It wasn’t until the next evening that the tall man dressed in black and a scarred right hand made it back to the far lands to the north where ruins of old kingdoms stood in the lifeless tundra. Their dark stone bodies reaching as high as they could be built now crumbled with decay. They didn’t look like bastions of old anymore but corpses of the past laying where they fell just to become dust again. Though, many of the structures that dotted these lands held no further use, the stranger had made one his home.

Far into the cold depths of the north, where only the wolves and bears rule, nestled behind the jagged ridges of the twin mountain ranges that towered over the rest of the snow-draped peaks, a lone castle preserved in the constant frost stood in the narrow pass leading to the east. Icicles hung from its overhanging balconies and the base was packed so heavily with snow that the large wooden door was barely exposed. The windows that lacked glass were coated with layers of ice that had whipped against the bastion for centuries. It resembled more of an ice palace now, but to the man who strolled up the deer path and onto the short cobbled road leading up to the door, it was home.

The mans cloak whipped around his neck in the merciless wind as he used his sword to chop the ice away from the door. White powder flew everywhere as he hacked away and slowly chipped closer to finally ramming the door open. Once a large pile of shavings laid at his feet and the grain of the wood door was visible he stepped back, got a running start, and shoved his shoulder through the barrier of ice and fell through the door that swung open into the warm interior that awaited him.

“Welcome home, Morith,” the tall, dark haired woman said as she held the door open for his entrance before closing it again. She shook her head and crossed her gloved arms as she watched him writhe on the floor in a pile of ice shards. “You know I could just snap my fingers and you’d be back here in a second.”

The man who was still reeling from the collision slowly slipped his cloak and hood off as he sat up. Then he gripped the clothe tied over his mouth and ripped it away exposing his pale skin and deep blue eyes. His short hair was matted against his head from the labor of the journey and a strong growth of stubble framed his sharp jaw and lips. He then slowly stood up from the floor and hung his cloak on the hook by the door before turning to unwind in his home.

“I like seeing the people’s faces,” Morith said as he wandered down the short hall towards the main chamber that opened up into a large room. At the other end a deep fireplace was built into the wall with piles of wood stuffed in to keep the frost at bay. The flames roared out into the rest of the room a few feet while throwing its heat in every corner. The shadows of the piled up books and parchment stacked on high danced against the damp, steaming walls as well as the man and woman’s shadows as they moved through the room.

Morith immediately went to the warm embrace of the flames where the thick hide of a black bear was spread out on the floor and calling to him. Morith stripped the sword and it’s scabbard off his back and dropped them onto a nearby table to his right, making the papers stacked there flutter off to the ground, before collapsing into the fur.

“Hey!” the woman shouted with annoyance making Morith pull his head up from the hide to look at her, “those were all organized!”

Morith turned his head to look over at the handful of parchments that had met the ground. Then, his gaze wandered to the rest of the room where no surface was clear of clutter. Books of old works and tales scribbled on dirty paper by mad men took up almost every space. The three tables that had been here when Morith found this place could no longer be seen, papers draped over them like cheap tablecloths of varying sizes. Maps hung by string littered the ceiling as the walls were too wet to hang them there and would damage the ink. Even the candle chandelier that hung above made of elk antlers was decorated with delicate displays of words that even Morith had no knowledge of. The only two places that remained without a mess ontop of them was the hide that Morith liked to rest on and the desk in the other corner of the room near the entrance where the woman studied and now stood glaring at Morith.

“Yes, because this is proper organization, Saerek” Morith stated as he sat upright and leaned towards the table to collect the dropped papers.

The woman, who stood a few inches over six feet and was gifted with a figure that even the most royal of princesses would make a deal with the old gods to even achieve, finally grew a smile on her face which Morith thought threw the warmest glow upon the world.

“The only reason you can do what you do out there is because I’m here making sure you don’t screw up the rest of what’s out there.” Saerek explained as she sat in the old rocking chair behind the desk and kicked her heeled boots up as she leaned back.

After Morith placed the papers back on the table where he thought they should go, he turned back to see Saerek was no longer with him. Her body was still relaxed in the chair and her eyes remained open but she was somewhere else and traveling with another. Morith gingerly stepped over the clutter to check on his old friend and leaned over the desk to look into her vacant eyes. Her tiny pupils twitched as she viewed another place far from here and her nails dug into the armrests as she felt the others pain.

Morith grew fearful of what she was seeing. He knew the danger of what she did for him, especially when her gaze is latched to him. The first time that he let her do this to him they both barely survived but they were now much stronger because of it. Morith couldn’t imagine what Saerek must’ve felt when she attached to him for the first time and her gaze saw every moment he had lived. But even back then, he knew that if she could survive within him even for a day that the woman was far more valuable than he had first thought and from then the mutual understanding grew to an adoration.

As Morith went back to the rug and settled once again in front of the fire, Saerek returned with a hard jolt. She shivered uncontrollably for the first few moments of her return but finally settled and eased her grip on the chair. Only the soft crackles of the fire filled the room while the wind howled against the door until slowly muffled by the gathering ice forming over it again.

“You alright?” Morith inquired while staring into the fire.

“More importantly,” Saerek explained as she caught her breath, “she is alright.”

“Who?” Morith asked.

“The girl that you heroically rescued from the clutches of evil, or however your going to put it when you unite the lands of men,” Saerek explained as she rolled her eyes with a grin. “you are so in love with yourself.”

Morith laughed out loud, his cacophony of sharp torts echoed through the other vacant rooms of the castle and the fire shifted under his breath. It almost seemed like the entire structure quaked under the reverberation. It was still several moments later, after the echo of laughter had stopped, that the castle finally settled again and other noises could be heard.

“yet, you’re the one who tells me where to go, what to bring, and what to expect.” Morith explained sincerely while meeting Saerek’s gaze, “I could have never done any of this without you. And when that time comes when our brothers and sisters can finally see, your name will be written before mine. I’ll make sure of that.”

Saerek shook her head with a smile that crept on her lips. Though she would never admit it, his distant promise did make her feel better about the failures she should have forgotten.

“it seems that your also in love with your own voice,” She replied and buried herself in the open books in front of her.

Morith stared for a bit longer at the woman who had found him. She looked no different than when she first arrived here seeking shelter from the storm and a nameless enemy that she refused to speak of since that day. She had found him somehow in this frozen wasteland that both gods and men had forgotten. Where they feared to venture, she walked amongst the ice while guided by the starving wolves to Morith’s sanctuary. She was a lost soul like him and he welcomed her into his abode of silence and shadows. From the very first glimpse of her face, Morith realized that it wasn’t him who would rule the bloodlines of men, but her.

Morith finally tore his gaze from her and settled back in front of the fire, staring past the flames and scorched wood to the blackened bricks behind them. The soot had gathered so much that the impressions of the bricks were no longer visible and instead was a thick, lumpy layer of ash. In the brief moments before slumber, Morith gazed at the gathering of ash and soot whose lumpy formation resembled words from a language that had never graced a humans tongue before. Morith gathered them in his mind as he drifted off and the inscriptions lingered in his dreams.

