#clena writes a thing | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

horsyunicorn · 7 years

Text

@zireaells

I’ve also been feeling a total lack of motivation (and I have very little discipline) to keep at my masters degree. I know that this degree leads into a profession that my dad recommended cos he’s familiar with it (it’s not his field but a related one) based on a real need, as opposed to my previous degree, which was just a niche field that I liked the sound of in high school, but the fact remains that I’m studying for a qualification to get a job that is, once again, very speclalised and has few hiring opportunities in the country every year.

(I failed two units last year. It was the first time it’s happened and although I’ve emphasised to anyone who wants to hear that this uni is not as good as my previous one, and doesn’t review its units very well, or doesn’t review its lecturers properly, or is trying to cram too much content per credit point, or that I never studied first-year physics, the real truth is that I could have tried much harder studying last year. My parents admitted they didn’t expect having to pay for a masters degree for me - they only said this cos they were disappointed in me failing those two units - but that’s slightly more on a statement on them, because they didn’t pay for their bachelors degrees at all. They got theirs completely subsidised by the government back then, and that’s a whole other issue.)

And I can’t really complain about this! because I’ve been given so many opportunities in life, I could have pursued almost any line of work out of high school (or picked almost any degree in uni) and my parents would have still supported me, morally and financially. Like I had all sorts of extra lessons in primary school - gymnastics, piano, violin, swimming, karate, music theory - because my mum wanted me to have a well-rounded, cultured upbringing, and to see if I wanted to do something other than just what was taught in school.

Every semester for me is the same: I say to myself that I’ll bring myself to study from day one, that I’ll keep up to date with assignments and everything else. And every damn time, I’m lazy, and I let everything pile up, and it turns into a huge mess, and suddenly I’m three weeks behind, pulling all-nighters, and I feel so ashamed about myself.

Talking more about motivation, I’ve been trying to constantly get myself back on track (studying for tests, doing assignments, or else doing other useful things with my time like cooking or cleaning) instead of spending all day sitting down, constantly refreshing facebook and tumblr. I’ve tried to tell myself to access those parts of my personality that I like in order to channel my energy into doing things that I have to do. I.e., I actually really like writing, teaching, and explaining things to others, so I’ve been trying to tell myself to study so much for uni that I get good enough to be able to teach others if I needed to. Of course that’s only what I’ve wanted to happen. I don’t really like sitting at a desk staring at pages of equations trying to make sense of them all, but I try to motivate myself to do the studying (and pass the exams) by puting enough knowledge in my head that I could explain the concepts to someone else, in theory.

Since I moved to this new unit which is smaller than my old place (but still across the road from uni so I have absolutely nothing! to complain about!) I’ve been miserable cos there’s barely any physical separation between bathroom, kitchen, bedroom (necessary) and “lounge” (leisure), so my mind is constantly in “kitchen/clenaing” mode instead of just “studying” mode. I find it mentally constricting and mentally very tiring to live in a place which is set up like this.

And this comes back to privilege again. I grew up in a large house with huge amounts of space and some rather extraneous rooms. I never went to sleep hungry or had to choose between some other activity and food; I never had to walk home from school when I didn’t want to because my parents couldn’t pick me up; I’ve never had to rely upon other people for transportation cos my parents were good enough to pay for driving lessons and get me a car. Even now they’re still paying for everything in my life. I’ve never held a steady job, or needed to do so in order to pay for something, and those jobs I have done wouldn’t pay for the comfortable lifestyle I’m used to. I feel like the fact that I’ve never had to work a job has made me really lazy. I think that my whole academid experience from like, grade 3 onwards has been slowly learning that you don’t get rewarded for being smart, but for working hard, and I’m only learning that now, in my second university degree.

I’ve been feeling like on and off for the past year but more keenly this year, and it’s because of the aforementioned smaller unit, and also cos my timetable has “prevented” me from going jogging regularly (I say “prevented” cos it’s really just down to me only wanting to run at specific times which is a relic from high school, but it apparently is how my body works. What it really is, at times, is that I don’t have the energy to run after a 3-hour lab, 3 or 4 hours after lunch, and I’m all-or-nothing with jogging, so either I’m happy and exercising, or I’m slouching around and feeling unfit).

I don’t really have a long-term goal that I’m working toward, or anything to motivate me in the long run. All I’m thinking of now is that my parents are eventually going to retire and I’ll have to start supporting myself, and I just think of how long I’ve gone already without any regular job, and how hard it will be to find any sort of job in this job market. I know that my interests include classical music and gaming and running a blog dedicated to dishonored, but I feel I’m pretty far gone along the path of not being able to make a career out of those things. Last year I was sort of sustaining myself on the idea of making enough money in my field (that I’m studying for right now) that I’d be able to travel overseas and somehow settle down with my internet crush, but I guess I’ve been slowly realising how impractical that would be, without factoring in the kinda major and necessary part where that internet crush actually likes me and agrees to that whole plan.

I guess the only thing I’m doing right now is trying to finish off this degree, so I can get away from this uni (this is not just me feeling like this, other people in my course - both undergrad, and masters like me, and some of them have already done a previous masters degree - feel the same way) as fast as possible. Or at least be done with it once and for all.

