Cover art and summary for my '13 NaNoWriMo

November is fast approaching so today found me frantically fumbling around for a synopsis/summary and cover to add to my NaNoWriMo story's page. I had finally stumbled on my title earlier this week when my writing-partner-in-crime mentioned the phrase "unexpected inspiration" in an email; turns out that not only is my female main character the muse of my protagonist, my partner-in-crime is my own personal muse! ;)

Anyway, with a title now in hand, I was able to put together some stock images in paintshop to make a cover. It's not exactly what I had in mind, but it's as close as I could get with free images. I'm pretty happy with it, though! This year I went with paintbrushes as the theme because Adair is my artist-mage. (I'm still referring to him as an "artist-mage", but in the story it'll probably be "illustrator-mage" because technically all of the mages in this story are artists in some way.)





(At some prompting of Wrimos on the forum who know more about graphics than I do, I darkened the font. This looks nicer, but the brighter blue is more the tone of the story- otherwise it just looks too serious.)

Summary/Synopsis:
In a time where magic is suspect and mostly kept hidden behind other occupations, Adair is a carefree apprentice Illustrator-Mage with the ability to make what he draws have the semblance of life, often at the most inconvenient of times. When a wealthy patron arrives at his master's door to request a map, insinuating that it needs to be more than a mere drawing, this commission is passed on to the teenaged apprentice to serve as his final test towards his promotion to Journeyman rank. Little did Adair realize the man's true motives for this request.

As the map's new owner seeks out more mages to exploit in his quest for power, Adair feels a tug from his creation to follow. This pull leads him to a carnival where he meets a mysterious sword-dancer just coming into his own magic- and who Adair soon begins to suspect isn't what he appears. Much to his amusement and relief, Adair gains the help of this young dancer, his performance company, and a few other clandestine mages they meet along the way.

In order to free himself from what his creation has become and stop the harm its bearer is doing to an unwitting population, Adair must put aside his daydreaming to become the hero his unlikely muse is inspiring him to be.

-------------------

I may edit this slightly, but it works until I actually write said story (because who knows what may change along the way?). I still have an outline to finish this week, but I'm definitely looking forward to November 1st!

Edit: And one of my friends awesomely tried her hand at my cover and I like this version much better. The brightness is much more the tone of the story than the darker version I had come up with. :)


~Meri

Another new character for NaNoWriMo '13

I still haven't come up with much more in the way of plot ideas for NaNoWriMo next month (*whistles* Here, plot plot plot...) but I have figured out who my other main character will be: Blythe Bladedancer. Blythe is a blade-mage (title subject to change when I think of something better than "blade-mage") and he can actually say that as a kid he ran away to join the circus; he has spent several years touring with a carnival in his quest for fame. The surname is accurate as he dances and spins the blades both as a performance and to work magic. Blythe looks something like an assassin or ninja, but that's just the dramatics of his stage persona.

...Or should I say "her persona". I really wish I'd been able to get that avatar to look more androgynous because Blythe has spent most of her life pretending to be male in order to be in the career that she's chosen. This story is taking place 150 or so years previous to my other writing; if her true gender had been known, it's unlikely that she could have become what she wanted to be- and trust me, she wants to be famous.

She'll end up teaming up with Adair on his quest, so he'll be one of the few who catches on to her real gender. Eventually, if she's away from the part of the world where she's working to establish herself, then I think she's going to spend time wearing something like this just for the novelty of being able to wear something else for a while:

I'm thinking that in this garb, she'd pick clothes that flow dramatically with her movements, whereas in her "boy" garb it's more form-fitting to better show off her skill by not causing a distraction. (This has nothing to do with the gender being the deciding factor, just that she wants to try something new. She could just as easily have a flowing cloak or robe or something as a male.) I can definitely see her getting a kick out of proving to men she meets on the road that, yes, she very much knows how to use those blades she carries. Messing with Blythe is probably not a good idea. No matter what she's wearing, though, her arms will be free of sleeves that would tangle in her weapons. The potion bottle isn't actually full of a potion: that's enchanted dye/paint. Since it's from Adair, who knows if it'll actually work or not, though. ;)

I'm going to be spending the next two weeks trying to sort out some idea of plot and personalities for her and Adair (and figure out if they need a third to help them on their quest). I'm not usually drawn towards sword-wielders, but I love the idea of Blythe. I mean, getting to say "One of my characters really did run off to join the circus!" is something that probably won't happen again!