In the darkness they come.

Their blood stained fingers are drenched with the innocent.

They are cruel, sadistic fiends who feed off of fear.

We are worse.

Chapter 1

Deep in the cold of night, when the skies grew black and the clouds haunted above, there was stirring in the small hut at the edge of the village. This small haven, tucked within the forests of the western coast, was formerly thought to be a peaceful sanctuary from the rest of the kingdoms whose rulers always seemed to be at war. However, it quickly became apparent to the stranger who stood in the surrounding woods that this place was far from what it seemed.

The stranger lingered at the edge of the tree line staring through the darkness at the furthest house from the gathering of abodes. The humble lodge stood in a clearing by itself, and its foundation was raised a bit higher than the rest which suggested a cellar below. While all the rest of the homes were dark, this one was brightly lit inside with candles that threw their soft glow through the windows. Every moment a shadow passed through the room. Whatever was occuring inside was happening quickly.

The stranger lowered himself into the tall grass and moved swiftly from one bramble patch to the next while keeping his eyes on the lively home. In moments, the stranger had crossed the open field and now approached the backside of the house. His heart began to race as he heard voices coming from within. The stranger pressed himself against the wall, his cotton armor making no noise as he moved, and leaned towards the cracked window to listen. Their were two male voices arguing and filling the silence between were the muffled pleas from a third person, a woman, if the stranger had to guess.

“Aw, to hell with digging!” a gruff, burly voice shouted.

“keep your it down,” the other commanded, his tone was much softer and slurred slightly, “do you want to wake up the whole town?”

“I’m just saying,” the first, rough voice continued, “them funny hats that came looking for supplies the other day told me that they’d pay five gold coins for a cold body and ten for a fresh one. Well, I ain’t gonna go dig up old papa or Nana am i?”

“Let me just ask you,” the softer voice inquired, “what was wrong with our last dealings? The young boys at the college pay seven gold for a dead body, no matter how rotted it is, and you want to break that to deal with some backwoods creeps that probably don’t even have that kind of gold?”

“if you want to break your back for just that small of a earning, then you go right ahead,” the gruffer man the seemed to strain himself as he wrestled with his new investment, “It’s alright darling. I ain’t gonna do it just yet. It’s a full days ride to those funny hats in the mountain and you need to be fresh.”

Suddenly, the muffled screams grew more desperate as the fresh body was moved from her spot into the cellar below. The stranger outside in the darkness listened further to the footsteps as the cries for help grew faint. The stranger could only assume that she was being tucked away, stored for later until the man had gotten enough rest to make the travel. The strangers stomach churned in a sickly swirl as he listened to the cellar door slam shut and the two men bicker on.

“youre just gonna leave her down there?” the slightly gentler man asked, “for how long?”

“Not long,” the gruff one explained, “took awhile to convince her that I had a room that she could rent. Got three gold and more to come from her. I think I’ll eat before heading out, I’m famished from that bitch.”

“Youre disgusting,” the gentler stated, still giving no sign of opposing the other man. Probably, in fear that he would end up in the womans place soon. “I’m going to stick to the deal we use to have while you go mad with your new friends up in those mountains.”

Suddenly, the front door opened then slammed shut and the man's disgruntled partner stormed away. His footsteps grew further away until he entered his own home across the village and retired in a fit. Meanwhile, the stranger, the unseen man who wore no armor on his shoulders or chest and on his back carried the heavy longsword of a nameless smith, crept above on the roof. The fragile straw material beneath his feet shifting loudly with each step which drew the residents attention.

“Herald?” the gruff man called out, “is that you?”

The stranger who was indeed not herald drew the sword from his back and slowly scraped the razor-edge over the bricks in the walls. The noise was bound to send shivers up the other man's back, but instead it seemed to have pissed him off. Especially, when the stranger swung the tip of his sword down against the window causing the glass to shatter.

“What the fuck is going on?” the man squalled.

The front door then flung open and the man stepped out from his house. He was already cursing and spitting at the assailant that harassed him while his head spun in every direction trying to spot the culprit. The man stood just about as tall as the roof and most of those inches had come from his waist while his arms hung like hammers at his sides. Finally, when he couldn’t spot the trouble, a sudden shifting of straw made him turn to look up at the stranger who was barely visible in this darkness.

“Little tara?” the man inquired again, having no clue whose eyes he was staring back at, “you’re momma’s gonna be worried sick if you’re out here this late.”

Then, that black silhouette where the only light reflecting off it was from its eyes, a wide smile grew into a devilish grin. The figure then stepped closer to the edge of the roof, his sword following swiftly to caress the face of disproportioned beast below who now seemed to realize what the stranger was judging by the look in their eyes. The cold steel tip traveled from the man's nose down to his lips before the stranger finally answered.

“I’m the hellhound in the stories that your mother read to you. I’m the demon that the pastor tells you to pray away. I am the nightmares that keep you from sleep.” The stranger claimed, knowing full well that his warning wouldn’t be heeded.

The strangers right hand clenched the hilt of the sword tight as the other man grew a wild look in his eyes. For a moment, it almost looked as if the larger man was going to attempt running past the blade back inside to get a weapon himself. The strangers grin grew further and he finally pulled his sword away from the other man's face.

“I suppose you wish for a fair fight?” the black-clad stranger then asked to which the larger man couldn’t answer in his confusion. However, the jagged-toothed, balding beast still rushed in and grabbed and axe sitting by the fire and just as he turned around, the strangers sword dove through his neck.

The cold metal sliced through the taller man's flesh with little effort from the sword's user. The stranger moved the blade back and forth, sawing the meat from the mans jaw down to his collarbones and continued until the gurgling corpse finally fell in a twitching pile. His eyes hung wide and stared at the hooded stranger whose face still remained hidden in this light while they wiped the blood of their sword on the fresh body’s chest. The sickening man who had previously seemed to have his future planned out ahead him was nothing more than hot flesh on the floor as he witnessed his last moments in this world.

The stranger's smile lingered for a bit longer. He couldn’t help but stare at the still jerking body as he savored their torment and the end of the suffering they had inflicted for years. This is what the stranger lived for. In many ways he had once thought of himself no different than the man lying lifeless on the floor, no better than a rabid animal taking pleasure from other people’s pain, but he was quickly taught to realize that he was worse than them. He loved the scent of their flesh even more than they did with their own victims. Their blood smelled richer, their souls seemed to scream more when they left, their hypocrisy coming back to them. These, human beasts were far more a prize than any wild game to the stranger.

