Duendewood: Children of Ruin, part two

"You want to do what?" asked Sun, looking aghast. She was dressed in a robe of bronze and white, which contrasted intriguingly with the gold scales that covered her body. 

Tybalt looked up at her. "I want to found a Temple to our father," he said simply. He was a true elf, dark-haired and pale-skinned, slender and graceful. 

"It isn't really a matter of want," Azrael added. "These two've done it."

"How?" Sun was a cleric of Amun, newly appointed; as far as she knew, this shouldn't be possible.

Tybalt shrugged. "We built an altar, and we pledged ourselves, and he answered."

Sun tilted her head. "So you can actually cast spells?" She was perceptive enough to realize that, of her True Elf half-siblings, Tybalt would have been the one to set this up, and the most likely to have become an actual cleric. ...Of our father, she thought, still trying to wrap her mind around that. 

Tybalt seemed to realize that some sort of demonstration was in order; he gestured and spoke, and a ball of water appeared in the air and splashed to the ground. 

"And I can smite," Ash confirmed. 

"Okay, that's pretty cool," said Risk, who'd been training in unarmed combat -- if fighting with his claws could be said to be unarmed. Like Sun and their brother Scar, he was a golden half-dragon, with all that that entailed.

Scar nudged him. "We should take them with us." He'd turned to his own natural aptitude for magic, begun tapping into it. 

"Take them with us where?" asked Morrigan, who looked deceptively like nothing more than a high elf. 

"Oh, right, I didn't tell you yet." Scar smiled, charming as ever. 

Rose and Skyflower drifted over. "Okay," said Rose, "what are we plotting today?" Skyflower was another of the True Elves, but Rose looked more like Morrigan and could easily have passed as her full sister.

"Heroics," said Scar dramatically, throwing up one hand for emphasis. "Apparently there's a band of gnolls that have drifted down into the Ladriaio Woods, and are using the Sweetwoods to stay hidden so they can raid some of the outlying settlements around Aldpond. Aldpond doesn't have any significant fighting force, and the King's Troops at Wellfort are stretched pretty thin, and haven't been able to mount a significant counterattack or effective patrols. The king himself is busy putting down a revolt of the Wildlanders,"

"I have questions," said Skyflower. "Starting with: how do you know this?"

Scar shrugged. "Magical insight, of course."

"He means there was a notice posted at the tavern the other night," Risk corrected, "What do you think, my siblings and half-siblings?"

Ash shrugged, touched the falchion that was slung across her back. "I'm a Paladin of Ruin," she said. "I'm in." 

Tybalt nodded; his falchion was belted at his waist. "Is anybody not in?"

There was a long moment of silence.

"Oh, this is going to be fun," said Scar. "Anybody down there who didn't know our father's name before is about to find out." He glanced at Sun. "With credit to Amun as well, of course."

She nodded back at him. "All we need to do now is get down there. And I have an idea about that." 

Duendewood: Children of Ruin, part one

"What are you doing?" asked Azrael, watching as his brother placed a pair of candles on the exposed chunk of limestone that had come loose from the hillside behind it. It was well back from their mother's hidden forge, which was already isolated from almost everything. 

"It's a shrine," Tybalt told him. He was the middle child and the most thoughtful of the siblings. He was also the most slender of the three, closer to a typical True Elf than either of his siblings. "For our father."

"Not the Highwaymen?" asked Ash, curious. She was the oldest, dark-haired and stocky, already practiced at arms and eager to learn everything their mother could teach her.

"Not yet," said Tybalt. "Just Ruin. If we get more worshipers, we can add rites for the others."

"We?" asked Azrael. He was solidly built too, like their parents, and spent most of his time assisting their mother at the forge. 

"We," Tybalt confirmed. "Our father helped defeat Galvera twice: once here in Midgard, and again in Asgard. He deserves to have his own clergy--" Tybalt looked at Ash. "--And his own martial order. You up for that, big sister?"