(One thing that has provided me with some feeling of achievement is doing wing chun kung fu. I only go once a week (some ppl go three days a week) but I’ve now been doing it for 14 months or so and I feel like i’m slowly working towards a better understanding of how to use my body to defend myself.)

#personal

4 notes · View notes

clenastia · 6 months

Link

Chapters: 19/? Fandom: Original Work Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Female Character Characters: Original Characters, Original Female Character(s), Original Male Character(s) Additional Tags: warning: author's bad attempts at romance, aro-ace author tries her hand at romance, and also a specific warning for, male character reincarnated as female, since i know not everyone reads author notes, and that's my biggest potential trigger-tag i think, Unbeta'd, Not Beta Read Summary:

In which some people learn the truth, some people think they learn the truth, and Raven sighs like a tired old grandpa at every shenanigan he has to put up with. (blythe ABSOLUTELY lost most of his spending money playing rigged fair games, RIP)

#clena's original ficlets #so adventurer fic #this may not be girl's mind but this chapter was 90% finished #and ara's newest story gave me the inspiration to finish the last little bit #hopefully this means good things for my writing brain tho so i can finally take all my girl's mind words and turn them into story!#they're all like. dialogue tags and action tags that read like really stilted crap rn #but. all the plot is there. all i gotta do is turn it from he did this she did that into story

2 notes · View notes

clenastia · 2 years

Text

Wanna write more for my Adventurers fic, but also wanna write more Girl’s Mind.

Also, Inheritance.

...and Picking Up Strays.

and that one Harry Potter fic I wrote a page of and never posted.

a;dfja;lkjgsf;lkj;lkj

#clena's writing woes #i just wanna write ALL THE THINGS #SIMULTANEOUSLY

5 notes · View notes

clenastia · 1 year

Link

Chapters: 18/? Fandom: Original Work Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Female Character Characters: Original Characters, Original Female Character(s), Original Male Character(s) Additional Tags: warning: author's bad attempts at romance, aro-ace author tries her hand at romance, and also a specific warning for, male character reincarnated as female, since i know not everyone reads author notes, and that's my biggest potential trigger-tag i think, Unbeta'd, Not Beta Read Summary:

Prompt: You're a high level black mage with a few healing spells but everyone thinks you're a terrible cleric because you only ever use healing spells.

Continuing the redux adventure from the previous chapter, we get to meet Keir, and Raven info-dumps some more (with help from Myra this time!)

Characters are starting to get backstories, though their personalities are still not coming through very strongly. I really need to work on that with my writing.

Vennek gets some backstory of his own, though it's all he-said, she-said. One has to wonder what really happened...

Beware some Zalgo text, for those who don't like it.

#adventuring for fun and profit fic #clena writes #i decided to stop it there and post even tho the chapter's actually got a lot more in it i want to finish #mostly because posting things gives me happy brain juice #and im switching to girl's mind now and hoping that happy brain juice continues and lets me make some progress #wish me luck!

1 note · View note

clenastia · 2 years

Text

...I’ve been re-reading Girl’s Mind trying to find that one chapter whose events I need to reference to write the next chapter. Right?

...help.

please.

HOW DID I FORGET JUST WHAT I WROTE HOW DID I FORGET THIS MUCH OF MY OWN STORY WHAT THE FUCK WHEN WAS THIS A THING I DID THAT? WHAT THE FUCK WAS I THINKING AAAAAA-!!!

#clena's writing woes #send help #girl's mind fanfic #one of these days I'll have to read the whole thing over again from the beginning #but it's so long #but I have #just reading the past six chapters or so #mentioned so many things that I later forogt about #that i think i need to make sure there aren't any plot holes

1 note · View note

clenastia · 2 years

Text

So here’s a prompt I found, that I decided to write!

Prompt: You're a high level black mage with a few healing spells but everyone thinks you're a terrible cleric because you only ever use healing spells.

I wanna make a full novel out of it kind of, because I really like the general story I’d come up with, but it definitely feels rushed and lacking in depth due to the short drabble format I wrote it in...

We’ll see if anything more comes of it.

Fic below the cut!

It wasn’t really on purpose. Rather, as he was walking to the next town, Raven caught sight of an injured traveller- and though he’s not all that good at healing magic, he decides to lend a hand. She leads him the rest of the way there, and tells everyone that he’s a travelling cleric, and he would contest that, really, but he’s been walking all day and his stamina’s never been the greatest so he decides to leave it for tomorrow and quickly asks for a place to sleep.

Only, the next morning, a young man asks to party with him - he’s been wanting to become an adventurer for years, but his parents have always been worried, and asked that he wait to find a cleric to travel with to keep him safe - so many adventurers die, after all - and, well, Raven just can’t-

He can tell the man later. Once they find a real cleric.

Only, the young man, Blythe, wants to do some monster hunting before they look for more party members.

“I’m not a great cleric…” Raven offers, and Blythe beams.

“Consider it good practice!”

Raven tries his best, but, well.

He only knows the most basic of healing spells, and even learning that much was an exhausting task.

It becomes a bit of a joke, to Blythe, but Raven would quite like to go back to town and find a real cleric thanks-

“So, like, do you get an award for being the World’s Worst Cleric or something? Cause I swear you are man, seriously, can’t you even smite the undead?”

Blythe says this, mostly because they crossed through a graveyard and a number of skeletons crawled out to kill them.

