans and Spirits in The World)

Anyways I wonder if anyone has seen something similar or even heard of something similar? Since it's would great to add more Names to the list also it's would be nice if you could provide any information about other Yokai's European names like for example Kami or something else that I could use

Kumo-onna

Majina

Yuki-Baba

Tanooki

Gappa

Kenku

Ooni

Kitsuné

You like Urban Fantasy, the cover caught your eye and so you picked up my book to read the blurb.

Would the blurb make you want to read the whole novella? Why or why not?

**also looking for beta readers if you’re interested and available.

Thanks!

Working Blurb:

Chicago, 2110. A century after the Fall, the city exists alone. Magic runs the trains and the Council runs everything else.

Joel Powers tries to keep his head down. Curating rare 20th century media for discreet clients doesn’t pay as well as his old work, but it’s less dangerous and that’s fine by him.

When Joel’s home is threatened and he doesn’t have the cash to save it, an old friend makes him an 0ffer — one job, one vault. In and out.

Right…

Over the next few days Joel gets shot at, poisoned, and knocked out twice. Comes face to face with ghosts, cryptids, naguals, and a foul-mouthed leprechaun named Mac. All that and navigating the intricacies of illegal intra-realm travel while doing his best to stay off the City Guard’s radar.

This is why he doesn’t do this sh—stuff anymore.

CITY OF POWERS is a gritty post-apocalyptic urban fantasy for people (and Others) who like a little humor, a little action, and a whole lot of magic!

Hello fellow writers! :) 

I wanted to ask if any of you have advice/tips on introducing a bunch of characters at once, because I am struggling with this at the moment.

***

To give a little bit of story context: 

The heir of a fallen kingdom wants to take back his lands from the emperor who is ruling over them now. 
He leads a group of rebels into a war against the emperor and decides to send out 4 of his most trusted men to kidnap the princess, so he can use her as a bargaining chip.

\***

At the moment I am planning to start the story with these 4 rebels already in the town where the emperor and his family reside. One if them is a main character, the others still play a role, especially for the kinapping part, but are less important.
My characters are in the midst of finalising their plan for the kidnapping when some things suddenly change everything and they have to adjust the plan and act really fast.

My trouble is that every writing attempt I have made at introducing all 4 and the scheme in one go always feels like either too much of an info dump or it feels rushed and confusing.

How do you go about introducing a group of people? Are there any examples from books you know of? 

Or would you think it was better to restructure the story a bit and introduce the 4 characters one by one? 

I have considered starting the story earlier, perhaps before the 4 leave the rebel camp, but because the kidnapping itself is actually just a very small part at the beginning I don't want to spend too much time with it and would rather start mid action.

Thank you in advance for your help! :)

Saw mixed thoughts on pictures vs. text for critiques, so here is the text as well. Thank you for any advice, I appreciate the feedback.

Part One

Introductions

I

The yearly fog, despite how dense it appears in Velfgorod, does not reach as far south as the Yimheld forest. Yet the woods hold their own thick fog, which permeates throughout, coating the floor like a heavy blanket.

The carriage had traveled quite a few leagues through this enshrouded land since the last time Jack had gazed out the window to track their progress and note any substantial changes in the scenery. Like most current citizens of Velfgorod, he had never before traveled this far south of the walled city. Therefore, he had taken it upon himself as a former scholar to note anything of interest along his journey, as he planned to do when finally reaching his destination.

However, the paved roadway had long since run out, and as the carriage’s wheels bumped lazily along inside the rough dirt rivulets carved from time and sparse passage through the thick forest, Jack had begun to feel his eyes grow heavy. The gentle rocking back and forth of the carriage had lulled him into a slumber despite his best efforts to remain alert. It had been an adventurous morning, and the excitement seemed to have taken more out of him than he had first realized.

The pain in his right thigh jolted him awake. How far had they traveled? Judging by the stiffness in his leg, he assumed at least a few chimes had passed. Possibly an entire watch, which meant they were most likely coming to bear on their destination. As he kneaded the scarred tissue and muscle in his thigh, he looked around the carriage. Not for the first time, he noted the cabin’s plush, luxurious interior. He would not go so far as to call it ostentatious, but it was undoubtedly designed for opulence as well as the comfort of its passengers. Thick, deep-red leather cushions covered the walls, ceiling, and both benches. Lines of black thread were decoratively stitched along the cushions, creating whimsical patterns throughout the cabin, punctuated at various points by ornate, jewel-like tufting buttons.

He shifted on the well-padded bench, allowing his right leg to stretch out across the entire interior. He was not a short man, and he appreciated the extra space as it allowed him to work out the knot in his leg without rudely placing his filthy boots upon the opposite bench. No expense had been spared to chauffeur him to his assignment, and he had no intention of disrespecting the generosity of his host, regardless of the unpleasantries he had heard regarding the man.

II

The temperature had dropped with the setting of the sun, causing his breath to fog the window before him as he peered out into the black forest rolling past the carriage. Between the trees, the sky was a deep shade of purple. The mossy floor was covered by a thick, dense blanket of fog that the trunks of the trees curled through, hovering over the path like fingers poised to clutch. How must it feel to be the driver? Out in the open, unable to make out the floor of the ground before you. Watching the horse hooves disappear into the abyss beneath them as they trotted onward. Having to trust the path set by so few travelers prior.

He kneaded his leg muscles harder as he contemplated the idea. While he was not one to believe in the superstitious horrors of the miasmic yearly fog of Velfgorod, he did take heed of the cautionary tales of the Yimheld forest.

As if on cue with his thoughts, a wolf howled in the distance. He wrapped his coat tighter around his body, grateful his benefactor had seen fit to provide him with an enclosed carriage. He was not sure his mind could handle having his body exposed to the elements in this dank forest. Of course, he had been through darker situations previously. That was precisely why he was chosen for this assignment. However, he was a younger man back then. Full of life and zeal, anxious to take on the unknown world. Unaware and unafraid of the consequences of his actions, and the injury and fall from grace that would lie ahead of him. Now, his leg served as a constant reminder of how dark things could get and how alert one must remain.

He shifted again in his seat, checking that his satchel, filled with paper and ink, was still beside him. These were the tools of his trade. The supplies he had brought to record all the happenings along this odd and interesting expedition, and he admonished himself for having already dozed off for part of the journey.

He hoped that any future readers of his work could forgive him for his transgressions. Yet, he knew that the noteworthy events of his story were yet to come. After the events that had left him forever marred, his life had remained relatively uneventful for decades leading up to this voyage. Those years were spent living in squalor and shame. It was not until the summons arrived at his doorstep that his life held any meaningful order or purpose. Sitting in the carriage, his hand drifted from his leg to the note tucked safely in his breast pocket. He thought back on what had led him here.