On this night, the stranger collected the blood of a man who had been a nightmare to many. He carved the head away and threw it onto the dying fire for no reason other than to entertain himself, and was lost in the fun of a successful hunt until the muffled cries for help reminded him of the captured woman. The stranger scrambled down the rickety ladder into the cellar, a dark and musty place where even the stranger had a difficult time seeing. Still, he proceeded through the narrow empty shelving to the end of the hand-dug trench, and against the wall with her clothes torn at the shoulders and her long red hair matted with sweat, knelt a young woman whose hands had been tied together and secured to the bottom of a support beam that kept that cellar from collapsing.

The stranger didn’t smile now. His fingers only grew cold and his legs grew numb as he stared at the victim. She was already so terrified that she was weeping and begging through the darkness to be spared as she could not see who the visitor was. She kicked towards him and bit on the cloth gag tied in her mouth as she still fought for her salvation. The stranger figured that however he approached this could potential end badly. So, he suddenly grabbed her left wrist, pulled a small dagger from his belt and placed it firmly in her hand before running as fast as he could out of the cellar.

The stranger stayed crouched in the vegetation outside and waited for the woman to emerge while hoping she hadnt fumbled with the dagger. Eventually, just as the stranger expected, the woman flew out of the house in a panic while brandishing the knife with both fists clenching it and pointing it in every direction she turned. She lingered for several moments a few feet from the door and her wide eyes searched for danger.

“Just run,” the stranger whispered at such a distance she would’ve never heard him, “please, just run.”

Finally, the woman took off on swift feet into the seclusion of the trees behind the home and disappeared into the night. Her journey to the next village would be long but atleast she could defend herself now and a keen eye watched over her from a distant place. Every step she took from now on was overseen by the hex placed upon her when the stranger found her. She may have not seen his face but he saw her eyes and that’s all he needed to transfer the hovering gaze of another from himself to her.

For these reasons, the stranger didn’t follow the woman. Instead he ventured further into the village for information. The stranger mendered between the houses peeking into the windows as he passed by to see the slumbering villagers inside tucked together in one bed, their lives seeming so tranquil and distant to the horrors happening around them. The stranger shuddered as he wondered how innocent each family appeared, he then began to wonder if they did know of the calamity within their haven and just turned their backs toward it, letting the ugly beast of evil men prosper under their noses. Perhaps, they even had a hand in it.

As the stranger neared the next home, he gripped the black amulet hidden beneath his shirt while he settled his mind and nerves. The jagged piece of obsidian decorated and enveloped in fine silver hung on a leather necklace around the stranger's neck which snapped as he tugged on it and held the blessed item firmly in his fist. Once he arrived at the door to the house he sought, the stranger clenched his teeth, gripped the amulet harder until the sharp edges cut into his hand, then quietly pushed the door open.

The home rested like all the others, dark and settling into the night while the skinnier man had already bedded down after his late night visit with his former friend. Suddenly, the air grew colder making him and his duaghter stir uncomfortably while they slept. The little girl was tucked against the wall closest to the firesplace’s dying embers and bundled up with all the blankets in the house. Meanwhile, the father, who only kept a thin hide for himself to keep warm, was awakened by the cold. He rose slowly, keeping the hide wrapped tightly around him as he went to close the door that had been blown open by the wind. However, he stopped as he noticed the dark silhouette of the visitor to his house standing over the bed looking down at his daughter.

“What the hell!” the scrawny, dirty man exclaimed and scrambled for the carving knife on the table.

His hand reached for the small blade but before he could reach it, three fingers on his right hand were suddenly taken away. The man, shocked by the painless injury, held the gushing nubs on his hand and clutched them with his other heavily to stop the bleeding as he watched the stranger hold his young daughter.

“Youre one of the Black Coats aren’t you?” the man inquired while weeping as the pain finally shot through his nerves. “the kings dogs right? I’ve heard about your kind. Reapers of the poor. Your kind has killed armies and now the king sicks you on us, the people who pay to make your master rich. You’ve come to kill us in the name of your king haven’t you?”

The stranger only held the young girl in one arm while gently unwrapping the cocoon of blankets to veiw her face. She couldn’t have been more than a year old and was a miracle in itself that she survived in this village, let alone the natural, harsh elements that showed mercy to no-one. The stranger smiled as he finally peeled the last flap of fabric back to reveal her fair, untouched skin.

“no,” the stranger then replied as he gently rocked the girl back into her deep slumber, “men who stand by and do nothing have kings. Scared little boys who are too frightened to stand up and fight for what’s right and too weak to hold their shields against evil have kings. I have no king as the men who have tried to rule me die upon their thrones.”

The stranger then set the child down at the foot of the bed where she would be the warmest before turning back to the scrawny coward, “I am the man who seeks answers tonight and you will speak those answers to me as if you were telling them to the very god that you pray to. Don’t think about asking him for help either, he’s all the way up there and I am right here.” The little man shuddered as the stranger explained and gestured towards the sky with a grin that only a demon could wear.

Whether the father was staring into the fiery eyes of hell itself or a feral deity reeking its vengeance on the world, he knew that he had no other choice but to obey and answer whatever the man wanted to know. The two then sat down at the table for the remaining hours of the night and discussed the conversation that happened earlier in the other house.

It wasn’t until the sun started to peek over the eastern horizon and shine it’s beams through the trees that the stranger felt satisfied with what he had just learned. He then left the seven fingered man and the village to enjoy the peaceful morning while they discovered the mutilated remains of the resident in the lonely house. They could only wonder about the monster who had done this, a beast so ill that it craved the spilt blood of other beasts. Only the father who had been kept awake all night by the beast knew its name, and he didn’t dare to even utter it to anyone as the red stains of his own blood on his floor reminded him everyday of its fury.

*of vampires, sorry. For narrative purposes (fanfic for Baldurs Gate 3, if youre familiar) I was thinking of the different methods a vampire could use to lure in victims. I need 7, for each vampire character, who need to get a victim into their masters palace without killing them first or drawing attention.

Im trying to give them distinct characters, and maybe they started off with a method they can justify to themselves, as they are being forced into this life by their master, and must do it regularly.

If youre familiar with BG3, one vampire uses sex to lure people in (also I strongly advise BG3, you should play it immediately). I think another would pretend to be a doctor and can assess sick or dying people, so she doesn't feel so guilty when they're killed as theyre dying already. One of the others might lure in thieves with a plan to rob the mansion, so at least the victims are criminals. Or posing as a priest picking up the "poor frozen urchins", figuring they might as well die warm inside the mansion than cold outside it

Although I suppose they don't need to be nice about it, I'm just hoping to think of a distinct "hunting method" for each. Any suggestions would be appreciated.

The only other thing I thought is an arrangement with the prison to give them prisoners who are to be executed, but that comes a bit close to a massive conspiracy rather than just keeping under the radar, which doesnt work. It has to be subtle, to ensure they get away with it for centuries.

Edit - for those unfamiliar, there are no horses or carts or wagons in BG3. It's a game limitation but in universe, they're quite clear the streets are too narrow and winding to allow it. So anything that involves transporting them is off the table (also explains why the prison thing would be hard - how to get a prisoner from the jail to the palace without being spotted).