Raven’s got a number of spells that work well against the undead, but none of them are holy. He throws an aesar at one of the skeletons, and only stops holding his breath when it actually affects the undead.

“Dude. That was so pathetic.” Blythe deadpans, as the skeleton shakes off the aura of the spell and charges in.

Raven grumbles a bit, twisting the fingers of his left hand as he charges up one of his real spells-

“In the name of Gyssha, I decry you! Fell corpses! Be bathed in the light!”

It’s a girl, is the first thing Raven notices, as she crashes through the graveyard, sword a radiant star as it carves through the undead. Paladin, then, he muses, and as if to prove him right, a shield made of consecrated light forms over her left arm, which she quickly uses to bash aside any and all opponents.

In a matter of moments, the battle is over, the paladin surrounded by a gaggle of bones scattered across the ground.

Blythe laughs. “See Rae? It’s not that hard! Maybe she can teach you a trick or two!”

Raven rolls his eyes and grumbles a bit in Blythe’s direction even as he approaches the Paladin.

“You got hit - I’m not good, but I can heal a bit.” He offers, and she accepts with a curt nod.

“Haven’t learned any self-healing yet,” she complains as he crouches to tend to her leg, and then- “Wow, you really are bad at this. Must be pretty new, huh? You haven’t even learned the spells to remove taint?”

I can’t, is what Raven would like to say, but the make of her sword is from one of the larger adventuring towns, and while Blythe might not think anything of the truth, she’d probably feel obligated to bring him in.

Lie, he thinks desperately, as her eyes narrow-

“I don’t have much aptitude for magic!” he cries, embarrassment at such an egregious lie working well to support it. “I wanted to be a mage, ever since I was a kid, but I’m just not good- no matter what I do, I have no talent, but-”

Suspicion turns to pity. Guilt eats at his insides, but Raven’s committed now. No turning back.

“O-oh. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry- even so! That was really creative of you, using aesar that way! I- I think you could still be a good mage, if you fight smart with it! I can help you! I know some passive enchantments that should help! I’ll party with you guys!”

I’m doomed.

***

“I don’t get it. What’s so special about aesar?” Blythe asks as they walk, and their Paladin, Myra, bounces cheerily as she answers.

“Well, aesar is a small regen, really small. It’s actually considered a useless spell, because there’s lots of more powerful regen spells, but, the thing that makes aesar unique is that it’s the only holy regen. It’s literally the weakest holy spell in existence, and any cleric would learn a better regen by level 3, so no one bothers with it - but since it’s holy, if you cast it on an undead, it basically becomes a poison. Which is so smart-! Even I know aesar, but I never would have considered using as an undead sap!”

Blythe glances back, wide-eyed and impressed. “Oh that is really cool. So like, if he power-levelled that spell, I mean most regens are AOE, right? He could just destroy an entire undead graveyard!”

Myra laughs. “Well, maybe. If he doesn’t have any magic aptitude, he probably won’t be able to level it very high. But out of all your spells Rae, I think you should definitely try this one! Since you’ll be able to use it for both damage and healing! Yeah?”

Raven bites back a groan. The one spell I barely learned how to cast to begin with…

“I’ll do my best!”

“That’s the spirit! Let’s have a great time, alright?!”

Raven sighs the moment they look away from him.

My mother always did say I was no better than a common con-man… guess I’m proving her right.

It’s not as painful as it would have been a few years ago, though, and, well.

Blythe and Myra are good people.

He can stick around a little bit longer.

***

Blythe and Myra quickly turn into Blythe and Myra and Keir and Soln and Tor-

It’s practically a well-rounded party by this point. Blythe, fully settling into the role of a guardian, Myra a physically-oriented Paladin with only aesar as undead spell-damage, Keir the rogue and Soln the shaman and Tor the ranger-

At the very least, having a shaman takes some of the healing off Raven’s back.

On the other hand, they’re becoming disturbingly well-known.

There’s a fucking bard singing tavern songs about the worst cleric known to man.

Raven doesn’t bury his face in his arms and weep, but it’s a near thing.

Blythe pats his shoulder consolingly.

“We can always find a different bar,” Soln offers quietly, and Rae shakes his head.

“It’s fine. I mean, he’s not wrong. I just didn’t realize we were so popular…”

“For what it’s worth, they don’t seem to recognize us. Our faces haven’t got around at least,” Keir props his feet up on the table, only to be shoved by Myra.

“We probably shouldn’t overstay our welcome if they’re singing about us though. Maybe we should just grab a job and get out?”

“As our newest member, I think you’re the least likely to be noticed. Wanna pick something out?” Blythe offers, looking back at Tor, and Rae hastily interjects.

“Oh no no no, remember the last time he grabbed a job? It’ll be way over our level!”

“Psh, it’ll be fine, it worked out last time too!”

Keir waves away his objections, and maybe it did work out, but it was far too close for comfort. Tor’s already up and out of his seat though, so… they’re probably screwed.

Groaning, he buries himself in his drink. Maybe if he’s drunk enough he won’t remember the utter disaster of whatever job this is going to be.

“Hey guys look at this! It’s a hunt quest for a Black Mage-” Rae chokes, spewing out his drink as he tries not to drown in it.

What.