~Meri

Unlocking a new character for NaNoWriMo

"Another new character?" I hear you say. (Or at least I would hear that question if there were more than two people who read this blog. Since both of them know my writing plans, all I'm getting are some vague nods from their directions, lol.) I'm going to be taking a bit of a break from my year-long struggle with "In the Cards" (my epic mess) to write something else during NaNoWriMo this year and since I desperately need some time away from Seph (I love you, dude, but you're really getting on my nerves hard to write), I'm moving as far away as possible. Well, geographically speaking I'm staying in the same area for part of the story, but I'm moving back in time about 150 years.

There will be a few new characters (two? three? Who knows! NaNo is the time for crazy, anything goes chaos!) that go along with November's story, but in this case I'm just sharing the protagonist who I unlocked first (and made using this generator). Meet Adair Conroy:

If his name rings a bell and he looks a little familiar, there's a good reason for that: he's the ancestor of both Cyneric and Phillip. (Which is kind of funny because at the time of his story, he's all of about sixteen and the thought of descendents would make him flee in a panic. So shhhhh, no one tell him that he has great-great grandkids.) I'm still fumbling for the first glimmerings of plot and characterization, but he's an artist-mage tasked with facing the baddie who made an incredibly brief appearance in the prologue of The Acolyte's Map. That evil map? Yeah, you can put some of the blame on Adair, although he's claiming that he had no idea what he was doing. All he wanted was a patron to buy him some more paint and canvas. Honest! How was he to know how his drawings would be twisted?

This is pretty close to how I picture him- looking similar to his descendents, but garbed a little differently for a different time period. And splattered with paint and ink, of course. At his belt is a scrollcase where he keeps some of his precious paper and that isn't so much a sash that he's wearing as a bandolier; he stashes some of his art supplies into that, as well as his belt, to keep them near at hand. He does this not just because he's constantly sketching, but because they're keyed into his magic.

That's all the detail I'll go into right now, but I'm sure I'll ramble more as NaNo approaches, probably with even more parenthesis. And I realize that a lot of my avatars at the top of the page go to sparse bio pages. My goal between now and November is to at least finish the bios of the characters I already have.

...That and, ya know, figure out how an artist is able to stop a baddie from usurping a throne in a kingdom that's halfway across the world from his home. Technicalities, right? ;) I love the start of NaNo season! So many crazy ideas circling your head at once and none of them make any sense. Aaaahhh. *breathes in the smell of new pens, notebooks, and chaos*

~Meri

Writing update and character art

I've still been working on "In the Cards", the novel I started for NaNoWriMo last November, but I've taken a bit of a break in order to fill out an awesomely detailed questionnaire for each of the characters in order to better understand them so I can finish the second half of my first draft. The questionnaire is awesomely detailed, but also incredibly time-consuming; they each end up being 14 pages long when finished! So far I've finished Raff and Seph, so I now know pretty much everything I could ever want to know about them- and far more than they would ever want anyone to know about themselves- and I've started working on Tavin and Piper. After those are done, I'll be answering it for Clover, Sprout, Beryl (she's my mystery character, so she'll be added to this blog later), and the main baddie (sheesh, he doesn't even have a name yet). I've got a surplus of characters in this story and these are only the main ones! Basically I got to the halfway point in the story where all the main characters meet up- and I realized I didn't know enough about half of them to easily move the story along. In order to get to the end, both them and I need to know what their strengths and weaknesses are because this will come up. The baddie and I aren't planning on playing nice, you know. ;)

So while I was working on figuring out their personalities and filling out answers for the questions (still trying to figure out Seph's "earliest memory", Tavin's "soft spot", and Piper's "darkest secret"- I told you these were detailed!) I realized that it would also help to know what the characters looked like. Here's one of the downsides of writing a blind protagonist: since he doesn't know what anyone looks like, I hadn't really thought of what their appearances would be. What they sounded like, their personalities, their magic, yes, but not their appearances. So when someone in my Facebook writing group (join us here if you're interested) linked to this character generator, this was exactly what I needed and I got to making avatars of a few of the characters I didn't yet have art for.

