#duskend wip
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Longing
(TW: Implied suicidal ideation, potential self-harm, blood, references to death and being buried alive. It's a kinda heavy one)
Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial, I present Conor having angst:
This was not the type of place he ever lingered, if he had ever even visited. The very ground itself forbidden to him and him alone.
That was perhaps, not the truth, given that others, though few, shared his condition similarly enough, and it wasn’t as though it burned his very skin. But it took hold of something in his chest, wrapping it’s dark painful claws around that thing, and threatened to rip and tear until there was nothing left. And he had such little will to stop it.
That grip was not pity, nor grief. At least not for them.
It was not forbidden in the sense he could not touch it, because oh, had he so many times before. But he could not keep it, and it refused to keep him.
He was frozen, staring out over the rows and rows and rows of field and grass. Stones, statues, and simple markers some could only just afford stared back at him. Taunted him.
We offer rest. We offer peace. We hold memories and proof that they were loved and someone cared enough to place us here.
His fingers dug into cold, smooth stone, sapping away his blood’s warmth only slightly, until it cut and brought it hot to the surface.
You still bleed, and you still live. And you will forever.
Perhaps he should be grateful for them. They were, after all, evidence that the dead were not immediately burned or discarded or carved up or worse, sent to the waves, here. As such, he would only have to dig through the dirt to freedom if something went wrong. Wouldn’t be the first time. Though those were often unmarked.
A group huddled around one now, a gaping dark hole in the otherwise well cared for ground. Or so he could imagine without being able to see through the bodies this far away, though not far enough for their cries to die in the wind before him.
Mourners.
On some shards people were assigned to if no one was there for the dead.
This groups’ grief was loud with many voices though, pressed tight together.
His teeth ground together and his jaw ached.
Lucky.
Perhaps he did have one out there somewhere. Perhaps someone who had seen him fall or heard somehow, but couldn’t find a body, added his name to one of the simple wooden stakes. Perhaps it was enough that they shed a single tear over it too. Perhaps they had even given him a last name.
But if anyone had, it would have been long lost to time.
Like he should’ve been.
If anyone had, it was a pointless gesture anyway. Proof they hadn’t known him long enough to understand. And all that would be left to show for it was a meaningless empty grave for one who could never fill it.
#writeblr#writing#excerpt#amwriting#tw: blood#tw: suicidal ideation#kinda implied#tw: potential self harm#potentially depending on how you view an action#conor#immortality against his will#not just hedonism and murder#also sad and lonely#this one's kinda heavy ya'll#i suppose i should technically tag this#duskend wip#but conor is also just conor so
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A Busy Night
Excerpt written for the weekly @flashfictionfridayofficial prompt!
Even this far down the street, her arm burned from their presence. It wasn’t entirely unexpected, Duskend was known to collect all sorts from across Esharial, with how easy it was to slip away in such a large city if you could find your way to it. Still, the strength of such wards this deeply embedded into the building was unnerving. They had to be ancient, but the power hadn’t drained out yet. Whatever was sustaining them was powerful, and whoever possessed such an object would be dangerous.
All of this to say this was the most likely place to find what she needed.
Wonderful.
At least she didn’t need to break these, just slip through a crack. Hopefully one that was already present.
The sky was pitch black overhead, but that didn’t mean a thing. Duskend was still flooded with lights, from those in the street, to the windows high overhead, to even some of the passersby carrying lanterns, shadows few and far between for a place known for hiding. Or perhaps it was due to that reputation that had led to a paranoid need to drive away the activities of some of those who had needed to. Like what she was planning.
She forced her breathing to stay steady alongside her steps as she walked until she was just across the street.
There was a thin alley that at least one other person was using to smoke. The smell turned her stomach, but she would have to suffer it for the moment, it was unfortunately the best excuse she had. The taste was worse.
Plenty of people still walked the streets, but few paid her any mind now that she was dressed plainly and without her umbrella. All of them avoided the building, not even paying it the sideways glance some gave her. An effect of the wards perhaps? Or did it or the owner just have that sort of reputation?
Closing her eyes and letting her head fall against the rough brick, she moved her sleeve just enough to press against the rune on her wrist. The burning faded as she gave into the pull in her mind.
Opening her eyes, the street was now covered in colors from the magics used for the lights, items on some of the passersby, and the vehicles, but none were more vivid than the building, now covered in a thickly woven blanket of different threads. Of course it wasn’t one or two or even three wards, the rainbow held far too many that mixed and blurred to even know one ended. No wonder it had hurt so much.
She blew a cloud out slowly, as she ground the cigarette under her foot, before she crossed the street into the opposite alley. No one was in this one, but no one even spared a glance as she entered it. Or as the dagger appeared in her hand.