“Yeah, pretty surprising. I thought most of the black mages were imprisoned after the war, bit surprising one’s stuck around this long. They even have her old adventurer’s license, see?” Tor passes the contract around, and Rae tries not to show his impatience, relaxing only when it lands in his hands.

He’s so young, in the picture. Young and curvy and his license still names him Rhaella.

...the entire bureau knew he identified as a man, everyone called him Raven, why on earth would they not mention that on his bounty-?

But then, he thinks, he was one of the few mages who was given enough warning to run.

Perhaps there are still friends there, putting a deadname and a deadface on the wanted posters just to give him a little bit more of a chance to escape.

Still, seeing that face stare up at him from a poster, hair short and spikey, every inch a sullen teenager as he scowled up at anyone who viewed it-

“Wait, so what’s all this about hunting down black mages? Aren’t they just an adventurer class like anyone else?” Blythe asks, leaning over his shoulder, and oh sometimes Rae forgets now, how backwater Blythe’s village was.

Myra answers, contemplative. “It’s because of that sorcerer, I think. The one who lived at Dreadfall Keep? It took hundreds of adventurers banding together to take him down, and he was a black mage. A lot of people panicked, and black magic was struck out as an acceptable class for adventuring. Sort of like Necromancers, or Dark Artificers. They’re totally valid ability branches, but you can’t become an adventurer if you choose one. And if anyone finds out, they’ll hunt you down and arrest you. They’re basically illegal classes. Black Mage is just the newest sort, thanks to Dreadfall. Not everyone agrees with the decision, but…” Myra shrugs in a sort of ‘what-can-you-do’ sort of way.

“Huh. Weird. What’s black magic even like, then? Like it’s a destructive magic class, but what makes it different from combat mages, or magic-typed rogues like Keir?”

...as the unfortunately-appointed Magic Nerd of the group, everyone looks to Rae for an answer. “W-well, black magic is sort of the opposite of white magic, like clerics use. Sure, black mages have access to powerful elemental spells - usually one of every element, though you can specialize if you want… um, but otherwise most of their magic is sort of corruptive? Necromancy is a branch of black magic that has its own class, but they’re still related… stuff like shadow blades and poison fields and all that…”

“Oh! So they’re like arcane demons! Everything’s AOE and burst damage, with healing penalties and stuff, yeah?” Blythe bounces forward in his chair a bit, and Rae grins a little uncomfortably.

“Yeah, that’s about it.” he agrees, teeth grit against whispers of demon and monster that followed in the wake of Dreadfall.

Soln grimaces. “I don’t think we’re quite cut-out for fighting a Black Mage. Especially not if she’s survived this many years of being hunted… she’s got to be quite powerful. We can ask for a copy of this, sure, but I don’t think we should take the quest.”

Tor grins. “I figured you’d say that! So I grabbed two! We’re going dragon hunting!”

Well, Rae grumbles to himself, certainly nothing can go wrong with that.

***

Dragon-hunting goes… almost better than expected. The cave of the beast is relatively new, so none of the lesser wyrms had moved in yet, nor had the dragon had much chance to carve out a labyrinth of their home. They make it to the nest very easily, and find the dragon itself, young and only just past its fledgling years.

Villagers must have panicked and over-exaggerated the job… Raven muses, as Soln lays out their battle strategy.

“It’s so little,” Blythe mourns, “should it really be separated from its mother this young?”

Raven sighs. “No, it’s past adolescence. You can tell by the wings, they’ve fully developed and shed their younglings’ lining. The dragon will grow larger as it ages, but it is a full adult. Likely only just recently turned, but considering it’s already attacking the local villages and doesn’t have the markings of an Elder Race, it’s about the same as any common tiger or fell beast.”

Blythe laughs, “You’re such a nerd, Rae!”

The dragon’s head snaps towards them.

Myra curses, kicking idly at Blythe’s shin, as the others get into position.

Raven throws out an aesar for the front-liners, and then starts to pray.

The earth spirits are strong here, not yet chased out by the dragon, and with a shaman working in tandem with him, it’s easy to connect to them, and use them as a divine conduit for the enhancement of his magic.

So few still worship the earth and her spirits as they do the gods, now, that even for a cleric as poor as him they’re more than willing to help.

And then the beast is dead, Blythe’s sword torn through the scales of its chest and Keir’s dagger buried in its eye, and Raven nearly collapses from the relief of dropping his spells.

Then he does collapse, as the earth trembles and splits a bare few feet from him - demonic energy rises from the chasm, licks of hellfire spurting through the cracks, and for a long moment, Raven can’t react.

Soln’s curses snap him out of it, and he scrambles to his feet.

“Get back! Get back-! It’s a demon’s gate-!” Raven shouts, pushing Soln further along as he desperately tracks Myra, Blythe, and Keir’s progress as they attempt to rejoin without falling into the growing fissures.

“What do we do- why is there a demon gate?!” Tor asks, voice high and anxious, and Raven spits his own choice curses. “Sometimes if magical blood is spilt in certain locations, when that person is killed, their soul’s fury opens the shallow gates - that was the problem with Dreadfall, the black mage chose to stay there specifically because the magic was especially shallow there and it was easy to open gates - he knew no one would kill him when his death could split the entire keep and raise an army of demons - we had something like a hundred clerics and shamans blessing the land and trying to keep it from accepting the blood sacrifice when we killed him and it still wasn’t enough-”

“How do we close it?!” Blythe screams, leaping over a fissure with Myra and Keir thrown across his shoulders, Tor and Soln just barely catching him and pulling him to safety.