Edit again - the doctor would need to make the patients invisible to get them from the hospital to the mansion, so I'd prefer not to use this method again. Seems too easy and convenient - a "get out of jail free" Kind of deal.

Was it a quote you wrote from in your story? Did you determine your title early on in your writing process, or did it suddenly hit you during your book’s peak moment? Does it foreshadow anything in your main plot arc? Were you ever advised by an agent or editor to revise it to something different? Did you publish under a title and have any regrets about not choosing something different? Etc., etc.

I always find the thought behind these determinations interesting and love hearing how other writers came up with theirs. I’ve been (very) slowly writing my first novel, and I still have yet to determine it. I’m thinking it’ll hit me at some point once I get further in, but curious if hearing your experiences will spark something.

Hi all, I'm pretty new to the fantasy genre, so I've been playing around with writing some shorter stories just for myself to try to get more into it. But my biggest issue is I struggle so hard with names. In my current work, I decided to name my male MC, an elf, Aelric, and asked my friend if this was fine or terrible. And she said she didn't love it, and it gave more dwarf vibes. I've yet to read a story with dwarves, so I have no opinion on that. I was wondering if some of you could assist me in coming up with adequate elf names and maybe offer some tips for how to come up with good names for elves (or any different race, really). I've googled some, and I've realized that I simply don't love a lot of male elf names. I thought about going with Alaric, but I enjoy the ae spelling found in a lot of fantasy names. Perhaps I'm just being dumb, but I would really appreciate some guidance.

I’ve been working on a story idea in the background while I work on my current novella. It involves an unreliable, first-person narrator that is recounting his story, but gradually loses touch with reality, making it difficult for the reader to discern what is “real” and what is not. I suppose it could be compared to Lovecraft’s style.

The narrator, at least in my notes, has no idea that things aren’t real and just carries on. I’m noodling on the idea that some trauma during the story is what has caused his break with reality - most likely a real situation that is hidden from the reader but told by the narrator as a delusional version.

Is anyone familiar with a similar idea? I know that Lovecraft explored insanity as a theme, but I can’t find anything that fits the idea exactly. I am curious to know if it might be confusing for the reader.

When building your world, how central is magic to the plot and your characters' motivations? Is it simply a functional tool to move the story forward, or does it play a fundamental role in shaping the narrative and themes?

For example:

• Does the plot revolve around magic itself? Are the characters’ primary goals tied to mastering, understanding, or controlling magic for its own sake?
• Is magic a way to achieve a greater goal? Like in Mistborn or The Lord of the Rings, where mastering/controlling magic is essential, but the story's focus is on broader goals.
• Is magic a secondary element? In some stories, characters’ personal goals, ambitions, and conflicts are central, and while magic exists, it’s not the driving force. Like in The Cruel Prince, magic plays a role in the political and personal stakes, but the story’s focus remains on power struggles, relationships, and intrigue rather than the nature or mastery of magic itself.

How intertwined are your characters' motivations and the magic system? Does magic deeply shape your world and their lives, or is it more of a backdrop to other ambitions and conflicts?

When I start worldbuilding, I get anxious because I'm not writing. When I start to write, I can't move on properly because worldbuiling questions come to my mind like the origin of the characters, the history of the countries, the politics, etc. So I'm looking for a balance, maybe worldbuild up to a point that the story will have a base and then write until I feel like I have to worldbuild again?

Well, curious to know how you guys do it. What is the best way for you? Just to make it clear already: what I want is to write a story in a cool world, not simply build a cool world and that's it. I know worldbuiling is a hobby on itself but it's not enough for me (even though I love doing it). I can't do it only for the sake of worldbuiling, what motivates me is to build a stage for a story to happen.

Anyways, looking forward to hearing from you guys.

Google doc commenter link:
Chapter 1: Her Picture And Her Promise

Tw: Slavery, injury.

I've described this as 'mythological' dark fantasy because it's roughly inspired by Dante, Milton, and Orpheus & Eurydice.

Level with me: is this completely hopeless? I would really appreciate some outside opinions to tell me whether I'm on the right track, or if it needs to be re-written, either in places or just entirely.

I wrote this opening chapter a few days ago and I've been refining it and redrafting it, trying to make it more readable, trying to cut down horrible over-description, all of that, but I feel like I've lost any reasonable sense of perspective on it.

I have a plot for the story, and drafts of later chapters written out, but would you be interested to keep reading this? Does it even make sense? Do I go on too much? Is the pacing too fast? Too slow? Does it read as stupid and edgy? Is it too much? Is it derivative? Too many questions. I'm clearly an idiot because I have no idea about any of them.

I'm nervous about doing this, but if anyone at all reads this and thinks it's not utterly terrible, that'll be a win in my book.

So, I'm making a system of affinity with certain types of magic but I have a certain number I want to reach before I get into the details.

I already made 8 types but I wanted at least 10 so at least 2 more. The types are: fire, water, air, earth, light, dark, chaos, order. The four main ones everyone knows about but the rest I'm going to have to explain a little bit.

Light and darkness are physical attributes. That means a carriage with light magic makes it more "pure" and therefore less heavy. It also makes light sources and darkness is basically the opposite.

Chaos and order are a bit different from light and darkness. Chaos is when two conflicting energies fight for control over something. Like light and darkness. The two of them "fighting" creates chaos. Order is basically always there. If fire burns and air flies then there is order.

I didn't want to use things like life and death because they aren't much different from the "actives" from light and dark nor the "passives" from chaos and order.

I just wanted to finish this already so I can start writing already. Elemental magic is pretty important in my story so I just wanted to finish it right now but I'm stuck with this.

Any ideas what new elements I could add? No need to be something complex or double opposites like light and dark. Anything simple would suffice.

The only thing I ask is that the elements can be seen as different at a glance.

Examples of what I want to avoid is differentiate elements that are essentially the same thing like water and ice. Light, Dark, Chaos and Order may seem the same thing but they all have completely different effects.

(For the rules: I have tried)

A fundamental aspect of my magic system is that a child's magic is hereditary through their maternal grandmother. This creates a braiding effect through families as each generation trains the next.

The introduction to this hereditary magic system will be through a wealthy family dynasty and their matrimonial drama.

Okay, so the wealthy Roosevelt family had a Matron with a spectacular and unique magical ability. Let's just call it "Field 💖" (The Emojis help me and I put similar symbols next to people's names when I draw a family trees, so bear with me.) The Roosevelts developed a cadet branch with the Garcia's when one of the Matron's daughters married a Garcia boy with the power "Decider 🔷"

So...

Main Character Pedro has Field💖.

His Mom has Loop🍥.

MC Abeula has Field💖.

MC Great-Grandfather Gomez was the Garcia boy with Decider🔷 and married a daughter (Loop🍥)

of the illustrious Roosevelt Matron with Field💖.