The weave was tight everywhere easily accessible from the ground, the owner having done their due diligence. There wasn’t even any give with a light press of the dagger. The sheer amount of time that must have taken. Had each new owner added to it? Filling in the cracks until the current generation’s was this perfect?
If she pressed her luck, how long would she have before they were alerted or returned? Were they even gone? The windows were dark, but of course that meant nothing. If she did wait and prepare, how long would it take to create even a tear, if she even could? Or maybe…
The colors faded as she looked out at the street, but still no one seemed to be paying attention.
The building she had leaned on previously was multi-storied as well, not quite as tall, but enough that the top of it wasn’t as lit as the street. That could be enough with the thin shadow at the back of the alley.
Concentrating on the roof’s edge, she took a breath, stepped, fell into the shadow–
–and blinked into the sea of lights below, staggering back when she realized her foot was over the edge.
“Fucking Abyss,” she breathed.
Her previous opinion was wrong, Duskend was the abyssal damned worst shard.
When her heartbeat had steadied, she reactivated the rune.
From this distance, it was harder to make out the different threads again, but the colors were still unfalteringly vivid. How paranoid were these people that they warded it so far into the empty sky above the building? And to keep it just as tightly woven there too?
Perhaps it was time to give up and pray to whatever would listen that it was somewhere else.
But no, the chances of that were slim.
And no wards could be that perfect. If the top and bottom were reinforced, perhaps… There. A waver, a story or two from the top, just over a dark balcony. Almost too perfect.
She smiled.
With another breath, another step, and another fall–
–the landing was a loud thud that had her wincing more than the fall itself. But she was in.
Blinking away the colors again, she pulled open the door, and closed it with a soft click. Her eyes adjusted quickly to the…apartment? There were couches and chairs and a small table arranged like a living room. A small one too. There was even a connected kitchen.
And with a flick of the lights, a man standing in it, with a wine glass and a smile. “Tell me, little thief, why I shouldn’t end you where you stand?”
#writeblr#writing#excerpt#amwriting#wip excerpt#duskend wip#andy#yeah yeah yeah i haven't talked about this one in a bit#but the prompt made sense for her since she can't be in daylight anyway#so she gets up to some shenanigans#wow i spelled that word right?#anyway#enjoy
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Find the Word Tag
Thanks for the tag @chauceryfairytales!
My words are green, rain, ghost, cat, and time. I'm pulling across three different wips here
Green-WotG
A flurry of blue and green feathers had him turning quickly to the source, memories of an elaborate cape of a similar design and a cocky voice filling his mind.
Rain-WotG
Just outside the door they hadn’t bothered to close, the rain was heavy enough to obscure the rest of the town, and it drummed a pounding rhythm on the roof. Hopefully the old wood could stand one more night. Or day. Whatever fucking time it was now.
Ghost-Abyssal Damned
Even her own friends would struggle for more insight into her as a person past the surface level of her interests. It doesn’t seem to be a purposeful thing though, she’s rather warm and inviting after all, it’s more just, Ilm exists as a ghost of sorts, slipping from one group to the other easily, fitting in with practically anyone and everyone, but never really lingering or connecting, and keeping to herself most often. Not an unusual habit for the scholars of Glassfeld.
Very confused that I can't find one for cat when I know one of my characters has a cat??? Maybe I'm looking through the wrong files
Time-Duskend
“Hm? Oh you mean in my apartment all that time ago? You think I don’t know about every single shardwalker the moment they fall onto this shard? I’d be a fool not to.”
Tagging: @concealeddarkness13 @duskforged @ratracechronicler and @sparrow-orion-writes (feel free to ignore if you don't do these)
Your words are: fire, lonely, hope, ancient, and song
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(Conor showed up, dying in Andy’s living room, and has just come back to her sitting across from him, just waiting.)
“Did you know this is probably one of the most heavily warded areas in the entirety of Duskend, outside of your own home, possibly the entirety of Esharial, for the purposes of keeping one person out?”
“I’m flattered,” he groaned as he sat up.
“Don’t be. It’s not for you.”
“I’m offended.”
“But somehow you also manage to get in here constantly.”
“I need a favor.”
“You know how normal people ask for a favor? They call on them, and say things like, ‘Wonderful to see you again! How are you settling in? Did you like that new restaurant I showed you?’”
“I never showed you a new restaurant.”
“They don’t bleed to death on my favorite chair.”
“Poisoned, blood was just a side effect.”
“And they certainly don’t say things like that.”
“And you’d be so terribly bored of that normalcy in a week, month tops.”
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The Duskend Shard Tag List: @concealeddarkness13 @jezifster (and I’m not sure if someone else wanted to be added, so let me know!)
Duskend, she had been told, was good for two things: rain, and disappearing into without a trace. Now, standing on the cobbled street just under the wooden sign proudly welcoming her to the city, one gloved hand holding a bag that contained everything else she owned and the other her umbrella, it was easy to understand why.