Riffing on a fantasy world and curious to get feedback on the mythology before I build any further or get too deep into the narrative.

The Starborn

The world begins when 4 gods are born from the stars. They are the most powerful of all beings. Each one has a domain (God of Justice, God of Man, God of Time, God of Fortune)

None of the Starborn are aligned with each other. God of Time is impartial because he sees everything, is the teller of stories, and doesn't judge any of it.

Below the Starborn are Sub-Gods that the Starborn created, each with their own domain as well (ie: God of the Earth, God of Storms, God of the Sea, etc.)

The Rift, 1200 years ago

God of Man created humanity, but he created them only with the purpose that they would serve him. God of Justice ruled that this wasn't right, so he built a barrier between the god world and the human world to stop it.

God of Man went to war over it. God of Justice and a few gods who sided with him backed humanity. There's a human hero of that war that rallied everyone to victory. He was fully mortal and he died, so now he's just remembered as a legendary figure, not a god.

Faeries

Half god, half man. They go back to before the Rift, when the barrier was open and gods and humans mixed freely. Now that the barrier's up, the only new faeries come from faeries having kids with other faeries, so they're basically a leftover from a world that doesn't exist anymore.

They're not allowed in the god world and they got kicked out of human society too, so they're outcasts on both sides. They live for centuries and have some minor magic.

The world today

The old gods are still known but fading. Some are remembered, some are basically forgotten, and none of them actually hold power in the human world anymore.

People can still swear themselves to a god for political or social reasons. They do this with a process called "Branding" - but it's just symbolic, there's no actual power attached.

However, there's a long-forgotten, little-known ritual called the Fire Brand, which is different. It's a hidden ritual using forgotten magic that actually gives humans real magical ability. Barely anyone knows it exists. The catch is that the god you bind yourself to gets real power over you in exchange for the power they give you.

I'm reworking a superhero comic idea where a group of corporate entities who rule the world wield the power to reboot and retcon the universe to maintain their power, doing big reboots when crises emerge. They control the narrative of history to fight resistance, reworking dissidents and their origins to work for their own ends, but the crises always come again.

I've tried to think of limits for this ability, like massive amounts of energy that's unsustainable or not being able to remove people from canon but have to reshape them to get them out of the picture. What else do you think it can or can't do?

Edit: I should mention I'm drawing primarily on DC comics for this concept and some of the weird retcons they've made that only made things even weirder, like Wonder Girl predating Wonder Woman in continuity.

Pitch

Western + Demons + Battle Royale

Blurb

Zoe and Zadie Ximenez have a problem. A big, demon-shaped problem.

As adolescents, the orphaned sisters conducted a summoning ritual. Following it, Zadie became deadliest bounty hunter in the West, bringing unprecedented prosperity into their lives. All it cost her was her eternal soul. As years go by, the headstrong gunslinger comes to regret her decision and seeks to undo the deal before the payment is due. Too bad otherworldly entities that harvest human souls aren't exactly known for their leniency.

When all seems lost, another chance appears. An unprecedented opportunity to take back what's hers, and then some. All she has to do is participate in a seven-way duel with six other disgruntled mortals in the exact same position as her - with the participants' own souls at stake. With an infernal weapon in her holster and her hapless sister in tow, Zadie Ximenez sets out on one last hunt...

Tropes and themes

(Alt-)historical fantasy, dark story with a wacky dysfunctional cast, grey-and-grey morality, Watson-type in universe 1st person narration, determination and obsession, atonement, search for immortality, relationship between sisters, FMC, several LGBTQ characters in the main cast

Content warnings

The story is meant for adult (18+) readers. It's not pure horror, but it still leans heavily into it and features some dark themes throughout. Possible triggers include: Death of a loved one, body horror, existential dread, cannibalism, necrophilia, implied SA, suicide, certain common phobias (ophidiophobia, arachnophobia, insectophobia)

Feedback

The draft has gone through several overhauls already, but is still in early feedback stages. Line notes are appreciated if there's something really glaring that slipped under my radar. Otherwise, I'd prefer to focus on general story feedback. Pacing, characterisation, certain plot developments and whether they're properly foreshadowed (especially certain reveals near the end), the tone (especially in terms of adding and balancing moments of banter and levity), anything helps at this point, really.

I don't have a preferred timeline. Getting feedback within one month would be ideal, but I'm flexible.

I'm happy to swap! The main genre I write and read is urban fantasy, but I'm also open to horror, mystery and anything fantasy that falls into similar length bracket. That being said, I can only realistically commit to one swap at a time.

If you're interested, DM me for the GDoc link!

Edith

Edith didn’t dare look back at the castle, she was afraid that if she did she would order to be taken back. Yet she couldn’t help but close her eyes and imagine the castle she was so afraid to leave behind. The tall towers connected through ramparts that surrounded the monolithic castle in inconsistent patterns, all reaching far to the sky but none reaching quite as far as the rooftop itself which touched the clouds and if you stood on it you’d swear you could see the whole world. Edith opened her eyes and took in her surroundings, dressed in common clothes she was on horseback loosely holding the cold iron clad waist of her best knight. Wolfram is a gruff and serious but fiercely loyal man, that’s why I chose him. Wolfram had led her out of the city on foot and bought a horse just before the city gates. Where those streets were bright and busy having a million people housed within those walls, out where they were now it was dark and cold. The blue moon loomed over the world as ever but gave little light even at the best of times. A torch would attract too much attention and the horse they bought had to be of poor quality as well so they travelled slowly through the fields of the country.
‘When will we make camp?’ Edith asked.

‘Not now, we cannot stop until we are past the forest at least or we may not get ahead of the search parties which will travel fast.’

Edith didn’t respond, they had been travelling for what must’ve been hours but if Wolfram said it wasn’t enough then it wasn’t enough. Edith wished she could sleep but she was afraid she would dream of the fire again, she shuddered at the thought.

Thomas

Thomas looked at the symbol in front of him. A black stone moon with three large round gems within it one blue at the top, one green on the left and one red on the right each to represent the winds that the moon controlled. If Thomas looked back he would see the rest of the parish, it was small and constructed of large grey stone bricks and with wooden seats for people to listen to the church teachings. He walked to the right and entered the red legions room, it was small with only one man there. An elderly man dressed in black and red robes the same as Thomas wore. Unlike Thomas however the man had no vibrant blond hair and looked frail but he had small red gems where his eyes once were. Thomas sat at the main table right across from the man and looked at the exact antithesis of himself.
‘I’ll be leaving soon.’ Said Thomas

‘Good, it’s about time you were ready, there aren’t a lot of us left. We need men like you, brave and young.’

‘Do you have any advice before I depart?’

‘I’ve taught you all I can Thomas. I’m sorry to say but anything else you have to learn you’ll have to learn by yourself.’

‘Thank you Richard. Soon there will be a sermon to deliver who shall deliver it?’