Raven braces himself in front of them.

“You can seal the fissures with physical mass, if you’re quick enough - get out, I’ll bring down the cave and be right behind you.” he promises, and the thing is, he means it.

Raven didn’t die the last time they had to seal a demon gate, and he won’t this time.

The team trusts him.

They turn and run.

Raven’s spellwork trembles the earth for miles.

***

“Rae sounded like… he’d been there, at Dreadfall.” Blythe starts, hesitant, as they sit around the campfire.

There’s been no sign of their cleric since the earth caved in, the tremors still occasionally rattling the earth around them.

It’s been hours.

Blythe refuses to leave, not when Rae sounded so sure he wouldn’t die, but-

They can’t stay here forever.

He hunches over his soup.

“What do you think it was like?” he asks, barely a whisper, and the others trade glances over his head.

“They say the war at Dreadfall was a hellscape,” Myra starts tentatively, “I guess… I can see how someone might decide to become a cleric at all costs, if even half those stories are true. He’s pretty good with a spear, remember back at Steflom? Maybe he was a Lancer originally, and job-changed after that war, only to find out he had no talent for the art…”

“Maybe… but why would he hide it?” Keir asks, arms wrapped around his knees.

“I don’t know.” Myra murmurs, “I don’t know…”

“Guess it must be hard, to talk about a war like that…” Blythe muses. “My paps never liked talking about Cimmeron…”

“Yeah… maybe…” Myra curls sullenly around her sword. “I’ll take first watch. You guys catch some sleep.”

***

He shouldn’t go back, is the thing. The others may have bought the excuse in the moment, but Myra, at least, is well-connected enough to know a demon gate can’t be sealed by physical matter alone.

Even if the others don’t suspect, she’ll see the lie for what it is, and Raven is mad to even consider going back.

But-

Even before Dreadfall, he’s never-

All the party members he’s had, all the adventures he’s been on, he’s never had so much fun as with his group - his friends.

At the very least, he wants to hope for the chance that even Myra doesn’t know enough about demon gates to contradict him.

To hope, just a little bit longer, that he can keep these friends.

The camp is easy to find, nearly as though they were hoping he would find them.

If he had any strength for it, he would pick up the pace, but as it is he keeps to his slow shuffle.

His arm is staying attached by a few desperate sinew and a hastily-made sling, and he’s not about to let it disconnect entirely.

As long as it’s attached, it can still be healed. He knows that much.

They’re packing up by the time he crests the hill, each and every one a different shade of upset.

The guilt is like a lance.

“Sorry I’m late…” he coughs, and five sets of eyes snap towards him.

“RAE!!!” Blythe leaps forward, arms spread wide, and Raven flinches back, desperately trying to avoid-

Keir catches the back of their Guardian’s armor, dragging Blythe to a sharp stop.

“C’mon man, don’t tackle-hug the injured,” he offers teasingly, and Raven smiles shakily in return.

“Pretty sure my arm’s one good shake from falling off,” he agrees between coughs.

Only a few of them feel wet, so he’s probably not dying.

Yet.

“That sounds awful - let me take a look. Tor, get that fire back up, Myra, Keir, unpack the medical bags. Blythe, get a set of spare clothes out!” Soln sweeps over, gently resting a hand on Raven’s back and guiding him back up the hill as the others sharply agree and get to work unpacking their bags again.

Raven would apologize for the trouble, but a coughing fit overtakes him, shoving the words aside, and by the time he’s done Soln is already pulling off his sling and carefully maneuvering his arm.

“Do I have to worry about demon corruption?” he asks, and Raven shakes his head for inability to speak - biting back screams of pain, he fights not to pull away from the Shaman.

He’d probably leave his arm behind entirely if he did.

“I can’t get you back to 100% - you’d need a master cleric for that - but I should be able to stabilize you, and at least get the skin to grow back over this. No replacing the missing bone, but as long as you keep with a sling, it should last til we get into town.”

Raven nods sharply, eyes clenched shut, and Soln gets to work.

First on his arm, and then the still-bleeding headwound he barely remembers getting, and then the twisted ankle he definitely remembers getting because he couldn’t catch himself with only one arm-

And then Soln pulls off the rest of his mangled clothes, and freezes. “You’re a-”

Raven drags up the energy to speak. “A man, yes, thank you for reminding me-”

“No need to be acerbic,” Keir offers casually, and tosses a leaf at Soln. “Seriously, you’re acting like you never once suspected he had funky parts - you telling me I’m the only one who decided to take a look at why he always bathed alone?”

Soln’s nose scrunches in disgust as Myra snaps, lecturing Keir for his behavior, but Raven chokes on a laugh.

That sort of discrimination isn’t so common, out in the wilds, nothing like his home - his mother, the people of his city - and he remembers Keir’s flailing reactions well.

Soln shakes his head as Keir starts babbling apologies to Myra. “Pretty rare for a- well, you’ve hardly got the physicality for the Lancers, so I’m surprised.” Soln muses, stuttering as he corrects his question, and-

“The what?” Raven asks, confused, and Soln looks at him like he’s confused.