(Ooh,ok. Part of why I had to talk this out is because keep confusing if the Garcia had to be a boy or girl for this to work! Anyway.)

All of the Illustrious Roosevelt matron's children had Loop🍥, which is a fine power, it's nice, but the Roosevelt's are famous for Field💖! Wars have been won with this power! Illustrious Matron was happy to train Abeula as a child and considered her a Roosevelt, but when Mom was born, Illustrious Roosevelt Matron basically ignored her. Even though she had a Roosevelt power, her family was raised in this foreign Garcia fashion the Roosevelts barely understood or respected. It didn't help that the family would have been prefered Abeula to marry a cadet cousin and braid back into the family, but despite being treated like a princess, she married some other foreigner from her father Gomez's country. And she seemed to be raising Mom and Uncle like... them...

Because Mom was ignored as a child - given lots of financial support from a distance, but no real love - she tried to keep MC Pedro from the Roosevelts, but they wouldn't have that AT ALL because Pedro would have Field💖, making him a Roosevelt no matter how foreign he looked. So all of Pedro's life, he's been told at home that he's a proud Garcia and then told at school and out in polite society he's a proud Roosevelt.

Now ... That feels pretty clear. I have tried to re-write it a few times. Figuring out the rest of the Roosevelt family... I have researched a few different royal families to get down the Feel I wanted.

Illustrious Roosevelt Matron with Field💖.

All of her sons and daughters would have Loop🍥 because that was her mother's ability.

All of her daughters' babies would have Field💖.

All of her son's babies would have new powers from their mother's mothers. Making them possible cadet branches based on their loyalty to the Roosevelt family.

And the other character, let's call her Marie(🪐), she's a cadet branch, but very recently split off, like, her dad is a Roosevelt. But because her mother(🔥) is fanatically loyal to the Roosevelt family, Marie is still treated at like a honorary Roosevelt. She's the third daughter of the youngest grandson(💖) of the Illustrious Roosevelt Matron. She's practically expendable.

Marie grew up with Pedro, a main family boy who likes to pretend that he's a cadet even though he has all of the privileges, respect, and admiration Marie wishes she had. Even though he's a boy and won't be able to pass on his power, he still HAS it and COULD make a name for himself using it. But he talks about making a new family name and leaving behind his family's Garcia vs Roosevelt nonsense. They've never been able to just be friends because the family want s her to watch him and snitch on him when he gets into troublemaking.

The first chapter starts with Pedro going through his little Naruto phase and declaring his Big Dream to leave this family behind and make a name for himself... and then time skips to 15 years later when Marie is arresting Pedro for obstructing her investigation.

The author typed the last period and sighed.

"It's time," he whispered. "Maybe they'll like it. I hope so."

He put the text into a new Google Doc, set the permissions to allow comments and suggestions, and copied the document URL into a new Reddit post. He added the correct flair, tried to make sure he had the right sub-genre and word count in the title, and then, with a tentative click, he posted it for all to see.

Fly, little one, fly!

Seriously, after reading more than 100 critiques, this is my first request for a critique of my own material.

This is the first chapter of what will eventually be a high fantasy novel set in a Japanese-ish world. Any and all criticism is fair game. Feel free to correct typos, give me line edits, tell me if the dialogue is flat, or if the characters are boring. Beat it up.

Most especially, tell me whether you care about the characters at all by the end of it. Would you keep reading? Did it hook you? If not, what do you think I should do about. it.

Thanks for all your help.

The Google Doc is here: Chapter 1: The Fight

-Before Judging, please read the whole post Thank you :,)-

I know it sounds bad, however... I am writing a story where the main character commits suicide and goes on a grand adventure... Despite the tough intro it is a VERY happy tale full of growth, love, and fighting for all that is just.

-THE QUESTION-
HOWEVER! I am stuck on her "why" Why did she commit suicide? What would be the final straw for someone to decide to end her life? I want this to be something that is tough for anyone to deal with...

I have thought about many scenarios... but none of which I feel are relevant to the character- but this is indeed a tale I want to tell... and I want it to feel right... and I want it to feel relatable

-The Gist Of The Story-
So she goes onWith a "Grim Reaper" like character who leads her through "Limbo" and she fights monsters, fights for all that is good and wonderful... (Things that are worth fighting for)- She helps and learns to appreciate every living thing, (there are creatures, fairies, and other fantasy like creatures... Hence why I call this a fantasy novel)

Through the book she eventually learns the meaning of life, she learns that life is indeed worth fighting for... She ends up falling in love with this "grim reaper" like character (He's handsome... and fun loving and care free... with an attitude of positivity and optimism) She literally learns through death that life is something worth fighting for... She helps this character when a big bad comes to "Purgatorium" - (the land between Paradisium and Oblivion... Heaven and Hell basically)... Fighting for these souls who inhabit Purgatorium, her lesson deepens. And she falls further in love with this Grim Reaper Character...

!She does end up being revived in the end... The whole story takes place within the moments from when she is found dead, to the time it took her to get to the hospital, and to be revived!<

But to get there, before that stuff even happens, before her lesson ensues, and before her adventure begins, she kills herself.
I am wondering why... why would a person commit suicide?

(Note: I'm french, please excuse my english)

Hi everyone. Hi have a hard time wrappin my head around something hopefully some of you will be able to help.

So i'm new to the concept of story so i'm trying to understand the terms as best as i can so that i can make the most out of everything i read or watch on the craft.

When trying to figure out the difference between story and plot which for now is still blurry but at least i think i'm on the good road.

Story = A (list) of events in their original/chronological order of occurrence with no link between them other that their chronological order: event 1 happen before event 2 and event 2 after event 1. The king died then the queen. Two events the only link between them is their chronological sequence but those 2 could have both died from ANYTHING.

Plot = The events of the story in their original order(linear) or rearranged but this time causaly ! One event is the reason for the existence of the other and the other is the consequence of the first ! The king died and then the queen died of grief

Event 1: The king died Is responsible for Event 2: The queen died (BECAUSE) she loved the king and couldn't live without him.

As soon as all the above clicked in my brain another question popped which is the reason of that post.

If the story is: The timeline of events and the plot: The arrangement of those events it mean

Subplot = Storyline + Plotline = Subplot

My understanding of subplot is: A story ((((( !!! WITHIN !!! ))) the overall story(complete work: movie or novel)

So my question is what the difference between a SCENE and a SUBPLOT(Story within the OVERALL story)

Since scenes are also described as mini story and having a beginning middle and end ?

Age: The eldest daughter is 4 and the youngest is 1.

Heritage: They are the young daughters of a demigoddess mother and a vampire father.

Appearance: They have heterochromia, with one eye a vivid green and the other a striking orange. Their hair is a mesmerizing mix of light and dark shades, symbolizing their dual heritage. They also have small vampire fangs.