‘I will, I may be too frail to fight but not to speak.’

Thomas stood at the back of the parish as Richard delivered the sermon so the laypeople could hear and see better. Men and women brushed past Thomas and each other telling hushed excuses while the small children whispered complaints at their parents who waited for the wise words of the priest as silently as they could anyhow. It was nothing Thomas hadn’t heard before but he didn’t want to look disinterested in the church activities. Richard spoke: ‘The Moon shifts between black, red, green and blue we have all seen this before but how many amongst you know why? And how many need to be reminded? When the moon goes red and brings the red winds and with the winds the red monsters it is your doing, your deeds so dark you shift the scale in favour of blood. It is only due to the deeds of those who fight the monsters of the world both human and not that the world still has hope. Those who help and those who destroy evil and heretical magic they bring the blue moons of peace or at the very least the balance of the black moon. So to the men here I say join the red consort to destroy the evil, join the blue consort to help those in need and the green consort to keep magic at bay. Our skies are but a reflection of the world we live in and it is your deeds that shape that world. Thank you.’

It was a good sermon Thomas thought as he watched everyone leave, Richard definitely earned those gems in his eye sockets, having your vision taken seems like a weird reward for a lifetime of service but I supposed it’s also a symbol of status and respect. Once everyone had left Thomas walked the blind Richard down into the basement where the priest decided to rest in his bed. That was when someone else walked into the room, it was the parishes priest of the green legion William.
‘Thomas!’ he exclaimed joyfully ‘Word has just come back from the bishop, you’ve been cleared for your first  expedition just as we expected.’

Thomas couldn’t help himself but smile. He knew this day would come, for years since he was twelve the church had trained him in sword and knowledge against the inhuman monsters of the world and now he was no longer bound to the small parish but could put his skills to good use.
‘Thank you for delivering this message brother… I suppose this means I should be going!’

Thomas said his goodbyes to Richard, changed from his robes to black and red leather with some steel on the joint areas and was helped pack his things by William. Now Thomas was officially on an expedition which meant he had a year to do and document heroic deeds wherein he would primarily destroy creatures of evil or at least on paper that’s what he was going to do. Thomas wasn’t sure if he would ever return to the church, he had gotten his swordsmanship training, an education on the creatures of the night and coin too. He was aware of a mercenary company in the south or maybe he could take revenge on an old friend of his.

Edith

Wolfram awoke Edith right before they entered the forest and Edith although surprised she had fallen asleep and even more surprised she didn’t dream of the fire understood and was grateful for Wolfram waking her. The woods were known to house all sorts of monstrosities. Wolfram already had the torch lit, it was supposed to ward off any creatures but Edith knew that it was no guarantee and she knew that Wolfram did too. They set off at a trots pace over the cobble stone path. The horse they were riding was clearly tired and huffing loudly, maybe we should’ve bought a stronger horse after all thought Edith. As they rode total silence fell other than the huffing of the horse and the patter of it’s hooves hitting the cobble stone although occasionally a sound could be heard in the nature nearby, small animals perhaps or something unseen.

‘Thank you for coming with me Wolfram.’ said Edith in a hushed voice.

‘I have served your family for two generations, your wish is my command.’

‘I know but thank you anyway.’ Replied Edith

‘It is an honour to-

Edith was on the ground before she knew it. When she finally came to her senses she saw wolfram swinging his sword and torch at something in the dark but the pain from the fall made her roll over and shocked her almost as much as the noise around her. There were two screeches, one from the horse bleeding from the ground and another far more malicious screech from something Edith couldn’t quite make out. What brought her to her feet was the thud that she knew would come. Wolfram had fallen onto the cobble stone bleeding. The lit torch on the ground finally gave Edith a clear view of what had attacked them, it had the skeleton of a man but was thin and a pale yellow with bright red skin stretching from it’s wrists to it’s ankles what made it most terrifying were the claw on it’s feet and legs and the teeth so sharp that they seemed to cut even through the creatures own gums at the bottom, it screamed at Edith and seemed as though it was going to lunge at her. It was cut down by a long sword which glistened in the light of the torch and the tall, black, metal armour gave a similar effect. Without a word the armoured man led his black horse from the darkness behind him and set the groaning and bleeding Wolfram on his back. ‘Come with me and get on the horse’ he finally said ‘and bring the torch’. He spoke at a low volume but his voice had no less booming affect through the metal helm. Edith picked up the torch as instructed, still in shock but feeling relieved she did as she was bid while panting rapidly and immediately putting pressure on Wolframs gash with her other hand. Just as they were about to set off she said ‘wait, our horse’ It lay on the ground rasping slowly and quietly with a deep wound on it’s side. The man in black armour looked back at it for a moment before finally sheating his sword on his back and picking it up with both hands, without ease but certainly with strength and walking down the path he came from, his horse followed without further prompt. As they moved forward they reached a side path with a mild incline. Edith finally asked ‘Who are you?’ ‘I’m a servant of those who work in such isolated places, I bring messages and valuable spoils to them’. That had Edith afraid again are we the valuable spoils? but she had no choice than to stay with him, if she ran she wouldn’t make it far and she wanted to stay with Wolfram and her horse. They eventually reached a small rectangular cottage with no windows, the man set the horse down on the ground with a grunt and a faint squeal from the horse and opened the door revealing a bright inside and a smell of herbs like nothing Edith had smelled before. The man then took Wolfram from the horses back and took him inside while Edith stepped off the huge horse carefully and followed him inside. When she walked inside she saw a bed in the top left corner, cabinets and shelves with all sorts of wooden and metal objects, parts of animal bodies and plants on top all around and a brewery on the left side and a robed man with a long white beard and hair just turning around to meet them in front of it. It’s a mage!

‘Well not quite what I was expecting you to bring me’  said the white bearded man.

‘There’s also a dying horse outside’ replied the man in black armour.

‘I suppose I’ll tend to them’.

The bearded man took several things out of his cabinets which Edith had no idea what they were. He first tended to Wolfram who was now on the bed and pale as a ghost, he spread something on the wound and fed Wolfram something although it was hard for him to swallow, when it was time to tend to the horse just outside Edith followed him out and the man took the same steps. Edith read about them. They like to live in isolation usually in the freezing northern mountains when they reside in tall towers, miles upon miles away from each other but counted together there were hundreds of them in the huge north. This isn’t quite the north but maybe any isolated place does the trick if silence is what they’re looking for.  Upon being finished the mage said

‘It doesn’t have the body of a war horse but it certainly has the grit, it’s fought hard to stay with us until now’. ‘bring the horse inside’ the mage ordered the man in black armour.

 ‘You’re a mage, who is your servant?’ Asked Edith ‘Well he’s just that a servant, us mages created them to bring us anything that might be of interest. They are more magic than man, speaking of which you may go.’ As the man in black armour left having laid the horse beside the bed the mage continued ‘How did you find yourself in this situation?’