“The Lancers - that’s the job role you used before you decided to become a cleric after Dreadfall, right? Myra said you were pretty good with a spear back at the Steflom job, so you were a Lancer before.”

“I… don’t have any Skills for Lancing, no.” Raven offers after a moment, hesitant. It’s a believable story, perhaps, right up until he’d have to fight with a spear for more than a few minutes, and he’s so tired of lying to his friends. He’d rather avoid it where possible.

“Then what-?” Soln asks, as the glow of healing fades from his fingers and he starts wrapping Raven’s arm.

Blythe interrupts. “You’re a Black Mage, right?” he asks, and the eyes of the entire party snap to him. “It’s only… Black Mages use staffs, and your forms back then… you were using that spear as a pointy staff, is all. So I thought- I’m sorry that’s a really rude accusation to make- I don’t mean that you’re a bad person-!” he hastily waves off their stares, but there’s really no taking it back.

Raven looks away, staring down the hill and back towards the dragon’s den.

He doesn’t answer the questioning gazes of his friends.

The silence stretches, and stretches.

Myra breaks it, as he expected she would.

“Well, we certainly can’t take him to a cleric now,” she scoffs, and Raven’s heart drops. That-

That’s too cruel, right…?

“They’d recognize a Black Mage’s magic right off the bat, since most of the masters were there at Dreadfall. Might even recognize Raven himself. Soln, what are our other options for healing?”

Even if they recognized him, his old allies would at least heal him before turning him over to the authorities-

Wait-

Other options-?

Soln grimaces. “I… don’t know… a druid might have some options, could take an animal’s essence into themselves to heal something of this severity but-”

“Well then, let’s find a solution. We can’t be down our only cleric forever.” She declares, brash and certain, and-

Well.

Once he’s got both arms back, he’s going to have to do a fair bit of grovelling to apologize for the poor thoughts of their character he held for a moment.

He should know better than to doubt his friends.

“Maybe a physical graft…?” he offers tentatively, hopeful, “with a Shaman’s magic it should be possible to integrate it smoothly, especially if it’s a magical beast instead of an animal…”

Soln and Tor trade glances.

“It’ll take some work,” Tor starts.

“Can’t make any promises,” Soln continues, before looking back at Raven’s arm as he sets up a new sling, “but it’s worth a shot. Any beasties in mind?”

Raven smiles.

He’s always had really good friends, life’s way of making up for his shitty family, Loras always liked to joke, and it seems that’s still true.

People will get over their fear of Black Mages eventually, he knows, certainly enough opposed the original decision.

But until then, even if he’s the worst cleric in the world…

He doesn’t mind staying here.

With people who care.

With family.

#clena's ficlets #clena's original writing #clena writes a thing #so adventurer #writing prompt response #trans mc #trans mc has hinted-at transphobic family #but family-of-choice are good people #as they should be #no angst here #except in the distant background

11 notes · View notes

clenastia · 3 years

Text

I wrote a different thing! 1100 word short story prompt, so nothing special!

I wanna expand the concept out and turn it into a full novel, so maybe after I finish Girl’s Mind...

Prompt: Write a short story where the MC wants to be a hero, but is destined to be the villain. Whenever they do something to help, everything goes anywhere from minorly to majorly wrong and backfires.

Story can be fiction or nonfiction. This is a first draft short story.

Requirements: POV must be 3rd person, tense must be present. No word count limit.

Fic below the cut!

Solyi isn’t even ten years old when she learns about the Prophecy.

No one tells her, oh no, not when they aren’t sure which child is which.

That night, she climbs into her twin’s bed, hugging him desperately all through the night.

Twins, born to the secret line of kings, echoes through her head as she clenches back tears.

One a hero, one a villain, and the world will tremble as they fight.

There’s a lot of ‘secret royalty’, she knows, she’s heard mummy talk about it before. Everyone’s talked about it lately.

Bastards and trueborns and kings-in-hiding.

Mummy’s a princess, who always used to tell stories about how she was kidnapped by a witch and kept as a cleaning girl like Cinderella, and how she used to always pray to the gods that some evil would strike the witch down.

Solyi knows the stories.

She also knows, that when she and her brother got into a fight the other day, the ground beneath their feet trembled.

She doesn’t know which of them did it.

One a hero, one a villain, echoes, echoes, echoes.

Solyi wants to be good.

She wants to be good so bad, she wants to make her mummy proud, she wants to see dada smile and scoop her up and call her his little flower-princess-

But she doesn’t want her brother to be bad.

She loves Nunya. He’s her twin, her other half, he understands her so much even when dada and mummy don’t-

She can’t let him be a villain.

She doesn’t really know what that word means, only that it’s a really really REALLY bad person, but Nunya isn’t a bad person.

She won’t let him be!

Her brother-

Her brother will be the best hero ever, she swears quietly, sobbing without sound into his shirt.

He sleeps through it all.

It’s better that way, because he can’t ask questions if he doesn’t wake up, but.

Solyi wants a hug from her brother.

Just one.

So she carefully moves his arms, tucking herself into them, and when his bodyweight squishes her, she pretends it’s a big bear hug like daddy sometimes gives them.

She wants to be a good girl.

But there’s a prophecy, and one of them has to be bad, so-

So it’s better if it’s her.

Nunya’s always been her hero.

Now he can just be everyone else’s too.