First up are Seph and Sprout. Seph's the protagonist, my blind Knight of Wands. He's my stoic (albeit somewhat snarky) healer-priest of Eros who ends up getting stuck with a fox as "help" for his quest and becomes (begrudgingly) the leader of this group of misfits. His avatar is pretty close to how I picture him, although a bit older than he should be for this; at the time of "In the Cards", he's in his early 20s. Sprout is only in this story briefly as her events mostly happen off-screen; she's Seph's teenaged apprentice and the enthusiastic but competent Page of Pentacles. (Since "In the Cards" centers around tarot, I'm continuing my tradition of calling characters by their card.)

Here are Piper and Clover. Piper is one of the main characters and my flighty and cheerful Knight of Swords. She's a priestess of Gale (the god of wind, sailors, and the sea), so when she's not caught in bird form, she has some control over the weather and she wields a mean harpoon. (She also has really awesome hair. I'm not quite sure how exactly she got blue hair dye in a medieval world, but somehow she did.) Clover, my halfling, is technically a main character, but as the prophetess she doesn't have a tarot card assigned to her. The way her magic works is that she can't prophecize for herself or influence her own future in any way, but she has a pretty good idea of what's going on with everyone else.

And last up are Tavin and Raff. Tavin's my large but gentle and pacifistic Knight of Pentacles. He's a young shaman who works with the elements, or at least three of the elements. There's a reason he always carries a bottle, jug, or bucket of water on him at all times. This isn't quite how I imagine him, but it was really difficult to make an avatar of a half-orc. Raff (my Knight of Cups) is in this story as a main character, too, but since he spends most of the time wearing Seph's uniform and those sleeves were a pain to figure out twice, I wasn't going to do it a third time. Instead I made an avatar of what he wears when he isn't in uniform (which I've cosplayed).

As you can see at the top of the blog, the new characters have their own avatar links now; I'll be writing up info for their bio pages over the next few weeks. (Kryro's an old character, but he'll get a bio at some point soon, too.) As well as working on the questionnaires and these avatars, I've also been putting together a timeline and a kind of diagram to chart out the characters and their plot. I may share those later. :)

~Meri

Calling in a Favor (Short Story)

July 23rd, 713CC
(Possible future)
Five years after the events in The Acolyte's Map and It's Not Easy Being Green, nineteen after In the Cards (in-progress story), and twenty four after Adventures of a Young Messenger.

"Cyn, there's someone looking for you. I brought him to your office, but I think he might be crazy."

The high priest rolled his eyes up at the sky in silent prayer asking for patience; not for the priestess delivering this news, a long-time friend whose judgment he trusted, but for the small disasters that kept piling up that day. "'Might be crazy'?" he repeated, already regretting what the answer would be.

The other Messenger shrugged her shoulders slightly. "He seems harmless enough. I wasn't sure what else to do with him; it seemed cruel to send him back to the street and he was rather insistent that it was you he had to speak to."

Curiosity was beginning to win over exasperation, but it was a close battle. "Very well, Liz, I will sort it out. I know you have other work to do, but can I ask you to help Ricky with fixing that mess?" he gestured to the empty fountain a few yards away where a slightly blue-tinted young acolyte was scrubbing. "I fear he may do something else foolish before the day is over."

The dark haired woman nodded and took the brush that Cyneric offered without comment, a reaction rare for her. Whatever the situation that awaited the high priest inside the Messenger's Mosque, it must be odd if cleaning sculptures in the heat of midday was a better alternative.

Brushing his hands on his red robe to dry them, he headed inside. At his door he momentarily pondered if he could pass whatever this was on to someone else, then had a flitting regret that he could no longer avoid interaction by hiding away in libraries. He had finally lost some of that shyness that had plagued him all of his life, but he feared he would never be particularly social- a trait incongruous with his affable and extroverted religious order and which was probably found amusing by their mischievous deity.