The oldest daughter's abilities manifested early, on her 4th birthday, due to her vampire heritage. She possesses the power of clairvoyant Frost, which allows her to see glimpses of the future. When she uses her ability, the air around her cools, small snowflakes form, and the scent of eggnog fills the air as a delicate layer of ice accompanies her visions.

The youngest daughter's abilities have not yet manifested, but they will emerge on her 4th birthday. She will possess the power of Memory Absorption Frost, allowing her to absorb and recall the memories of others. When she activates her ability, a cold, icy mist surrounds her, and the scent of roasted chestnuts fills the air, creating a visual spectacle of swirling snowflakes.

Vampires in this world do not sustain themselves on human blood but feed on inhuman small creatures and small animals. They are born, not made, with a lineage dating back decades. Vampires are unaffected by sunlight, garlic, holy water, wooden stakes, crosses, and other religious symbols, as well as running water. However, they are weakened by gold, coal, saltwater, moonstone, ancient text, echoes, and enchanted mirrors.

I have thought about using one of the two suggested names down below, if you don't like none of these suggestions, please feel free to submit a name or even mix and match the names down below.

Camelot & Sash

Concetta & Canary

Crescent & Icie

Sylvera & Aeris

Asta & Lotus

Gussie & Gaia

A deal with darkness. A sentient greatsword. And a world at war with Dragons. 

What else could go wrong?

When a rough past left her bitter and short-tempered, seventeen year old Sariko lives an unremarkable life as a maid in the Kingdom of Silver Shores. Where she lives vicariously through the seemingly perfect life of the Silver Shores’ darling Princess. But when Dragons attack the palace on the night of an important ball, Sariko finds herself face-to-face with the First Borne, the living embodiment of darkness and chaos. Curiously, the being offers her a deal; a second chance at life with all the power she could have ever wished for, and the opportunity to take revenge on the one who betrayed her all those years ago. But in exchange she must rid the world of Dragons once and for all. A simple, yet daunting task.

Of course she takes the offer, and is given a sentient, magic-absorbing greatsword as well as the inability to die. Her immortality garners the attention of Nocturne, the cunning and ruthless leader of the Dragonslayers Guild. And Sariko is thrown into a war she never thought she would have ever been a part of.

In a world filled with Dragons, monsters, demons, and dark cults, Sariko must learn who to trust and who to kill. Even as anger, grief and love seem to complicate things.

---

My partner says this blurb gives too many plot beats away, what do you guys think?

What kinds of cavalry exist in your fantastical stories?

In my stories, I have tons of cavalry for just my vampiric faction. There's heavy-armor shock cavalry, superheavy armored cavalry swinging heavy blunt weaponry, crazed cavalry where the riders are deranged magic-fueled soulsuckers chained to their horses, decaying zombie cavalry, an sacred bloody order of anti-magic cavalry with an intense hatred of sorcerers... grrr those damn sorcerers and their damn sorcery! They ruined sorcery! Swift light cavalry, elite archer cavalry, warmonk spear cavalry, beast-slaying cavalry, all-around elite cavalry. I got lots of cavalry for this one faction and that's just one in my worldbuilding full of other factions. Unless they play a major role, I usually just sum up the cavalry's specialty in a few sentences. Maybe the head vampiric officer introduces himself as a temporary antagonist or they display what they're capable of through a simple action. It's usually really easy to sum them up, just show them charging in and what they specialize in.

Anyways, that's just me. What about you guys?

Looking to get something small out there before querying my novel. Does anyone know any good short story writing challenges that would look impressive to agents?

EVERYTHING BELOW HERE I AM JUST USING TO FULL OUT THE WORD COUNT SO IM ABLE TO POST THIS:

Obviously I would prefer something in the fantasy realm. I've seen a bunch of them around but it feels like a lot of them are either pointless or scams. I want to do a short story writing contest bc I do not want to give the rights of part of my full novel away to anything that is not a traditional publishing house (assuming I am lucky enough to make it in trad publishing). I have tried looking at many of them and just want to make sure I find something legit that won’t be a waste of time.

Hey guys! I have this lil piece of writing I'm fairly proud of, and I'd love to get some feedback on it. I'd like your opinion on where you see the plot going, if it is smooth and successfully conveys the idea of the chapter. Also, I'm don't believe this will be the full chapter, as I feel I could add much more to it, but yea! Thankyou heaps!

Below is a link to the original document, but please keep in mind the doc is fairly unorganized and is a WIP

https://docs.google.com/document/d/15P8IAmRiALr5rRh3k2p8iHgNWm1PBVF1Ik9gfI-gtx0/edit?usp=sharing

“I am Sire Cadius of Effric, Seventh Sworn Sword of the Lord King Maxia Mundaria. For the crime of regicide, and the death of Prince Myrton, I sentence you to die. Have you any last words?” 

The young boy looked up towards the knight. His eyes were wet from tears, and the child looked with despair towards Cadius. 

“Please,” he cried. A desperate look sat in the blue eyes of the child. 

He didn’t believe this child was guilty; there was no solid proof, only a strong, gnawing suspicion that this was all a conspiracy. However, he had received an order, and in Tyria, oathbreakers faced dire consequences.

Yet, that conversation between Laeon and himself… He had never trusted that man. He was manipulative, and conniving. Laeon had been wrong about justice before and he had also indirectly caused the rift between Tyria and Galle. Laeon had been the one who had ordered the boy to die, and Cadius had found it immensely suspicious.

Am I going to do this? 

He hesitated, looking out towards the crowd of people gathered, before swinging his blade towards the child’s neck. 

The sound of steel rang through the dead air. The soft crunch and slice of flesh and bone emanated. The head dropped, and rolled towards the edge of the wooden platform. 

For the first time in history, the crowd did not cheer, as they watched a man die. They did not taunt and yell and scream as life left the criminal. They did not smile with glee or happiness. 

Instead, they stared. Solemn faces watched from the crowd. Cadius closed his eyes, and wiped the blade along his grey tunic. Whispers flickered out, here and there, muttering and mumbling under their breath. Anger and sadness spread across the dirty faces of the lowborn folk. Blood remained, staining his clothing with a reminder of Cadius’ own crime. 

“Murderer!” A peasant yelled. “You’ll suffer for this!” another said.

Cadius looked upwards, at the still, calm sky of cloud and air

“Forgive me, child, and go to God,” Cadius whispered. 

It had been his first execution. When he himself was a child, he had dreamed about this day. He had seen an innocent man die, and ever since then, he swore he would fight for the innocent, and thus he had taken a vow to defend the Lord King and his people, and was named a Sworn Sword. He didn’t believe slaughtering a child was defending anyone. He had taken a vow to uphold honour and goodwill, not kill crying children. 

Cadius paused. The silence was deafening, pressing in like a heavy fog. Blood trickled down onto the stone floor beneath the platform, seeping like juice. I am a murderer, he thought, the weight of the situation finally hitting him. What have I done? Am I as bad as the men I swore to destroy. Honour means nothing, when I betray my own oaths so easily. 