***

The pain is an old friend, by this point. That sour twisting in her breast, in her heart, as her precious brother snaps and snarls and curses her very existence, calls her all manner of monster and abomination-

Solyi ignores the pain with the aid of long practice.

“Oh Nunya,” she sighs, lips quirked in a cruel smirk, “whatever is the matter?”

She asks as though Illyna isn’t dead at her feet, as though he didn’t spend an age crying over her before he cursed Solyi’s name.

She can’t tell him that Illyna was poisoning his mind, twisting him into something he isn’t - she realized years ago that Nunya was meant to be the villain of the prophecy, but by that point she’d already been trying so hard-

Fate, it seems, fights her at every turn, trying to twist and corrupt her precious brother, to make him the villain of the story.

Solyi will not allow that.

So she can’t tell him his lover was destroying him, she can only kill the woman and take her brother’s fury, his pain-

She can’t be the hero to her brother’s villain.

She can’t.

It’s so hard though, sometimes, when all his friends try to drive him to corruption, when she-

Sometimes, she feels like Destiny will take him anyway.

It hurts, but she can’t give up.

Her brother has to become the hero.

He must.

Even if every choice he makes seems to fall apart under his fingers.

***

The Cursed Hero, they call him.

A hero, at least, which Solyi will settle for if she must, but a cursed one.

Thankfully, most people blame her. That by way of being twins, she corrupts him with her evil, leaving him to struggle for heroism in a way most prophesied do not.

Solyi wishes it were that simple, but he’s still a hero.

And while it may have taken a fair amount of manipulation on her part, he finally has friends who aren’t trying to corrupt him, who he can trust.

He knows the full prophecy now.

Papa told him, on his deathbed, and oh how Solyi wishes she could have gone, could have at least said goodbye-

Nunya, thankfully, took the prophecy to mean that he was meant to save her, that the gods had driven her mad and that he could bring her back.

Better than him raging and challenging the gods.

For all her power, Solyi can only do so much.

She wonders if this is another choice that will crumble to dust beneath his fingers, if the gods will find a way to turn even this into something designed to villainize him.

Even if they do, Solyi is nearly a god herself by now.

She hopes it will be enough to fight them.

Her brother will not fall.

Not as long as she lives and breathes.

She burns a town to ash, sacrificing every man, woman, and child within it, sending their souls up to her own dark god.

She spends the next week, locked in her room, puking every time she thinks of it, every time she wakes from the nightmares.

Surely, surely, this is enough to get the gods to accept her as the villain.

To stop trying to twist her Nunya.

A few days later, spies inform her that he tried to save a village from a flood, and instead caused a drought that will have half the province die of starvation and thirst, if nothing is done to fix it.

Solyi calls upon her dark patron and bathes the entire nation in a rain of blood, soaking the earth and feeding the plants.

They poison the blood, and it kills any human whose lips it touches.

Solyi will not let her brother fall.

***

Solyi is old when the answer finally comes to her.

She feels her age in her bones, in her magic, in her heart.

She never thought she would live long enough to see grey in her hair, but with age brings wisdom, and she knows the answer now.

Her brother can do nothing right.

He wants to save her.

He will never save her.

But.

But if she does everything just right.

Maybe she can save him. For good.

Her slaves make no sound as she sweeps out of her rooms, long since trained to silent obedience.

Each and every one someone who tried to betray her brother.

She’ll protect him.

No matter what.

Until the very end.

#clena's original ficlets #clena writes a thing #Sacrifice of the Gods

1 note · View note

clenastia · 3 years

Text

I did a thing! And wrote another little prompt-response, though I don’t remember where I found the prompt before. Probably here on Tumblr, but I always save the interesting ones to a google doc so I’ve lost the post... Perhaps I’ll hunt it down later.

This one’s tentatively called Herald of the Storm, 1300 words, and I definitely plan on adding more parts to it!

Fic below the cut as usual! (im too lazy to re-add my italics right now... ugh)

Prompt: Despite your reputation as a Dark Lord, you have a strict moral code. So when a young girl showing signs of abuse wandered into your realm, you took her in. Now the neighboring kingdom is accusing you of kidnapping their princess. You have to choose between returning her to her abusers or war.

She was so thin, was his first thought upon spotting the girl. So thin it was nearly grotesque, body all sharp angles and painful corners, starvation clear in every inch of her appearance.

Tora may have been a dark lord, may have conquered half a dozen kingdoms and been plotting to conquer half a dozen more, but-

Seeing a young woman look like that, trembling on the steps of his palace, every part of him screamed that it was wrong.

He doesn’t even know who she is, when he first brings her in, feeding her and offering her the full aid of his medical staff. If he lays a few minor spells over her, to encourage healing and rest and peace, well.

Being a dark lord doesn’t stop him from using more blessed magic. Just makes it a bit trickier, is all.

And she needs every blessing she can get.

Even cleaned up, wearing a proper gown, he doesn’t recognize her.

It takes a couple weeks, the girl slowly gaining weight but never opening her mouth, never speaking, only staring at the world with dead eyes, before he even begins to suspect.

The last he saw of Princess Maria, she was a proud, upstanding figure, decrying him for his wicked ways, galvinating her people and encouraging them to stand strong against his tyranny.

It certainly was an effective speech, the military of Doran seeing an influx of recruits. And he, still recuperating from his recent conquest of Illysi, knew he would rather not fight with the large sea-faring kingdom, at least before his numbers recovered.