Azrael leaned back against a tree and watched Ash consider that. His sister loved combat, and she'd taken to the falchion in honor of their father. "You think I should become a paladin in service to our father," she said slowly. 

"I think our father deserves to have an order of paladins devoted to him. It can't be me -- I've sparred with you, and by comparison, well, I suck. Azrael's devoted to the forge -- and our mother's craft -- and  while I'd like to see him become the first lay member of of our father's church, I don't see him becoming a paladin."

"You've been thinking about this," Ash observed, studying Tybalt's face. "What would you say our father should be the god of...?"

"Battle, and Travel, and Justice," Tybalt replied. "That's what I've got so far."

"Outcasts," suggested Azrael. "Found families."

"Good," admitted Tybalt. 

"Revenge?" suggested Ash. "No, that's not quite right. But... Endurance, maybe? Like, all those things that happened and he just kept going."

"Endurance is good," Tybalt affirmed. 

There was a moment of shared silence. "Yes," said Ash. "I could pledge myself to that."

"Good," said Tybalt. "Because I'm going to become his first cleric." 

"All right," said Azrael. "You're going to need lay worshipers too, and I'll be the first."

Tybalt pulled the tinder box from his belt, opened it, and touched a dried reed to the ember inside. He used the burning reed to light the candles. "Sister, we'll need your blade on the altar."

Ash nodded, unbuckled her baldric, and laid it and the falchion it held atop the chunk of limestone. Tybalt had brought along a bow; he strung it and placed it across the falchion. 

"No," said Ash. "That's not right. Bow on the bottom, Falchion on top."

Tybalt nodded and reversed them. 

"Oh!" said Azrael. "Just a minute." He hurried back down to his room beside the forge, and returned with a small ruby. "For the gem he got from the Druid Hierophant, and returned to the next."

"Yes," Tybalt said firmly. "A contribution from each of us, to complete the connection. Step up and touch the altar."

They came forward and put their hands on the rectangular chunk of limestone, regarded the candles. It was almost dark, that liminal time when day gave way to night. "I pledge myself as a Priest of Ruin the Defender, who in his life was Oathkeeper, Warrior, and Traveler."

Ash said, "I pledge myself as a Paladin of Ruin the Endurer, who in his life was a survivor, an explorer, and a warrior."

Azrael nodded thoughtfully. "I pledge myself as a simple worshiper of Ruin the Father, who in his life was protector, outcast, and family-builder."

There was a long moment of silence. 

Then a silent voice echoed through the trees. MY CHILDREN, it said, I AM SO VERY GRATEFUL. 

Music: Friend or Foe?

t.A.T.u.

DoT: Retribution Comes In Many Forms

"It wasn't them," said Faldor. "They're using one of the Guild safehouses under the lower east spoke, but we've been watching them and they were doing something for the druids the night Nikilo went missing."

Across the table from him, Cedric Bloodblade shifted his weight, then took a sip of his beer. It wasn't good beer, but then it wasn't particularly bad beer either. "I'm almost disappointed," he said, "but likely that means that this one really was the Redblades." He considered that. "Turf wars are bad for business, but maybe Mad Mattie's forgotten that -- or Varna's decided to turn his ambitions in another direction."

"I'd put money on Varna," said Dalia. She was the gang's wizard, but she was also good at digging up information and putting things together. Rumor had it she was Cedric's cousin, and there was some resemblance -- but if so, neither of them had ever bothered to address it.

Cedric was thinking. Like Dalia, he was good at that; it was no small part of the reason that Faldor enjoyed being part of the Mist Eyes, even if they were a comparatively poor, small gang. The Bloodblade wasn't the most dangerous of the gang leaders, not in person -- though he could hold his own when he needed to. No, Cedric had gotten his position by being persuasive, perceptive, and good at planning.  