Once on the other side of the door, he immediately saw what the priestess had meant and why she had made reference to the street. A scruffy man lounged in one of the chairs as though he belonged there. He wore simple tattered clothes and a few equally shabby bags rested on the floor at his feet; Cyneric thought he could possibly be about his own age, although it was hard to tell through the bushy beard and disheveled dirty blond hair. When this person heard the sound of the door close, he turned towards the direction of the noise, but did not seem able to focus on the precise location. Cyneric could quickly tell what the reason was for this: the unkempt man was blind.

"May I help you?" the high priest asked. He was unnerved by the unseeing dark eyes that, despite his soft footsteps, somehow seemed to be able to follow his movement across the room with some level of success. Was this normal for someone who could not see?

"I'm seeking Cyneric Conroy. Are you he?" The man had an accent- if Cyneric had to wager a guess, it was that of one of the northern islands. His words were well-educated and self-assured, putting them at odds with his vagrant appearance.

The Messenger began to nod, then stopped when he realized this was likely a pointless action. "I am. May I ask the reason you were attempting to find me today?"

"I figured you would help me." This was a cryptic- and rather presuming- statement; the man's gall was impressive, if not somewhat irritating.

A thought was gnawing at the back of Cyneric's mind, however. Blind, a northern accent, presuming something in a way that seemed he felt he had a right to... suddenly it clicked. He knew exactly who this was, but surely he must be mistaken... "Zodóseph?" he asked incredulously.

Under the thick, light-colored beard, the corner of the man's mouth twitched up in a kind of good-natured smirk. "Got it in one. You always said you were smart."

Cyneric found himself having to lean against his desk while he tried to make sense of what was happening. Why was this priest so far from his home country of Zet- and looking very much out of uniform? Had Eros again sent Seph to this kingdom, decades after his previous assignment here? Considering how that one had played out, with his mate barely getting out of it alive, Cyneric felt his heart begin to race as he asked, "With what do you need help?"

That question seemed to make the other man lose what had appeared to be a permanent layer of confidence; his shoulders slumped and he fumbled nervously at the cuffs of his loose sleeves. Finally he gave a simple, flat response. "I left."

"When you say you 'left'-"

"I left. My order. Zet. Everything." It was clear that Seph was trying to keep emotion out of his voice, but not doing a particularly good job of it.

The high priest, meanwhile, remained in disbelief. "You cannot be serious!"

"I haven't told a lie in twenty years; of course I'm telling the truth." Seph sounded offended by the fact that Cyneric would think otherwise, but continued to explain despite his annoyance, "I couldn't stay in Zet- I just couldn't face that, not after resigning."

"I see." Actually, he didn't. Cyneric could not even begin to imagine turning in his amber and leaving his brethren behind. He would sooner give up a limb than renounce his Calling. Probably, anyway.

It seemed his comment didn't matter much, though, as the once-priest had fallen into something of a rant. "Everyone I knew began to treat me like a criminal, like I had done some terrible act by wanting to leave. Me! I'd done everything my god, my order, and my country ever asked of me and then some! I've healed hundreds, thousands over the years. I couldn't handle the constant pressure and expectations anymore and it was beginning to make my magic unreliable and, quite frankly, dangerous. I'm burned out, Cyn. All I'm asking is for a place to stay for a while."

Cyneric could feel a headache coming on and rubbed at his temples to try to stave it off. This was not what he needed on his plate today. On top of that fiasco with the young acolyte defacing the statue of Hermes by dyeing the water blue (he had never liked that fountain- or the sewers beneath- much and it had certainly seen worse over the years, but that kind of sacrilegious act could not be encouraged), this morning the Gate had once again malfunctioned and sent a dazed and soot-covered Messenger to Joven instead of Logging Town. Then another acolyte had been caught stealing, two ordained priests, who certainly should have known better, had gotten into a fight over an assignment both wanted, and now he was being asked to harbor the runaway of another deity. Was it just frazzled nerves from the summer's heat affecting everyone or had he angered a curse-bearing gypsy without realizing?

At least this situation was one he did not have to face alone. He returned to the door and upon opening it, spotted someone walking down the hall. Almost amazed that something had gone his way today, he told the boy "I need you to find Brother Rafion and send him up here as soon as possible. He should be in the courtyard."

After the young priest-in-training had bounded away with a ″Yes, sir!″, he turned to see that Seph had ceased scowling and, surprisingly, looked almost happy. "Raff's here, too?"