Perhaps he could take to the field himself, even out his lack of men with his own overwhelming power, but he’s no fool. The more his enemies see of his strength, the easier it will be for them to discover his weaknesses.

And he hardly minds being seen as a languishing ruler, willing only to command his men from afar. It breeds an arrogance in his enemies that is easily corrected when they finally make it through all his guard, certain in their belief that his great power is an exaggeration meant only for intimidation.

Surely though, this cannot be the Sea King’s daughter. Surely he would have heard if such a notable figure had gone missing.

Perhaps it is only a similarity…

He tells himself this, even as she looks ever closer to the princess as her health returns.

She never speaks.

It is enough for him to tell himself she must be a different lady.

Until a page rushes into the medical ward, calling for him by name, and the young miss spins around, eyes seeking desperately until they land on him.

It’s the first time he’s been called anything other than “Your Majesty” in her presence, and he wonders a moment what she must think.

The page interrupts his consideration, bowing deeply as he holds out an opened letter.

“We have received missive from King Austwhil of Doran, to return his daughter or face war with his people!”

Well.

So much for it only being a passing similarity.

Whatever hardship she befell to land on his doorstep, it might be best to get rid of her. He’ll need another year yet before he has all he’ll need to fight with Doran the way he’d prefer.

Only, when he turns to her, he finds her trembling in fear.

She curls back, deep into herself, pressing against the headboard like it might swallow her.

It’s a posture that might make more sense if she were looking at him, if she were focused on him, but even his magic tells him he is not the target of her fear.

It makes no sense.

“Come now Princess, surely you know I have no desire to quarry with your kingdom. I’ll have you returned to your father just as soon as you recover-”

Her head snaps up, eyes wide with fear, and she lunges at him.

She’s weak, weak enough he doesn’t bother to move, and by the time her fingers close around the hilt of his ritual knife it’s far too late to stop her.

His magic won’t work on that blade, won’t wrench it from her grasp or deflect its edge and he stands sharply, kicking his chair over as he moves back, out of range-

But she doesn’t turn the blade towards him, instead stabbing into her leg with a viciousness that has him frozen in shock as he tries to understand-

She jerks the knife out, raises it, and he barely grabs her arm before she could stab herself again.

“Have you gone mad-? What- what’re you doing-?” his hard-earned eloquence deserts him, and he’ll have to kill the staff later, can’t have them spreading rumors but-

“If I don’t heal you won’t send me back.” the Princess’ arms tremble, still desperately trying to stab the blade down, and Tora struggles more than he should to pull the blade from her fingers.

Her words, ghostly silent on her lips, very nearly make him drop the blade he fought to recover.

That.

Is not the response of a happy child.

“Are you so desperate to avoid your home, Princess?”

She flinches.

Tora desperately hopes he’s misunderstanding the situation.

“You realize you’re quite a valuable ransom. I can’t just keep hosting you because you’re upset with your fiance.” he tries to be flippant, but Tora’s already fairly certain this is no drama over an arranged marriage.

No arranged marriage would be worth sheltering in the palace of a man like him.

“I’ll do anything.” she promises in a whisper, curling back into herself now that her weapon is lost. “P-please just- don’t send me back- I can tell you a-about the defences, t-the army, whatever you want so please don’t give me back to him-”

Ah.

That’s a bit harder to explain away.

But it can’t be true, it’s not allowed to be true, because he can’t-

He’s a dark lord and an usurper and a peasant-born fraud he can’t just-

“I don’t want to do it anymore…” she sobs, too-thin shoulders shaking.

His denial crumbles. “What was the Sea King making you do, child?” Tora asks gently, righting his chair with a flick of his wrist and slowly sitting down.

She tenses, waiting nearly an age before her back slowly unwinds itself and she answers.

“I-I don’t know… some sort of magic- th-they kept- taking and taking and taking and it hurt it hurt so much I don’t want to- it hurts I don’t want to- please- please don’t send me back-”

Fury bubbles, a rising crescendo, and perhaps Tora will invite that war regardless.

Kings and their magic, he scorns, standing sharply once again, this time spinning to face his page.

“Fetch me General Hynna at once.” he orders, then glances to the medical staff. “Take care of her, no more visitors. Clearly someone is a spy,” he hisses the last bit, eyes lighting in malice.

Hunting spies is ever so much fun.

The Princess glances up from her shadowed arms, and he offers her as kind a smile as he can manage. “As a Mage King, I can hardly allow such an insult to my powers and my patrons. Have no fear Princess. You’ll return to your country a Queen.”

Perhaps it will not serve him well, in the long run. He has a world to conquer and a beast to fight, and he can do neither if Doran is allowed to rally around their beloved Princess. Especially not with all the allies they have across the sea.

Even so, a father torturing his child for her power is… perhaps too close to home.

He remembers Eitru’s corpse, remembers his vow of Never Again, and he knows that if he breaks it, he will truly have given up the very last of his soul.

Never Again.

It beats in time with his heart, a mantra of fury, and he knows he will not wait for his armies. Not for this.

His General is a competent sort. Between them, they’ll find a way.

#clena's original ficlets #clena writes a thing #herald of the storm pt1 #herald of the storm ficlet

1 note · View note