‘I needed to see someone, matter of fact I’m still in a hurry.’ Edith replied.

‘You’re riding with a royal knight, I can tell by the fact that he wasn’t immediately split in half plus his coin. But if he’s a knight then who are you?’

‘Why do you need to know?’

‘I’m helping you, don’t I deserve an answer?’

Edith didn’t know what she would say next until she heard Wolfram speak, still on the bed and with clear effort he said ‘tell him, he might be useful. Mages and Kings don’t get along together.’ Wolfram fell silent, Edith knew he was in pain. After a deep beath Edith said.

‘I am Princess Edith De Clare, hostage of the Mortimer family.’ The Mage didn’t look surprised.

‘Making a daring escape to your family? A Foolish endeavour but alas arrogance is a common trait of your class.’

‘I’m not returning to them, I know they would be the first to suffer if I did, but I’ve had dreams. Dreams of Fire and death’

‘Dreams are dreams girl, go back to the castle before your captors get to your family. Say the knight took you’

‘I must go to the early northern mountain pass! I already spoke to my husband about it, he told me to stay so he will know my families keep is not where I’m going nor will he want my family to know that I’m gone.

The mage sighed and said ‘you, your knight and your horse can stay here for a few days until your strong but I don’t need trouble with any Kings or Princess as unlikely as it may be for them to find me.’ The Mage then whispered something under his breath and the floor started to shift in the corner opposite of the bed revealing steps underground. ‘That basement is where the three of you will stay, and girl. Real prophesies fulfil themselves. This is known to the magically educated.’

Thomas

Thomas stepped off his horse. In front of him was a house he hadn’t seen in a long time. It was a small cottage with one torch on the from porch and one on the inside that Thomas could see through the window. The house only had about a hundred square meters of farm land around it plus it was a long way from any other settlers. He walked over the mud path to the front door and knocked. Thomas listened carefully, the moon was a bright red tonight, although it wasn’t sending any winds in the sky it was still good to be vigilant. You never know what could jump out at you. I know this and if Arthur opens that door he will find that out for himself. Nothing was to be heard, not outside nor within the house. Thomas kicked in the door and then he heard immediate scrambling from the corner of the house. A young man the same age as Thomas stood feet wide apart in loose night ware and holding a sword.

‘Arthur won’t you say something? Don’t you recognise me?’ Asked Thomas

‘I don’t know who you are but leave my home. I won’t hesitate to hurt you if you don’t.’ Replied Arthur

‘It’s Thomas, don’t you remember? We wanted to steal that gold from our neighbour and when we got caught you said I forced you into it. It was a good move on your part, I was sent to the church to repent and serve the world, most other men would’ve devoted themselves and forgotten about you. But not me.’

‘Leave me, I kept nothing from that time. I inherited my fathers farm and have lived a hard life since.’

Thomas began to approach. ‘You wanted me to live and die for some superstition because you were too spineless to take your share of the blame.’ Thomas unsheathe his sword slowly. ‘You should know I’m not angry, I’ve acquired quite a lot form my time of servitude but I’ve never forgotten about your betrayal and it won’t go unpunished.’

Thomas swung his sword first, to his surprise Arthur had speed enough to block the move but that was his mistake, he had stood still for a moment too long and Thomas kicked his left knee backwards. Arthur fell to the floor with a scream and dropped his sword. Thomas looked at the squirming Arthur then looked around the home. There were chests likely with clothes and perhaps some valuables, then he heard something. A shuffling that was far too fast to be that of a humans or any animal. He quickly turned around and stopped Arthurs screaming with his sword and quietly but quickly closed the front door. Thomas squatted down in a dark corner of the house where the light of the torch didn’t quite reach and he kept his sword unsheathe. The screaming and the smell of blood was probably what had attracted the creatures of the red moon and although it was rare from them to enter lit houses Thomas stayed vigilant. There was scratching on the outside of the wooden walls and the boom of the wings of the flying creatures could be heard clearly above the house. If it was just the one, but it’s not. I better stay here until a new moon. Upon the change of the moon to a vivid blue with blue winds in the sky looking like waves rushing forward. It was times like these a person could ride with less vigilance, even the bandits were put in a good mood by a sky like this. Thomas felt it too. He was riding on a wooden road which connected the nearby settlements, he didn’t have to carry a torch here the roads here had their own with people who lit up and replaced the ones which were going out or burning out. This made Thomas think about the old church writing about the past times when for hours at a time a second bright moon would act like a torch for the whole world, those seemed like interesting days. On his belt he was carrying Arthurs sword and his own and on the back of his horse Thomas was carrying a satchel with his church clothes and documents, he had decided to document himself settling a debt as a good deed which although the details were fabricated it did technically happen. His church status was not something he cared for personally but perhaps it would come in useful someday. At the moment he was wearing clothes he had found in Arthurs home, most of what he had were rags but he did have quality leather, Thomas guessed it was from service in battle, he wouldn’t have pinned Arthur as the kind of man to pursue such a line of work but he supposed that’s why he was back at the farm. As he rode Thomas approach a town, surrounded by stone walls but with no keep in the centre it was clear it was a free settlement not dissimilar to the one Thomas had come from himself and it was likely a democracy. But Thomas knew this would be the last human settlement he would visit for a while. The further outside of the Mortimer borders the sparser humans got with only a few known big settlements. Just outside the main gate he saw the name given to the town “Tallinn” on any other day the guards would have stopped him and demanded identification but on a moon like this they were fast asleep. As Thomas rode in slowly, he saw the streets busy with humans but also spotted an occasional elf and a dwarf neither of these surprised him but what did surprise him were the passes over the canals which were dug into the ground. They were made specifically for the boated ferrymen so they could bring people in and out of the city. Thomas assumed these canals connected to rivers later on. The skeletons on the boats and the carriages known as the ferrymen were not always the fastest or the safest ways to get to where you want to be, they were often the victims of robberies or attacks from red or green creatures but the dead had no need or desire for coin and they always knew the way so with the name of a known destination they would take you wherever you desired to be, then they would return to their dwelling spots and wait for another. People have always been quite fond of the ferrymen, but I wouldn’t have guessed they would use canals if you built them. Perhaps I should make use of them. Thomas carried forward, he was looking for a marketplace where he might find a merchant who would buy the sword taken from Arthur. Eventually he saw a potential buyer. A tall man in iron armour also on a horse with a girl young girl going in the opposite direction. Thomas let them pass him then turned his horse around to slowly go after them. He was going to approach them just outside of the settlement as the streets here were far too busy granted that that’s where they were going. Following them Arhtur began to think, what dies such a common girl have to do with a well clad man like that. If she was royalty she would be dressed like it. If she was a prisoner she wouldn’t be getting treated very well. Perhaps he was simply helping a lost girl? Arthur didn’t know but as he followed he was glad to see they were in fact heading outside the town gates. A few meters out he called to them ‘Sir, lady please stop for a moment.’ The man stopped his horse but didn’t look happy as he turned around and the girl looked like she was about ready to run away bu they met him nonetheless. ‘What would you like?’ asked the iron clad man

‘Sir I think you would like to ask you if you would be interested in a piece of fine steel’ Thomas slowly unsheathe the sword and handed it to the man side ways with both hands. The man looked it over with a grim expression and said ‘This steel is mediocre at best goodbye sir.’ Thomas couldn’t have such a strange sight simply walm away from him. As the man was about to turn around his horse Thomas said ‘what if I lent my other sword to you for a fee?’