"I promoted him to weapons master a few months ago, so technically he is now here on permanent assignment. I thought I had mentioned that." Even if he hadn't, surely Raff would have- but the half-elf's handwriting did look something like a drunken, ink-covered spider had meandered across the page. Perhaps the person interpreting Seph's mail had thought it said "whimsical monkey", which would have also been an accurate term.

"I must have left before the letter got there." That answer made far more sense, although now Cyneric was stuck on the idea of training spiders as scribes and almost missed Seph's following question. "How does he like getting to beat people on a daily basis?"

"Too much. In hindsight, perhaps I should have made him the cook or the math instructor."

The disheveled man actually snorted. "I've tasted what he calls food and, if it's possible, his ability to count is even worse. Counting apples might make his head explode."

Cyneric was saved from having to defend the other Messenger- not that he could, as he was having a hard enough time trying not to laugh as he certainly agreed- by a knock at the door and the entrance of the one of which they spoke.

″What's this Liz says about a hobo?″ Leave it to Raff to enter a conversation so tactfully- and so obliviously. As he tried to get through the doorway without tripping over the medium-sized dog that pushed past his legs, he failed to notice that anyone besides Cyneric was in the room.

Raff carefully dropped the padded helm he had been holding in order to tie back his long hair and distractedly ordered, ″Jack, heel!″ The armor and padding he wore did little to hide his slight frame; although now in his forties, thanks to his elven heritage he still did not look much older than the group of young acolytes he had been instructing. This, coupled with his constant cheerful and somewhat flighty attitude, had caused the Messengers who had not known him well to shirk on those lessons. At first. They had soon realized that this youthful instructor took his duty- and his weapons- very seriously.

Not heeding the half-hearted command, the shaggy mutt dashed across the room to jump into Seph's lap and begin licking at the scruffy man's face. This surprised Cyneric, as the dog rarely strayed from Raff's side and even more rarely showed affection to strangers, having explained that he was ″the elf's protector and companion″. Considering that it had shown up just before Raff crossed paths with a dragon and a cursed artifact, Cyneric figured it ″spoke″ the truth. He had not bothered to explain to it that it was technically his job to be those things since getting into an argument with a dog would be a waste of time; besides, Raff could use all the help he could get to stay out of trouble.

What then surprised the high priest even more was that instead of pushing the dog off, Seph briefly hugged it close and began talking softly to it as though it would understand him. Cyneric knew that it could communicate with the Messengers any time it wished, much like his recently god-sent fox was able to, but how could Seph- who wasn't of their order- know that the dog was more than it seemed? And who the heck would snuggle a strange dog, anyway?

While Cyneric remained baffled by magical canines, Raff had finally noticed where his pet had ended up. ″Jack, heel″ he repeated, then added in a ″Blast it, get over here!″ when it continued to ignore him. At last it jumped down, but remained near Seph's feet as it began gnawing at its paw, as though daring Raff to try to order it around again. Cyneric had to hide a grin behind his hand when he saw the dumbfounded expression on his mate's face; Raff had never had an animal ignore him before.

Shaking his head, the half-elf began to apologize, ″I'm sorry about him. Jack's never done that before.″ He did not seem to realize who he spoke to, despite knowing Seph far better than Cyneric did. It must have been the beard.

Seph seemed to play along with the fact that his friend was clueless by paying no mind to the apology. ″Is he actually a dog acting like a dog? I think he's too shaggy to be another fox trying to trick me, but I wouldn't put that past you or a fox.″

Again that dumbfounded expression returned and Raff blinked in confusion several times before exclaiming, ″Saef?? Ye look like something the dog dragged in!″ Despite being fluent in the human tongue for now more than half of his life, the half-elf still retained some of the brogue that had come with the language he had originally spoken.

Oh yes, that elf is ever so tactful, Cyneric thought with a grimace, but quickly realized he had no reason to worry. Seph grinned his crooked smirk and remarked, ″So he is a dog. Thanks for not stringing me along this time.″

Raff hurried over to squeeze the man's hand in greeting; had he not been padded in layers of leather armor, he probably would have hugged him enthusiastically, which was his usual greeting towards almost anybody. No wonder people thought he was decades younger than his actual age. ″What're you doing here?″ he asked as he slunk down into the other chair next to Seph's. Even weighed down with armor, he moved like a cat.