Then, he pulled his visor down, sheathed his sword, and walked off the platform, each step heavy with the weight of his act. Faces blurred as he pushed through the crowd, their silent judgement pressing him. Then, he left the execution grounds. 

Cadius had hoped to never return here. 

Erik is a bright and happy child, living on his parents farm, on the outskirts of the magical village of Sethin. He seems normal for the most part, but his unsettling dreams have really been worrying his father. His mother's health is also rapidly declining, and the family is trying their best to save her, but none of the experts have even been able to figure out why she is ill. Perhaps the mages of the Arcane Guild can be of assistance, if Erik's father can find enough money to pay them. If only they knew of the cursed ritual that was performed on Clara while she was pregnant, but the Cabal of Doom are as subtle as they are powerful.

I have begun writing a story that I've been thinking of for a while. I have linked what I have written so far, which is the prologue and about a chapter and a half. I would greatly appreciate any feedback, but I am particularly wondering if my pacing is hitting the sweet spot of not being too fast, but also not letting scenes drag on and be cluttered. I would also like and appreciate feedback on my sentence structure, and the general flow of the writing. Also feedback about the story itself and weather or not it is engaging would really help. Thank you to anyone putting in the time to give me feedback.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1CuR-rMRx5GsBxJMYFeC_Iu27HdCs8DbqRelJlzORbhY/edit?usp=sharing

my story is in comic form btw

So, perhaps, "vampire romance" is a bit misleading, it's an ex-romance (is that what you call it??).

My main character has an especially clingy ex who happens to be a vampire.

I semi-intentionally avoided bad cliches. There is no awkward age-gap, both characters are 18/19, vampires are immortal, but still age into first old people and then into nosferatu-like looks (so an older vampire is noticably older and readers know it).

Everything around the ex is meant to be gross and morally awful, vampirism in general is a kind of metaphor for abuse. The two characters are NOT meant to reunite, the vampire has his own "redemption" arc, but it's separate from his previous relationships and happens on the background in the last moments he is important to the story.

The character in general is not that important, he is a minor-minor-minor antagonist in one of the introductory arcs of the story. A kind of 1lvl boss if you will.

And as a side-note, there is a werewolf, but he is separate from the situation. A soon to be tyrant who never even finds out about either the MC or the vampire.

I personally think that any and all cliches can be done in better and worse ways, but also am scared of prejudace of "ew, another vampire lovestory" even when it's not that and not presented as that.

So, the question is: in your experience, do people just turn away from a book/work when they see a vampire in some kind of romance implying situation, even when it's something like what I'm writing?

Fifty Word Fantasy is a regular thread on Fridays! It is a micro-fiction writing challenge originally devised by .

Write a 50-word snippet that takes place in a fantasy world and contains the word Enough. It can be a scene, flash-fiction story, setting description, or anything else that could conceivably be part of a fantasy story or is a fantasy story on its own.

So, I have been developing an epic fantasy story for some time now and I had a concept for my POV but I don't know if readers would accept it very well. Essentially the idea comes from the anime Jujutsu Kaisen. Where you (the watcher) see the show in a sort of 3rd person limited POV. However, at certain points a unknown narrator will jut in and give a small detail or clue to draw the viewer in or fill an apparent plot hole. For example, a major fight happens between two powerful characters and the POV is limited to either them or by standers caught in the cross fire. However at the end one of the fighters uses his most powerful move and an unknown narrator suddenly says the following as the move is taking place.

"Sukuna's Domain, Malevolent Shrine. It's unlike other domains. It does not create a separate space with a barrier or close the barrier, but makes the Innate Domain visible. Its not like using a canvas but rather painting directly in the sky. A truly divine technique. Besides, with Binding Vow on the escape route for the opponent, it increases the range of guaranteed hits to a maximum radius of 200 meters. Considering the effect would affect Megumi Fushiguro, Sukuna has reduced the range to a radius of 140 meters on the ground...." it keeps going but you get the point.

So the concept of my book is that in the prologue its established an orator has gone around and collected both historical and personal accounts of the actual story and is now telling it to people in a colosseum or auditorium. The story then begins and would appear as 3rd omniscient but in actuality it isn't because the orator is limited based on what he discovered in his research. Moreover, the orator would add periodic interjections where he explains something that would seem inconsistent or inexplicable based on the audiences (readers) knowledge. I have tried researching if this POV exists but the only thing I could find resembling this is selective omniscient.

Ultimately, does this sound like something that could work or do you think it would be received negatively/not understood?

Ok, so I am writing a series and I am to decide the style of one of the books. Basically, it could either be a dystopia or pirate.

Both: the main characters initially passively manipulate time and space. One manipulate time one manipulates space. It is not high tier manipulation.

For example, the time character can be walking through a heavily fortified government compound and get perfect timing for everything. Guards will be yawning, doors will be opening for people, stuff like that.

For the space character mishaps happen. Basically, if they're trying to get out of a prison well, one of the bolts was actually rusted out and when they push on the door it creaks open. They do not have each other's powers, but they are both basically lucky.

Dystopia: the dystopia world I was thinking of is the entire world is set on gears. The smaller the gear, the slower it turns. The faster it turns, the faster the people on that gear age. So for some people they could age a day in the time it takes a century to pass (the rich). Whereas other people are forced to grow food and live on the smaller rings, living for only a month. The two main characters would be the children of a crime lord who found out away to stop the rings. Which would make time and aging pass by normally for everyone. Or it could be controlled so that time can even go backwards

Pirate: same children of crime lord plot. It's important for both storylines. But in this one, their luck is known. And their father/mentor is killed because of some debts. So people want to kidnap and enslave them to make more profit. They have to flee on a boat and find out who killed their mentor and over throw the people hunting them.

I am really flip flopping between the two. Both are very amazing. So i'm just wanting to other people's perspective on what they think would be better story

Hi everyone!

Im reposting this based on feedback to attach my google doc!

https://docs.google.com/document/d/12YIT1AkQnB-IFw_FlJN60BZT3-TxLZb2ZuJFLpOU95c/edit?usp=sharing

Ive never written anything before so I would love any feedback!!

THANK YOU SO MUCH!

Heres a summary of my book:

In the kingdom of Draythorn, dragons rule the skies, faeries are whispered of only in warnings, and the Draythorn dynasty's grip on power is as unyielding as steel. Elaina Vale has spent her life in the quiet Glimmerwood, hunting and stealing to care for her family. But when a black-sealed letter arrives declaring her father's death, the cracks in the kingdom's carefully crafted peace begin to show.

Desperate for answers, Elaina embarks on a dangerous journey to the capital city of Draythorn, guided only by her instincts and the reluctant aid of her childhood friend, Ash. There, she finds herself entangled in a web of lies, unrest, and power struggles that stretch far beyond anything she imagined. With danger closing in from all sides, Elaina must decide how far she is willing to go to uncover the secrets Draythorn is desperate to keep hidden.