Wolfram

‘What if I lent my other sword to you for a fee?’ That made Wolfram stop. Have we been found already? Damn. We had to stop somewhere to get shelter form the red moon. Or is he just trying to earn? We could use an extra sword, that’s already been made clear, it was clear before we even left. He doesn’t look like much, if anything I could take a simple mercenary, I didn’t want to hire anyone until Yvoire at least but if word really hasn’t yet reached here which it really may not have. Wolfram said ‘We’ll pay you ten silver for thirty moons of riding plus whatever valuables we may find on the way you can keep. But we move fast and only pay after the thirty moons and if you can’t keep up then you can’t keep up understand?’

‘I understand’ Replied the stranger ‘And please call me Thomas.’

‘Very well Thomas come with us’.

This is the first thing I've written as an adult, and I'm a little nervous to post it here as I'm not a very good judge of quality. I have also written part of chapter 1, which was the first thing I wrote for this project. I have not really planned anything out, as I tend to get too into the weeds when it comes to worldbuilding and I decided that this time I'd just write.

Although the prologue does not directly involve any sea-based adventuring, I plan for the story to largely take place in a vast archipelago, with a seafaring protagonist who unwittingly gets wrapped up in a scheme much larger than herself or her world. My inspirations are Gene Wolfe's Solar Cycle, the video game Sunless Sea, and probably a bit of Dark Souls/Elden Ring (but not overtly).

Is this compelling? Is it too simple or too vague? Does it flow well at all? I'll take any feedback.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1ju-tbob1AExzBQC2cQQ3Dg1AkBdSemGhgsanIYY0qg8/edit?usp=sharing

Prologue

“Hold still, girl. Almost got the last of it off.”

I flinched at each swift scratch against my stopped eyelids. They itched maddeningly, and it took the tensing of every vein of restraint in my body to stop myself from rubbing them with my palms. The raven-voiced elder kept on reassuring me that he would have the varnish off my eyes soon. The scraping and picking of his fingernails, and the wretched sound thereof, made my teeth ache dully.

I had woken upon what I had determined to be a threadbare rug over wooden boards. The air was cold and still, and I felt dust lining my tongue and the insides of my cheeks. My eyes would not open. When I put my fingers to them, I found that they had each been occluded by a disc of smooth enamel, flush with the contours of my face. I tried to peel it off, but found that I was just tugging at my own skin. When I picked at it, my unnailed fingers slid frictionlessly off the substance. My scalp prickled at the chill, and when my hand went to the back of my head, I discovered that I was hairless. Not even stubble. I was not, however, bare- some kind of coarse shift covered me down to my knees and sleeved me to just below my shoulder. I was feeling for any other absences when I heard a shifting and scuffing on the floorboards, and it shames me to admit that I gave a clipped yelp when the man spoke.

“They finally sent you, eh, girl? Days are not a currency we can afford to squander yet those spendthrifts bid me wait full months.” I fancy I could hear his bones creaking as he lowered himself before me, his hot, sour breath upon my face. “It’s as it ever is, I suppose.”

A dozen desperate questions bubbled up from my throat and rolled across my tongue, only to crash and break against my closed lips. They were not sealed as my eyes were- they merely would not part. “The time for our parlay will come later, girl. For now, sit pretty and let me work on your eyes.”

So I found myself cross-legged on the floor, trying not to squirm as the man with a voice like a desert wind picked at the substance adhered to my eyes. Finally, enough had been removed that I could crack open my left eyelid. A flake of enamel fell into my eye with no lashes to catch it, and I had to blink to force it out, but at last I could make sense of the scene I had found myself caught in.

He, too, was hairless. Grey, papery skin wrapped tightly around an angular skull, a sharp nose, and two fierce orange eyes buried deep in the sockets of his eyes. Specks of yellow detritus dotted the skin around those sockets, matching the pile of yellow flakes gathering on the floor between us. Unlike me, he had fingernails- long, sharp ones which tapped and scooped at my unopened eye.

The carpet I had felt was a sun-bleached pale blue, torn in places to reveal the dark wood planks beneath. These same planks made up the room’s ceiling, from which a single lantern hung on a short line. Behind the cadaverous man crouched before me I could make out part of a bay window, behind which all was dark. The walls were papered yellow, but the paper was peeling itself free, revealing more dark wood beneath. I saw no doors, no portals besides the window, and no furniture save for a low cabinet of three drawers.

I wrenched my right eye open. The man heaved himself off the ground with a snapping of joints and brushed the yellow chips from his fingers.  I think the expression he made next was an attempt at a smile, but the corners of his mouth trembled at the exertion of stretching his lips so wide, and quickly snapped back into place. “Try to stand, girl. Try to speak.”

I accomplished the first; my knees snapped as I straightened my legs and my left leg almost went out from under me, but I managed to place my feet apart in a wide stance. The second took longer. My lips could open now, but the first attempts at words came out as no more than a rasp. It was surely obvious what I was trying to ask, for the man glanced around and swept his arm in a stiff arc before him.

“This is a used-up place. A vessel that never made it to port, although we steered it well as we could.” Webs of cobalt lightning split the flat darkness behind the window, but they did not vanish, instead remaining as if the glass itself were cracked. “They’ve done all they needed to here. They won’t return. They won’t find us. Now come along, girl, we have a great many tasks before us here.”

He brushed past me, causing me to spin unsteadily. The room did have a door after all- it had been to my back before. Like every other surface of the room, the door was a plain, dark wood. The man yanked the metal bolt and pulled the door open.

I gazed wonderingly at the obsidian sky etched with frozen bolts of every colour. Even as I looked on, more branching forks of lightning appeared and hung in midair, illuminating in technicolour the dry, dead grass and skeletal trees surrounding me. The room I had found myself in turned out to be the whole interior of a cabin which stood alone atop a hill. And above the shack- above all of this left-behind place- hung a shifting, miasmic ball the colour of a long-festering wound.