If Dalia was Cedric's left hand, Amon was his right. Surprisingly lean for a half-orc, he was deadly in combat and could put an arrow through somebody's eye from two spokes away. He spoke in a smooth baritone: "I wouldn't rule out Mad Mattie entirely, but I agree. It's more likely Varna. Won't be Verity; she only cares about two things -- protecting the Red Blades and that weird religion of hers." He sighed. "Sorry, Boss, looks like we get two different problems at once." 

Faldor watched as Cedric shook his head. "No, what we have here are opportunities." He looked at Faldor. "How many did you say were in this crew?"

"Five, maybe six. Plus a trio of street kids they picked up."

"And they didn't try to kill you. Instead, they distracted you so they could get what they wanted. Then they pulled that job up in Greycloak territory and got away clean... again, without killing anybody. They finally gave themselves away by helping out a local merchant, maybe to protect those kids they've been working with."

Faldor nodded. "That's how it looks, Boss."

"Etiquette says they crossed the Guild, they have to pay. Very well, I don't disagree. But 'pay' can mean a lot of things."

Amon tilted his head, considering. Dalia was already smiling. "Bring them in?" she asked. 

Cedric nodded, and absently reached down to touch the Bloodblade itself. "Yeah." He looked back at Faldor. "What I'm hearing is that they're talented but inexperienced, unprofessional."

Faldor sighed. "The one who set me up spends his mornings baking and the evenings playing music. I'm pretty sure their elf is dating one of the bartenders down at the Bluddy Nose, and I have no idea how the druid fits into all this. I don't think they're professionals." He considered that, then added: "At least, not at the Guild's sort of work."

"Do we think they killed Anderlin Greycloak?" Cedric was looking at Dalia. 

"I don't know," she said cautiously, "and I don't want to guess. If they did, it's the first time that we know of that they actually killed a person, and the group that hit the place were obviously in disguise but also apparently all humans. Shorewards, though, the group that's being blamed was around the right size and used some similar tactics, and they definitely did take whatever Greycloak and the merchant were making a deal over, along with Greycloak's rapier -- which they were smart enough to drop in the bay."

"All right," said Cedric. "I'll bite. The group 'that's being blamed'? You don't think they did it?"

"The wounds were all made by a dagger -- and poisoned, in Greycloak's case. Almost certainly the same weapon. I don't think this group has anybody who's up to that level of precision."

"Okay, I'm speaking above my place here and I know it," said Faldor, "but I have to ask: how do you know that?"

Dalia smiled. "You know that bakery on lower spoke east?"

"The Bread and Board," Faldor answered immediately. "Good stuff. Yeah, I approached the musician there precisely because the owner's brother... is a member... of the Greycloaks."

Dalia was smiling as he put it together. "I chatted him up as he was on way back up. He recognized me, and was very polite about it. We're having dinner tomorrow night."

 "Huh," Amon mused. "I know Vallista got her father's rapier back -- the Gleaners stepped in on that one."

Cedric nodded. "It wouldn't do to underestimate them, much as they keep to themselves. There are reasons that Tiassa reports directly to Othar Fastaxe. And that was a sharp move on their part." He leaned back in his seat, finished his beer, and set the heavy pewter stein back down on the table. "Okay, let's run this through. They show up out of nowhere, and take the delivery from Faldor but don't hurt him. Then they hit the woodcrafter up in Greycloak territory -- and again, manage to do it without hurting anybody. Then they -- somehow -- hit Telk's place over in Nightwalker's territory. We think. That's around the time that Tamsin's Tumblers disappear, probably because the Greycloaks are looking for answers and their members are just a little too similar to this crew."

"They'll either show back up undamaged, or nobody'll ever hear about them again." Amon suggested, and Cedric nodded. 

"But then they screw up," Cedric said. "They approach Bilk's shop, no disguises, and clear some kids out of the back for him. You see them," he added, looking at Faldor. 

Faldor nodded. "Only I can't follow them, because they're paying attention and the kids are guiding them in some ways that would make it obvious if I try to follow. But, again, nobody really gets hurt."