The rain had been the first thing to greet her upon stepping onto the Shard, the drops the only sign the forest surrounding her wasn’t a part of Faedaal’s extensive greenery. A welcome change. The Fae’s Shard was always bright and sunny, made infinitely worse by the gemstone-like material of their buildings that only amplified the light. A testament to their colorful natures, and a deterrent to Shardwalkers like her.
It had even been too much for Belladonna.
Here though, the dark gray clouds had persisted in the skies throughout her walk from her point of arrival to here. It was almost nice. The dark permitted her to see, and there was something comforting in the rhythmic pats of rain on her umbrella. Of course, she could do without the damp chill that had permeated into her clothes. It was fine though. Natural warmth was a luxury she’d forsaken long ago.
Even through the mist of the rain, the sheer size of the city sprawled out ahead of her signaling the second promise she’d been given. There were too many faces to be found here for any one to be recognizable. Too large to ask too many questions, and too used to the strangers that arrived, either through want or fate.
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A(nother) writeblr (re)introduction
I don’t remember when I last did one, and I’m suspiciously close to 300 followers for the out of context nonsense I post
Hi everyone! I’m Rye (they/them and rarely he/him), this is mostly a writeblr (though at the moment I’m a college student so I’m not always super active)
I write angst fantasy! (and occasionally poetry). Common themes in my writing are: found family, angst, hurt/..comfort?, magic, gods, dragons, assume all my characters are queer, friends to enemies and enemies to friends, consequences of magic and power, there’s a tiny bit of horror in what I write?
All of my stories are set in the fictional Esharial:
The gods created a world long ago, one that was filled with magic as we’ve never seen it, unlimited and powerful beyond imagination we’re led to believe. And life, all the creatures that we know and one’s we’ve never met, but they also grew to fear their creations, for unknown reasons.
As a result, the world became fractured and divided as fighting broke out between the different sides. It’s unclear whether what they did was meant to divide us further, or to save us, but the gods that remained used the already existing fractures in the world to permanently divide it into the Shards we know today.
Each Shard is almost it’s own world now, with its own cultures and creatures. The only means between them is through the Shardgates left behind, the points that they might’ve still been connected to before the break. But in between each Shard is only the Abyss, a void watched over by the same dragons that permit us use of the Gates, but also the corrupted angels and shadows of the dead.
And what became of the gods? What was left, became the Eternal Beings that watch over us now. Though some believe the old gods are still out there, on a Shard we’ve never found...
My main two WIPs are:
The Duskend Shard (formerly called Eternals):
Having left behind a group of Shardwalkers (beings that have learned to walk between the Shards at will for a high price) that are determined to find a way to control the Gates, to control the Eternals, Andromeda Char settles into the city of Duskend, hoping to disappear. She thinks she’s succeeded at something resembling a normal life in the rainy, coastal city, with a job in a greenhouse, a few new friends, and her beloved griffin. After meeting a woman who’s just moved back with her friend after years away on an adventure of their own, Andy even thinks she might’ve found someone like herself.
But Duskend has it’s own secrets. Ones that Conor had tried to ignore when he woke up with no memories in the city years ago, but now may be the answer to everything he ever wanted. And very little will stop him from getting it now. After learning what and who Andromeda is, he thinks she might be the very key he’s been looking for to get it.
With her old friend, Avery, showing up on her doorstep to warn her that the past she left behind is coming to investigate rumors of an undiscovered Shardgate in the area, and disappearances linking back to it all cropping up throughout the city, Andromeda is forced to side with Conor to try and get the Gate first. She doesn’t trust him either, but what other option does she have?
The Wyvern Whispers:
Oliver joined the Wyvern Coven of the Korryin Shard when they were very young, following after their sister Serah. Evander was chosen to join his aunt among their ranks at a similar age. The two quickly became friends, and quickly developed and proved their skills as Casters over the years, dreaming of the future they would have as Masters in Coven.
But those dreams were shattered when Serah died in an attack while exploring a distant part of Korryin. The attack was the first of many across the Shard, focused on Casters perhaps, but the death and corruption they caused affected every living thing.
Including Evander after a failed attack on the Coven’s Spyre itself. While their friend struggles to hold on, visions of their sister, still alive, begin to plague Oliver, alongside a voice calling them to save her. Guided by a dragon sent from the gods, proclaiming them a champion, they set off to find the source of all of this and end it.
The attacks stop, and the corruptions fades from Korryin. But they don’t come back.
And now Evander unknowingly hears the same voice his friend once did, and the same dragon appears to him asking for help finding the missing hero.
.
(Though saying they’re my main wips always seems to curse them) I do have other wips I will occasionally drag back from the abyss to yell about, but I expect no one to keep up with those given the infrequency of my posts on them.
But hi guys!
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