″Who better for a down-on-his-luck delinquent to entreat for aid from a trying situation than the high priest of an accommodating religious order?″ was Seph's sarcastically wordy reply.

″He's here to call in a favor from someone who owes him greatly and has the authority to help,″ Cyneric clarified when the half-elf's eyes began to glaze over.

When Seph nodded, Raff looked from one human to the other appearing to still not follow what the two of them were talking about. ″You, Cyn? I don't understand. Wouldn't it be me who owes him? I mean, I was the one he saved from- ye know.″

After twenty years, Raff still did not feel comfortable talking about his time spent captured. If it hadn't been for Seph opening up communication through letters, knowing from experience as a healer from a war-ravaged country that in situations like this there was someone who would be both prying and concerned, Cyneric never would have entirely found out what had happened. That, too, he owed Seph for, although eventually they had begun corresponding because they had become friends of a sort. At particularly introspective times, Cyneric sometimes wondered if learning at sixteen that such evil existed in the world had in a way destroyed some of his innocence long before he would have come to learn this as an adventurer. Perhaps that had been part of the reason he was ever after prone to fits of paranoia and cynicism, although, despite his silence about the subject, Raff himself never seemed to be half as affected by what had happened to him.

″Follow that thought through, Greeneyes,″ the high priest prompted. There were days when the half-elf could have momentary flashes of surprisingly astute insight and then there were times where he could be as dense as a rock. Cyneric knew to be patient and wait until Raff caught up with the situation when it was one of his slower days.

After a moment more of thought, the elven priest replied with chagrin, ″Oh. Right. That should've been obvious. What do you need from Cyn, Saef?″

The once-priest began to fumble with his sleeves again, as though that was a nervous habit whenever he was uncomfortable. ″I'm looking for a place to stay for a while. I left my order.″

Raff's reaction was the same as Cyneric's had been. ″Ye did what?″

The dog began to whine softly. Seph reached down to scratch its ears, which seemed to calm both of them a bit. ″Like I was saying earlier, I got to the point where I felt smothered. I just couldn't handle the pressure anymore. Everyone was expecting too much from me, as though they thought I was some sort of miracle-bringer and not just a talented healer. My faith was slipping and it was making my ability to heal unreliable. Some days it was as strong as ever, some days it wouldn't work at all. I figured I should leave before it caused a huge problem.″

As if in awe of the wreck that was his friend's life, Raff tried to stammer out several questions at once. ″What? But- I don't... How- What did you do when the magic didn't work?″ was the one he finally settled on.

Seph nudged with his foot the small satchel that sat on the floor next to the dog. ″Salves, poultices, and herbs- and hope that one of my brothers or sisters was nearby if things got too bad.″

Now it was Cyneric's turn to give a more thought-out comment. ″What I do not understand is how you could leave when your skills were so needed.″

Seph's head snapped up when he heard that. Letting go of the dog in order to sit up with his back straight, he said defensively, ″I didn't leave them in the lurch, if that's what you mean. There are other healers just as strong as I was with far better faith; I was just the one that people knew about. Eros must have been okay with my decision because no calamity hit me on the way out.″

So at least the healer had not been his order's only hope and he had his god's approval, although probably not his blessing. Hopefully that meant that Cyneric would not be struck down himself by helping Seph. Silently he said a short prayer to Hermes hoping that his next words would not be a mistake. ″You helped out a Messenger when he needed it most; for that I will gladly give you what you ask. For helping this one in particular, I owe you far more than that. Raff, I'll need you to find him a spot to stay in the mosque until I think of a more permanent solution. Perhaps Hermes will have a suggestion.″

The half-elf nodded emphatically and while the relief on Seph's face was evident, he still seemed somewhat unsure. Had he really thought that he would be turned out or did he fear what the judgment of a god might be? Trying to reassure him, Cyneric told the healer gently, ″Do not worry, Seph. Gods willing, everything will be fine.″

Seph nodded but said no words of thanks as he followed the dog out of the room; for all that Cyneric had asked Raff to help the healer, it seemed as though the dog wanted to lead him instead. At the door he carefully stepped around the discarded helmet then said low under his breath to his guide, ″Yeah, I know how this works. Just lead and I'll follow.″