Cedric nodded at that. "Right. Then Anderlin Greycloak gets killed at some kind of exchange with a merchant, one that apparently even his own people don't know about. Vallista takes over the Greycloaks -- which isn't a problem for us, but'll probably surprise some people who think they might be vulnerable --  and I think we can assume that even if this group wasn't involved, someone is taking advantage of the disruptions they're creating. Meanwhile, they also seem to be working with the druids, helping out some people on their spoke, and making connections inside the Guild. What's the angle here?"

"Disrupt the Guild," Dalia said. "Set us against the Red Blades, the Greycloaks and other mid-level gangs against each other, and maybe call the Beggars into question as well."

Faldor nodded; so did Amon. It was almost a shame that Obstreperous wasn't present; the bugbear's advisor, a goblin who called himself Bean, might have had some interesting insights to offer as well.  

"It's not just some random crew who came into port and decided to do their own thing," said Faldor. "They've been too careful about the Guild for that. And they just don't act like career criminals, mostly. But Dalia's right: everything they've done has hurt the Guild overall. I don't think that's coincidence, but I don't see where this particular crew would come up with that goal on their own -- not without being a lot more careful about it."

Cedric nodded at that. "Then maybe we give them some guidance. They have talent, and they understand restraint." He looked around, took in Dalia and Amon's opinion with a glance, and then turned back to Faldor. "I need you to make them an offer..." 

Zero Draft!

Well, it's done. I have finished the zero draft (i.e. essentially unedited opening version) of the Horny Superteens book. Is it publishable? Probably not at this stage. Is it coherent? Yes, it hangs together and I don't think there are any significant plot holes. Is the plot a satisfying arc? I really don't know, I was thinking about a lot of 90s-era comics when I was writing it, so it kind of moves from one conflict to another to a third related conflict, and finally resolves that one. Could it be a series? ...Yes, I could write at least a sequel to this one, and probably a third to round out a trilogy. Is it any good? Well, the sections I've gone back and re-read (either to double-check details or just because my brain was still kind of there brought me joy, so there's that. Do the Horny Superteens "get any"? Yes. Oh dear ye immortal gods, yes. 

Frankly, the whole project has basically been keeping me sane this year, which is the primary reason that I wrote it. Now it's time to set it aside for a bit, get some perspective, and then go back and make a second pass at it -- and clean it up enough to let my trusted advisors give it a read and send me feedback. 

Meanwhile, probably on Monday, I'll be starting on my next project: a young were-squirrel who's been sent to stop the local baron from taking over his village. I know what the opening looks like, and I know the tone I'm going for. This one is going to have more a fairy tale flavor to it, and it's definitely a coming-of-age story. 

We'll see how it goes. I have a couple of others lined up behind it, so if I run aground I still have other options. And shifting to a different story sometimes makes the first story jealous, so there's that. Like I said, we'll just have to see. 

StV: New Member

"You're sure about this?" asked Charles, and Harbinger nodded. 

"I'm damned sure I want to try it," Harbinger told him. "If it doesn't work out, it's... what's that saying? No harm, no foul?"

He shrugged. "I don't actually know that one. But okay, nobody gets angry, nobody blames anybody?"

Harbinger nodded. "Exactly. Team Phoenix could use somebody to help with our mobility, and your other abilities would be hugely useful as well."

He took a deep breath. "And the part where I don't actually know how to fight?"

"You don't have to. You just have to keep yourself safe."

"Huh." He said. "Well, Troll thinks I can do it."

Harbinger nodded. "She's right. Plus, we're not a combat-heavy team, and if it really comes down to fighting that won't be your job anyway." 

"Okay. That would be good. I mean, it's interesting stuff to learn, I'm just not any good at it yet."

Harbinger paused outside the door. "That's fine. You don't have to be. Come meet the rest of the team." 

Music: Give Me Danger

Iggy Pop and the Stooges: