late at night--use "the"

or not? Perfecting essays

head hurts; need to draw

Creative writing works, too...

Spoiler: Faun-esque OC
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Spoiler: Another OC
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...need to practice my hands...and feet...


Spoiler: 377 words of flash fiction
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We did not know where to turn.

He appeared early in the morning, so early, before the dawnwatchers had yet returned. So early many of us believed that he had come during the midnight. But he came in the morning, while the sky turned slightly paler, and we waited and hoped and watched for the sun.

We lost our lives in that morning.

He claimed he was Chosen. He declared that more darkness, evil was coming. He told us to obey, to protect ourselves from them. And we obeyed. We brought out swords and daggers and spears, old and beautiful relics and rusted and bent remnants, wood and stone for walls and shovels for ditches, plate and chain for protection, and ourselves for the fighting. How could we know the truth? We were clueless, lost, pitifully trusting. We could not see past the veil of his smile.

We were fools.

He would make the dawn return, the light, the sun, he said. He would make our town glorious again, he said. He would cast back the night, he said. He would fulfill the prophecies, he said. With his deluding smile, he said it all, he made promises like the rain, and like the rain they ran away. But they did not nourish the ground.

Did he really know about the prophecies? He was the one who would bring back the sun as foretold, he said. We knew what was foretold. It had been repeated in countless rooms as the fire fought the darkness. As we eagerly gathered around and listened, as we eagerly told and retold, as we eagerly memorized and dreamed. But it was just one of many, tales and hopes as numerous as the stars, and just as distant. And yet we clung to them, for we needed the light, even the faraway light of hope. A fool's hope. But we were fools.

And so we slaved away for him, building, breaking, gathering, training. And he stood at the highest hill and smiled and ordered and hacked away at our hopes, but we yet dreamed of the sun.

And now he is there, smiling still, while the deepest shadows gather round him, and the inky blackness stretches forth--

We do not know where to turn.


Spoiler: Around 450 words of character info & backgrounds
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Character Name: Muirel the Navigator
Age: Deceased
Race: Nyulkith
Occupation: Mariner, navigator, explorer
Type: Historical

Personality: Muirel’s personality has long been lost to time. Tales say she was brave and adventurous, which isn’t very helpful as historical figures go. The only other hints her descendants can (or will) give is that she loved order, even if that seemed a bit at odds with her love of sea.

Appearance: Muirel is usually depicted as tall, with brown skin, grey eyes, and either sea-green or dark blue hair.

Combat Notes (if needed): N/A

Background: From the moment of her creation, Muirel, unlike many of her fellow Nyulkith, had been drawn not to the lands of Aestora, but to its vast and mysterious oceans. Ever desiring to seek and chart the waters and coastlines, she led a series of five main voyages (and innumerable “lesser” ones) throughout these oceans. From these journeys she was able to produce many nautical charts and maps, and these, along with her logs, helped to form the basis of seafaring knowledge to this day. Legends say that her ship, the Wayfinder, can sometimes still be glimpsed in faraway waters, and that Muirel did not truly die, but instead continued on to sail throughout the most distant seas, and even beyond the ends of the world…

Character Name: Gwylan Eshar
Age: 20
Race: Nyulkith
Occupation: Chronicler of Muirel (Mapmaker & naturalist/loremistress)
Type: Whatever fits. If ever, minor

Personality: Usually level-headed and alert; tends to sum up people upon first meeting them and stick to that impression of them, which sometimes leads to her being rather judging of others; slightly wary of others due to…reactions to her mismatched eyes, but perfectly willing to talk if you treat her respectfully. Rather inquisitive and meticulous.

Appearance: 5’ 5”, with light brown skin and white hair; odd-eyed: left eye is blue and right eye is brown; longish face; usually wearing travelling clothes that have seen better days; always carries around her pack of notebooks, inks, and pens

Combat Notes (if needed): Due to her extensive travels, Gwylan frequently encounters unsavory characters. As these chance meetings tend to happen in unpopulated wildernesses, she carries around a halberd, with which she is well versed in fighting. In the occasion that she would need to defend herself in tighter spaces, she also has a dagger, though in any situation Gwylan would prefer to try to bluff or talk her way out. She also has a very rudimentary grasp of magic, but since this was mostly gleaned through her notes and observations, it would not be the greatest aid in combat (much less any practical situation).

Background: While she tends to stay on land, Gwylan nevertheless follows in her ancestress Muirel’s path as a mapmaker and traveler. Ever on the hunt for obscure lore, rare plants, or mysterious places, she has traveled much since a young age, recording her finds in honor of Muirel. Though she does have a “home base” of sorts in a city, where she occasionally plies her trade as a mapmaker and scribe, she is most often away, traversing the lands of Aestoria.


Spoiler: 5 haikus related to glass
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an invisible
barrier between us--swing
at a shatterpoint

molten red, flowing
slowly pouring, holding on,
ballooning, growing

take the grains--castoffs
and fragments and miniscule
creatures lost to time

as we stand--the shards
fall around us; broken pasts
in glittering pieces

behind this clear wall
is another world--the deep
stares back at their faces