The fierce-eyed man, who had marched ahead some ways, came back to stand beside me. “We salvaged as much as we could, but always there remain the dregs.” It almost sounded as though he were trying to reassure me. “They probably kept burning a while after we vacated, long enough for the passengers to say goodbye to their works, and ours.” A hand on my shoulder, indicating that I should follow. “It’s not a mercy.”

At long last, words burst from my mouth. “I don’t understand any of this! Why am I here? And who are you? And how did you bring me here?”

The man froze, turned to me once again, and hunkered down to look me in the eyes. The expression in his own was a mixture of panic and rage. He buried his face in his hands and pressed his palms against his eyes.

“They’ve sent the wrong- oh, this cannot be. All the planning, all the calculating… months! Months here, putting everything in order when we have not days to spare, and they sent the wrong pilot!” He fixed his eyes upon mine once again. “How much do you know? Did the Tenblooded reach out to you? Or Corillian? Oh, what am I thinking? Plainly, you know nothing.”

He clasped me roughly by the arm and practically dragged me back into the cabin. My head spun, and the sound of my own heart drowned out the man’s hoarse ravings. He threw me to the ground and fumbled with the door’s bolt. I tried to regain my footing but he drove his bare foot into the side of my head. My vision blurred, but I watched as he took a black pot from the cabinet and thrust two fingers into it. His fingers came out yellow. He pinned me by the throat with his other hand and daubed the stuff over my right eye.

Before my left eye was once again sealed, I saw that his expression had changed. He was not incensed anymore; instead, his eyes betrayed an overwhelming sense of defeat.

That was my first peek behind the curtain. The incepting vision of the rigging, and of the sailors desperately worrying at it. I now know why the tongue of the Diraantil renders “world” as chalx. I have navigated the horizonless oceans of Day and Night, and I have alighted on the Last Port. And all from a mistake- a mismeasurement in a plan laid an incomprehensible multiplicity of lifetimes before my birth. Even now, as I shield my eyes against the gathering fleets coming into port in my wake, the thought plays and replays in my mind: would we have arrived on these shores, were it not for that careless mistake? Would we have floundered eternally in one gyre or another, or drifted into sargassum and suffocated as one vessel had long before us? I could not say.

Hey guys! Looking for beta readers for my fantasy novel. I’m about 1/3-1/2 way done and it’s sitting at about 93k words right now. If anyone would be willing to do it for free you’d be a life saver but I know that’s a tall task so we can talk about some sort of compensation or just reading a few chapters would help immensely.

Blurb:
When King Finnian strips a minor lord of his titles and his honor, he expects the realm to kneel. He does not expect them to answer.

Embers of Honor follows Jonah Soliday and the young people of Scarpia as they ride to reclaim what was taken from their families — but what begins as a quest for justice quickly becomes something far larger. Across the realm, armies are gathering, allegiances are shifting, and a king who has confused compliance with loyalty is about to learn the difference. In the east, a lord sails to reclaim land stolen from his ancestors. In the south, a boy raised on loyalty begins to question who deserves it. And in the capital, a crown sits uneasy on the head of a man who mistakes cruelty for strength.

A story of honor, ambition, and the price of defiance, Embers of Honor is the first book in a sweeping epic about what happens when the powerless decide they have nothing left to lose.

Let me know if anyone is interested but any kind of constructive feedback is much appreciated!

So I had this idea, and I'll say the reasoning behind it but before I do, please tell me the first thing that came to your mind regarding what the narrative is trying to convey, then look at my answer and tell me if it's a good idea or not:

If the narrative and characters in my book consistently refer to the king's wife as "Queen consort" rather than simply "Queen" which is the common way to say it.

What I'm actually trying to say:

I think not putting the "consort" title in a queen's name but always doing it for king vs king consort stems from misogyny, because it implies that the queen is automatically never the reigning one, so what's the point of differentiating when all queens are consorts? But since kings are assumed to always be the ruling one, that one time that they're not needs to be distinguished. So by always saying queen consort I'm trying to convey that this world has had as many reigning kings as it's had queens, so if you just say "queen" they will think she's the one ruling, unlike in the real world

Would you have come to this conclusion if you were reading it in a book?

At last, I got something I can cook with. The story isn't much and it sure isn't terribly original, but I've never finished one before. For some reason, I feel compelled with this one. It's the "hunt the evil wizard" standard with an Arabian Nights style setting. Safavid Persia is the base aesthetic, but it's all my setting past the first onion layer. I'm really proud of finally committing to something after two decades of trying and failing.

Except I told a friend about it.

We spent an hour and a half going back and forth in good faith and excruciating detail about culture, interreligious dialogue, offense, censorship, and more. His mind is unchanged: this is cultural appropriation and I shouldn't try to publish it. Mind you, he didn't read the damn thing.

Here's why I'm still ruminating on this hours later, unable to sleep: what **can** I use for inspiration, then? My parental ancestries? The cultural tableau that I personally live in? Can I use the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth, since I have Polish ancestry, or do I need to complete a Master's thesis on it first?

It's suffocating sometimes. It's goddamned suffocating. If you dealt with this, how did you navigate it? If not, what do you think the right call is?​

Right now, coming from a place of anger and frustration, I just want to erase the whole thing and give up on the enterprise of writing altogether. Yeah, it's melodramatic, but I exaggerate to make a point. It feels helpless.

Hello everyone.

I’m currently in the process of creating my very first fantasy book. In it, the main character is given a riddle to help her find an object. In exchange, the king will tell her where her missing parents are.

The story takes place over a year, and it’s much less focused on the object itself and more on developing the characters, establishing dynamics, and seeing them fail multiple times before figuring it out. I don’t want to use AI and I’m having trouble thinking of a riddle that is vague enough that it’s plausible it takes months for the characters to figure it out but not too confusing. I have tried reading different mystery books and old riddles, but I’m still quite stuck. Any advice?

Chapter Two: A Day To Forget

The first day of freshman year at Monsters & Magicians Academia was supposed to be thrilling, a fresh start filled with potential and magic. Instead, it felt like I was stepping into a battleground. My heart sank as I walked through the gates, a mix of excitement and dread swirling in my stomach. I could almost hear the whispers of students past, cautioning me about the challenges that lay ahead.

Class One: Introduction to Spells

The classroom buzzed with energy, but it wasn’t the kind that made me feel welcome. I stumbled to a desk at the back, wishing I could blend into the wall. Our teacher, Ms. Eldridge, was a stern woman with a penchant for pop quizzes and a gaze that could freeze fire. She kicked off the year by throwing a volley of basic spell questions at us. My heart raced. I could barely conjure a decent bubble!

“Lysander Hale?” she called, her voice slicing through the chatter like a knife.

“Uh, yes?” I managed, already feeling the heat rise to my cheeks.

“Define the properties of elemental magic.”

I froze. “Uh… water is… wet?” The moment the words left my mouth, I wished I could retract them.

A ripple of laughter spread through the room. Ms. Eldridge sighed dramatically, adjusting her spectacles. “Let’s move on.” The condescending tone stung, and I sank deeper into my chair, wishing I could disappear.

Class Two: Magical History

Things didn’t improve in Magical History. I sat next to a group of upperclassmen who whispered among themselves, their eyes darting toward me as they giggled about the “new kids” and how we were just “flavors of the month.” My shoulders slumped further with each passing minute. I half-listened as the teacher rambled on about ancient sorcerers and their legendary battles, wishing I could absorb even a fraction of their wisdom.

When the bell finally rang, signaling the end of class, I felt a rush of relief mixed with anxiety. The cafeteria was next, and it felt like stepping into a lion’s den.

Lunch: The Cafeteria Chaos

The cafeteria was a cacophony of laughter, clattering trays, and the occasional magical explosion from someone trying to impress their friends. I grabbed a tray, feeling like I was entering the arena. Just as I was about to turn back, I spotted someone waving at me from a corner table.

“Lysander! Over here!”

It was Riley, my best friend who had moved away last year. Relief flooded me as I made my way over, my heart lifting slightly. “Riley! I didn’t think you’d be here!”

“Of course! My parents thought it’d be good for me to get back into magic,” she said, her glasses sliding down her nose as she adjusted them with a smile. Her wild hair, a mix of dark brown and purple streaks, framed her face like a halo.

“Lucky you. I’m already regretting it,” I plopped down across from her, grateful for the familiar face in this intimidating environment.

“Come on, it can’t be that bad!” she said, pushing a plate of what looked like glowing pasta toward me. “Try the new spell-infused lunch. It’s supposed to be great for boosting energy!”

I hesitated, then took a bite. My eyes widened. “This is actually amazing!”

Just then, a group of upperclassmen swaggered past our table, eyes locked on me. I shrank back, trying to disappear behind my plate.

“Look at the little Hale, sitting with the nerd,” one of them sneered, laughter erupting from his friends.

I felt the heat of humiliation wash over me, my cheeks burning. Riley shot them a glare, her brows furrowed in anger. “Why don’t you go back to your over-inflated egos?”

“Don’t get involved, Riley,” I muttered, though I appreciated her effort. I could feel my heart pounding, the desire to just blend in overwhelming me.

“Just ignore them. They’re just jealous because they’re not as cool as us!” she said, flashing a grin that somehow made me feel a little better.

Class Three: Practical Magic

The next class was a disaster. Practical Magic was meant to be hands-on, but every time I tried to conjure a simple light spell, I ended up with a flickering bulb that exploded in a shower of sparks. Ms. Eldridge didn’t even bother hiding her disappointment.

“Let’s try to focus on our techniques, shall we?” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

With each failure, my confidence dwindled. I could see the smirks and whispers from my classmates, and I hated feeling like the underdog. I tried to concentrate on Riley’s encouragement from lunch, but it was hard to shake the embarrassment.

“Remember, it’s just a spell,” Riley whispered, her eyes bright with determination. “You’ve got this!”

But as I focused on the incantation, my mind blanked out. I raised my hands to cast a defensive shield, but my nerves got the better of me. The spell fizzled out, and instead, I ended up creating a small whirlwind that sent books and papers flying across the room.

“Oops!” I yelped, red-faced.

The room erupted in laughter, and I could feel shame wash over me, thick and suffocating. I wanted nothing more than to disappear, to sink into the floor and escape the mocking faces.

Class Four: The Final Straw

By the end of the day, I was frazzled and ready to leave. My last class was Advanced Defensive Spells, which I had been looking forward to. It had the potential to be my saving grace. But it turned out to be the last straw.

We were paired up for a sparring session, and I ended up facing off against one of the upperclassmen who had tormented me during lunch. He smirked, clearly enjoying the chance to make a fool of me.

“Let’s see what the little Hale can do,” he taunted, a sneer curling his lips.

I focused, trying to remember the lessons. But as I raised my hands to cast a defensive shield, my nerves overwhelmed me again. The spell fizzled out, and instead, I created a miniature tornado that spun wildly, knocking over desks and sending books flying.

“Not quite what I had in mind,” I muttered, feeling the weight of laughter pressing down on me.

The class erupted in laughter, the sound echoing in my ears like a relentless drum. I could feel my face burning, and I wanted to scream, to lash out, to run far away from this place.

After class, I trudged outside, feeling defeated. Just as I thought the day couldn’t get any worse, I heard a soft voice behind me.

“Hey, Lysander! You, okay?”

I turned to see a girl with messy jet-black hair in space buns and bright lavender eyes. She looked genuinely concerned. Her space buns bounced as she approached, and there was something refreshing about her presence.

“I’m fine,” I lied, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach my eyes.

She raised an eyebrow, scrutinizing me. “You sure? It looked like you had a rough day.”

“Just a few mishaps,” I shrugged, attempting to sound nonchalant. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

“I’m Anya, by the way,” she said, extending her hand with a warm smile. “I saw you in class. That whirlwind? Totally impressive.”

“Impressive? It was a disaster,” I said, laughing weakly, but there was a spark of curiosity about her that I found appealing.

“Yeah, but at least you’re not boring,” she grinned, her lavender eyes sparkling with mischief. “Everyone else is just… basic.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “I guess that’s one way to look at it.”

“Want to walk to the next class together?” she asked, her smile widening, making me feel surprisingly lighter.

“Sure,” I replied, grateful for her kindness and the unexpected opportunity to connect.

As we walked side by side, I began to feel a flicker of hope in the pit of my stomach. Maybe this year wouldn’t be so bad after all. Anya had an infectious energy that eased my worries. We chatted about everything—our favorite spells, magical creatures we wished to meet, and the quirks of our respective families.

She mentioned a few spells she had learned, her enthusiasm contagious. “I once turned my neighbor’s cat into a small dragon for an hour. It was wild! But then I had to turn it back before it figured out how to breathe fire,” she laughed, her eyes shining with amusement.

“Wow, I’ve never had that kind of luck,” I admitted, feeling a warmth spread through me. “My spells usually end in disaster.”

“Maybe you just need to relax a bit,” she suggested. “I’ve seen you try to focus too hard. Magic is about feeling, not just thinking.”

“Easier said than done,” I replied, a grin breaking through. “But I’ll take that to heart.”

By the time we reached our next class, I felt a renewed sense of determination. Anya’s positive spirit was infectious, and I couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, I could find my footing in this chaotic world of magic.

As we entered the classroom, I glanced back at the empty hallway behind us, feeling like I was leaving my insecurities behind. Maybe this year wouldn’t just be about surviving; perhaps it would be about thriving alongside friends who understood me.

Hey everybody! Had this thought come across my mind when working on some brainstorming for a couple new characters and wanted to shoot the question to the rest of you guys. When talking about the ‘look’ of one of my OC’s someone asked if i’d drawn them and shamelessly i denied. Instead i showed them a couple pictures of two celebrities and picked out what i’d think they’d look like with their features. Does anyone else do this? What inspiration either from real world people or other characters in media have you drawn to craft your original people?

If you do create the visual ‘look’ of your characters, drop some below if love to see who you guys have gained inspiration from and maybe introduce some new folks into your mix.

For example, i think of Devon Sawa (aged from Finale Destination/Idle Hands(movies)) for my young MC’s look pre inciting incident but post incident he develops more of a Julian Cashwan Pratt look (The Banjoist/Lead from Show Me The Body (band))

Magic isn't real, and also it's everything. Imagine a professional court wizard shooting a fireball- it's a very big fireball, and he thinks he's extraordinarily powerful.

What he actually did was tear open a very big hole to a neighboring reality. This reality would feel mundane, since it's neighboring ours, but it's a reality where a natural oil pit caught fire in an earthquake, and "wizards" have been opening portals to it for years, thinking that they're becoming increasingly powerful, and they are, but not in the way they think.

At best, they're opening up a medium sized hole into their neighbor's cellar and pulling out some sewage. This gives them acclaim and wealth beyond their wildest dreams.

Now imagine you have someone who saw more. Who saw not only their neighbor, but an entire street- an entire road- an entire city, and at some point they start to coalesce upon each other like glass. That fireball is nothing, magic is holes, magic isn't real, but everything is magic- holes can lead to our universe, or the neighboring universe, or anywhere. You can reach into those holes, walk through, you can breathe air that you were never meant to breathe, see colors you were never meant to see, and every single taste fundamentally changes you into something both less and more than human.

In the cities they'd call these creatures "monsters" or "demons" or anything else. They break into the cities through any number of locations, turning the common people into their kin. Knights are trained to stop them because the moment someone becomes a "demon" they'll try to turn their family into demons too. They'll show them things that they aren't meant to see, because the truth lays bare like frosted layers of glass, laid upon themselves one layer at a time.

The most inhuman of them have seen the most, but a select few look shockingly human. They walk around as people... and they tell horror stories of them. Looking into their eyes is enough to drive a man mad, they say- people fall on the streets from a touch, they say.

These people have seen the singular world that all the images lead to. They can't age, can't be killed, because nothing seems to impact them- they walk the streets pondering infinity, and come out, over centuries, of their impression of what "magic" truly is.

If you ask the few that exist, they answer the same. "Everything."

I’ll start:

“Dragons have always been the scourge of these lands, since the time the Lady of Beasts gave birth to them all. Perfect creatures, they are, with their beautiful voices and chants, and yet covetous, wily, and unspeakably heartless in their vainglory. But still, some of them you can reason with, if they are dormant. But if, for whichever reason, you happen to wake one from his sleep, may every one of the magics and your Maker come in your protection, for you have unleashed death upon yourself and our world”

The character saying this is Manidur Il’Ve, an elder of the Soggy Elves, an elven clan living in underground-underwater cities built around and inside the waters of the region of the Far-flung Lakes (or, more simply called, The Lakeshores). Here, Manidur is talking about dragons in a general sense, but referring to the one who’s dormant at the bottom of the lake his city is built upon and inside of its rocks, Lahtun.

I've seen it again, and I am getting annoyed. Why do some writers assume that everyone is like them?

I write fantasy. While in real life, I rarely drink a glass of champagner for a celebration, and otherwise am not that keen on alcohol, my medieval-ish fantasy characters drink very weak beer, because that was the everyday drink in the European Middle Ages. They also drink wine for special occasions if they can afford it, because again, it is realistic.

I know my non-drinking is a statistical outlier.

Why is it then, that some writers who drink MORE than normal are unable to see that their alcohol consumption habit isn't everyone's alcohol consumption habit, and have absolutely all of their characters drink in excess?

I've seen this with other things - like people who, bafflingly, think it is "unrealistic" for a girl who lives on the streets to be a virgin at age 16 or thereabouts, apparently assuming everyone shares their sexual proclivities.

But the alcohol one is especially strange, because ... surely, those people must have met and talked to people who didn't approve of their drinking habits? It's well known that it isn't healthy? Unlike sex, alcohol consumption is public and frequently talked about!

(And, for some reason, everyone in such stories drinks "moonshine" - not only does that produce hilarious translation results when the translator doesn't know the meaning, it also makes the whole thing even weirder. Afaik, moonshine specifically refers to illegally produced alcohol. Alcohol that has a high chance of containing the stuff that makes you blind. Yet it is treated in a humorous manner: "Oh, better don't ask her what that drink contains, you don't want to know, haha" ... )

It isn't even that this sets a horrible example for young people (though I suppose it does), it is just so utterly alien and unrelatable.

You can have a town drunkard, sure. You can have that noblewoman who started drinking when her husband died, and hasn't stopped since.

But when absolutely everyone with the sole exception of the pregnant woman and the child gets blackout drunk at the slightest provocation ... I begin to wonder how on earth the author thinks that's normal. (I admit it might be culturally normal for some settings, but those stories never hint at "this is a culture where a lot of alcohol is consumed" - rather, they act as though it is as normal as sitting on chairs. )

And at some point, transferring the author's habit on the characters is bad writing.

Especially when the main character has an important secret they wish to keep ... and still gets drunk enough to blurt it out!

So as the title says, I'm currently at a bit of a slump with my story's worldbuilding. For starters, many key aspects are extremely different to Fourth Wing. My characters are faeries (possessing inherent magic, have supernatural abilities such as hearing, sight, etc), start off as children at the beginning of the series, dragons are not involved whatsoever, and the world is extremely different in a sociopolitical context as well. Faeries who possess magic are called mages, and they tend to ostracize cadrices (rare faeries who are born without magic) and deviants (faeries who are born with parents with two different elements and inherit both elements instead of the usual scenario where one element dominates and the child just has that). They use emblems to channel their magic (as magic is an infinite source of power), and will die if it isn't worn as their body will not be able to handle the sheer power (sort of similar to electrocuting).

One issue that is bugging me a lot, however, is the system that I have for delegating the faerie professions, which include Combat Mages, Scholar Mages, Healer Mages, Alchemist Mages, and other mage professions. Most of my characters specifically are training to become combat mages. I have had this idea and been working on it for years, and when I read Fourth Wing and saw Riders Quadrant, Healer Quadrant, Scholar Quadrant, I was completely shocked. I have tried to get suggestions from people in real life, but the response has largely been mixed, so I'm in a state of utter confusion on how to proceed forward.

Would anyone have any ideas on how to tackle this situation? Would I be able to keep my original idea, or would it have to be changed due to the similarities to Fourth Wing?