Raff noticed the lack of gratitude as well; a sheepish expression crossed his face once he was alone with the other Messenger. ″I think he's relieved. I know he doesn't like asking for help,″ he explained, then looked up at Cyneric with thankfulness in his bright green eyes. ″He's a bit of an arse, but this means a lot to me, Cyn.″

The high priest leaned down to kiss his mate's brown hair softly. ″I know, love. Trust that I will find a way to repay him.″

The half-elf grinned up at him, then bent to pick the bags up off the floor. Before he could follow Seph and the canine out, Cyneric stopped him. ″Hold on a second. Do you know why he is acting like he understands Jack? Does that seem odd to you?″

Raff shrugged as best as he could considering the burden of armor and Seph's possessions. ″Until a few months ago he had a fox that was like yours. I guess he's used to silently talking animals.″

In Raff's preoccupation with trying to carry the packs and retrieve his helmet on the way out, he didn't notice that Cyneric's jaw had dropped. How had a priest of Eros gotten a divine fox of Hermes, something only the Head Messengers received? And how could he talk with a sort of magical dog when he wasn't even a priest anymore? Cyneric fought the sudden pressing desire to go bang his head against the wall until the world began to make sense again and settled on walking over to the corner of the room where a small shrine was set up. He had the glimmering of an idea of what to do with Seph that had started when the healer mentioned in passing that he could still heal without magic- a very useful skill- but he definitely needed some divine guidance. Divine guidance and possibly some answers; his god had some explaining to do.

((After writing that silly list of things that might happen to my characters, I realized that I was on to something with three of them and this plot bunny was born. This may or not be what happens in five years, but I'm leaning towards this being pretty darn accurate. This ficlet references a few things from The Acolyte's Map but it's mainly pulling from "In the Cards", the novel I'm still working on. Someday I'll share what happened when Raff was taken prisoner and why Seph shares some abilities with the Messengers!))

Speculating on the future...

While rambling to my writing partner in crime, I got to thinking about where my characters are going to be in ten years (their time). What I came up with was this list, which is maybe 20% accurate. ;)

Seph: Herbalist. The blind priest, finally sick of being the most powerful magic-wielding healer in his country and having no personal life, hobbies, or friends because of this, has renounced his calling to become a simple village healer far from home. Knowing someone who has a penchant for taking in strays- and who owes him a huge favor- he finds himself on the doorstep of:

Cyneric: High priest. Magical woopie cushion idea now completed, he's well on his way to making the first custard pie machine- having forgotten about the paperwork sitting on his desk for the past month. Oops. Has created a nonprofit (prophet?) organization to rehabilitate and find good homes for monsters of the humanoid persuasion (satisfaction not guaranteed). Tired of their only means of communication being letters and spotting an obvious opportunity that the other high priests have missed, has promoted:

Raff: Weapons Master. He's gleefully smacking around the acolytes who, thinking he's no older than they as he hasn't aged much in the past twenty years, incorrectly assume this goofy instructor doesn't take fighting seriously. Having run out of names for pet mice by this point, he has opted to instead have a giant tortoise for a pet. Immediately regrets this decision.

Kryro: Tribe leader. The scholarly centaur is still trying to figure out how, when, and why the heck he's now in charge; this must have been while he was off learning his tenth language. Working a losing battle on teaching his tribe to read and not throw the books at kobolds while all the while wishing he could get some help from his now-educated sister and former guard-partner:

Meren: Mage. Now possessing the title of "Lady Meren Woods-Ward", she has finally figured out how to keep intruders out of her forest without the place burning down around her large ears, but...

Phillip: ?. He is no longer going by his birth name and is currently on his eighth mage-name; switches them out every time his moral compass shifts from Good to Evil to Crazy and back again. Probably killed by said wood elf who got sick of him poking around said forest yet again- unless he married her instead. Still an Illusionist; happy about this. Still purple; annoyed by this. Possibly not so annoyed if now dead or married.

Piper: Top-ranked priestess. After much searching for a cure to break her curse, is finally back to two legs and no wings and has moved up in rank to now bear the esteemed surname of Windborne. On a life-long quest to prevent shipwrecks, travel the world, and get her orc to stop wearing that ridiculous hat. Her partner in crime is:

Tavin: Roving Shaman. Over his phobia of fire at long last, he remains quite happy to call the open sea his home. Next to the color of the water he looks a bit less green, so it's probably a good thing that he doesn't get seasick. He's still working on a way to hide his fangs, but since his main concern had been de-birding his girlfriend, he figures he now has time to sort that one out.

Clover: Also a "?". This halfling may or may not be A.)sane, B.)alive C.)good D.)evil E.)indifferent F.)conniving G.)picking the pockets of every sap she meets H.)following/looting/influencing/tricking any/some/all of the characters above.

This is silly, but now I'm itching to write some of this nonsense! ;)

~Meri

Halfway Human (Part 1 - Prologue)

As narrated by Raff Goldenstrings
May 8th, 695CC
Thirteen years prior to the events in The Acolyte's Map

The fox has instructed me that I'm t'tell this truthfully and completely, leaving out nothing this time. I feel silly speaking t'naught but the air- and my pet mouse and the bossy fox, I suppose- but Felix says that I needs must speak what's true t'atone for the false I told the healer earlier. I don't understand this. I've been taught t'bend the truth when I needta and I didn't speak false so much as leave bits out. Why are the words I use around Saef so important that I must be chastened so by his- our- animal guide? Maybe I shouldn't of- shouldn't have- even bothered telling Saef anything, but I'm not sure he was convinced I'm what I say I am. Okay, and I was also kind of hoping my story would get a smile out of him. He never smiles and I'm not entirely convinced that he knows how t'laugh. I wish I knew why he's always so grumpy and prickly. I mean, he wasn't the one captured...

But that's nothing t'do with what I've been instructed t'say. I must do as I'm bid, especially when it comes from a fox, and hope I finish before Saef returns; he already thinks me crazy for talking t'animals. I can only imagine what he'd do if he found me talking t'the sky! Most of what I said t'him was true. I am a priest of Hermes; two months ago I was ordained and given the title ″Prior″. (Maybe a bit longer than two months, now as I think on it; I was in the dark place so long, I don't rightly know today's date.) I know I don't seem old enough t'be more than an acolyte, but I truly am older'n I look. I'm twenty-two, 'though if I'm t'be honest, were I human it would perhaps be more like seventeen. The other Messengers were never really sure what age t'treat me, so it was assumed I was of age with the young acolytes I trained with.

'Tis somewhat strange for me t'be a Messenger, with my pointed ears and all, but we all do come from different walks of life. Farm boys, children of merchants and traders, young people who grew up knowing the woods as I did, even nobles; my mate's a nob, as is a lass who trained with us. Any can be picked for this order, so long as they have something that makes them fit. Generally that trait is mischief, but our skills and hobbies vary as much as our backgrounds do. All this is the truth, as is what I told Saef about my life 'fore entering the priesthood.

I was raised by my mother and grew up around her kin; they're trackers, rangers, and various woodsy sorts. My da would visit us, but he was never so good at spending time in the wilderness and my mum always says she isn't comfortable in cities. (I still don't know how that relationship ever worked... but now that I'm older and have a love, I guess I can personally attest that sometimes opposites do attract!) My father was always amused that I joined up with a human priesthood despite my upbringing which should have left me more elf than human. He never got t'see me ordained though; he passed a few years back. My mum's always refused t'tell me exactly what happened and she'd become distraught whenever I asked, so I stopped. Maybe someday she'll tell me, but I haven't the heart t'upset her. This, too, is all truth.

Where it got a bit hazy was when I started goin' deeper with my tale of how I came t'be a Messenger. At the fox's request, I'll try t'speak clearer and tone down my accent so I'm more understandable. Felix, ye know no one's listening, aye? ... You know no one is listening, correct? Better? You are worse than the priest who instructed us in languages, ye know- I'm amazed that dealing with me didn't make him hand in his robes and run off t'be a hermit, far away from stubborn and thickheaded elves.

((This narration takes place during "In the Cards" [my current novel that's also currently a messy rough draft], shortly after he meets Seph [whose name he can't pronounce yet], and is introducing a short story about Raff's past. I'll be posting the next part soon!))