(I sort of end up info-dumping here, but most of it is relevant, there is a TL;DR at the bottom)

In the world/book me and my co-writer are creating, there is a magery/magic system where there are six core elevents that somebody can control(Fire, Water, Plant, Wind, Light, Shadow). Later on, through generations, these magics mix together to create new types of mageries(as well as some mages just possessing both, but that’s a different thing). I’m in charge of how magic mechanics work, but I’ve been seriously stumped on two combinations.

The rules of it are the following. It has to be completely unique, not an “extension” of another type of magery or copy of/close to another type. It has to be something that can be physically controlled(not like “emotions” or “time” or something more conceptual), preferably with a pseudoscientific explanation as to exactly how or what it is(for example, fire magery isn’t just “they can control fire!” it’s the ability to control heat and combustion and being yourself “fuel” for fire.)

I did lots of research for most of the combinations and have come up with what I believe to be satisfactory combinations. However, I’m struggling with two specific combinations. The combinations of plant and light magery, and plant and water magery. I have put, no exaggeration, hours of thought into this.

How they work is the following. Plant magery is the ability to change the genetics or requirements of plant cells— you can make them grow quicker or need less resources to grow, change them into a different plant, things like that. Light magery is the creation and manipulation of light itself, almost acting like a living prism in that you take light from your surroundings and bend it to your will. Water magery works by controlling the movement and configuration of water molecules(H2O), like hydrokinesis but it also includes things like making it able to freeze by tightening the molecules into a solid or dispersing it into the air(or drawing it from the air)— as well as making clouds and(due to how lightening is formed during storms) occasionally lightening storms(though it would take a mage of intense, wild skill to pull of any of this large-scale).

Orginally, my solutions were the following: Plant + Light magery creates “decrease” magery where a mage, in essence, is able to make something smaller(but not reverse it). Because you can concentrate light, and you can control the way plants grow/configure, so you can ”concentrate” an object or person to make it smaller. Plant + Water magery creates “increase” magery, the opposite in which a mage can make something bigger(but not reveres it). Because you can control the way water expands, as well as plants, and can “Expand” and object or person. These were honestly last-ditch and somewhat lazy-thinking solutions that I wasn’t happy with because I was straight-up tired of trying to think of anything.

The main problem with these solutions, however, was that I already had two other combined mageries that were “multiply”(the ability to duplicate molecules/cells from one) and “divide”(the ability to make two or more identical cells into just one). Which... Kind of ends up being the same thing as “decrease” and “increase” but much cooler imo.

TL;DR So, me and my co-writer are stumped because we can’t figure out how to combine the power/magic abilities of Plant+Light and Plant+Water. I have tried some solutions but they ended up vague and messy. Anybody have any thoughts or ideas? Even something little might help.

I'm working on a chapter in my fantasy story and I'm conflicted on how to handle a scene.

Ebralik a Pthumerian Archon/Arc Wizard (the most powerful Splicer in the Pthumerian House) has been aiding a village with his magic before leaving to get his real mission.

• After his last work was done he went to a tavern and got some water (he despises alcohol) from the barkeep Sandra and he doesn't want to take anymore from the village then he's already had but she goes in the back to give him a free sack of bison strips.
• As he waited for her two bandits come in and talk to Ebralik then Sandra comes out and is pissed at the sight of them, since they took her son & husband into their ranks.
• The bandits ask for the whereabouts of a woman named Jasmine but she refused to speak on it and one bandit fires at her.

Originally I planned for the tungsten bullet to go through her skull to kill her instantly but I had some other ideas on how to continue the story.

1) Tungsten Bullets have very good preparative power which actually weakens the bullets damage as typical bullets disperse energy in the target, going straight through weakens it. (Granted I could have the bullet be a regular bullet)

2) I know from various media especially zombie media we think that a shot in the brain literally anywhere means instant death but people have had stuff through the brain and survived albeit with permanent damage to the personality and brain. Disconnecting the brain stem would be 100% death rate but I feel like when people come back from gun based brain injuries it feels cheap. Now I wonder if surviving a shot through the forehead or eye wouldn't be the right call.

3) Now I'm conflicted on killing her not because I have attachment to the character but I wonder if the death would be compelling to the readers. Although if it hurts Jasmine it could be compelling for the readers like in original Dragon Ball you feel bad for Goku when Krillin died, or if you hate the villain alot you hate seeing them succeed in any way like Mahito in JJK.

4) Now this is long so I'll keep it as brief as possible. Jasmine is the cheiftess of the village, She is a Sorceress (a magic discipline that is essentially gaining innate magic through either bloodline or other events) but her magic surfaced recently and she has no actual experience, she asked Ebralik to teach her but he refused, Sandra is Jasmine's close friend and the bandits (in a previous chapter) where taking Jasmine away to use her magic for their own dominion over the tundra.

5) I'm wondering if Sandra's death or extreme injury would be good enough to motivate Jasmine (or further motivate her) to be a better Sorceress for her people as she originally saw her magic as a curse, a target on her back, but seeing Ebralik defend the village let her know she can be more than a mother (something she enjoyed but she feels another responsibility with her magic)

I'm thinking about it just being the death of Sandra as full blown death would maximize the impact on Jasmine's end.

Long story short, I'm slowly planning a very deliberately trope-filled story, so of course the current era is shaped by a past calamity: Rather than there being a single dark lord, there was a whole bunch of them, all controlling their little bit of the land, waging war on one another, and crushing the peasants beneath their boots. Said peasants, meanwhile, were running a secret network of spies, messengers and resistance fighters, while planning a general mass-uprising.

It worked, though at a heavy cost, and the "current" storyline is meant to be about the problems caused when something starts stirring in the old, haunted fortresses of the dark lords.

An insidious voice is whispering to me that I should defy convention and skip skipping the most interesting period in the setting's history. I could do a story about resistance fighters having meetings after dark, traversing the wilderness, making dangerous deals with elves, dodging secret police and terror troops, and ending on the big uprising. Although none of that was the original plan.

I guess I'm just wondering if "seduced by backstory" is a common occurrence when creating a setting.

I dunno why you'd want to read it, but just in case, here's a link to the first draft: https://www.reddit.com/r/writers/comments/1gw9xpw/would_like_raw_critique_dont_munch_your_words_922/

I know it still is far from perfect and still is short for a first chapter, every type of advice is welcome, I'll try to follow them.

only the hunting scene was edited, for the rest I copied and pasted.

It was mid-afternoon, the sun hidden behind a thick veil of clouds that cast a muted light over the vast forest. The air was cool and damp, the scent of earth and moss lingering with every breath. The woods were dense, their shadows stretching long and twisting across the uneven terrain, but Tarran moved with practiced ease. This was his domain. He knew these trails as well as the lines on his own hands.

For hours, he had been tracking the buck—a lean, sturdy creature that would bring sustenance to his family for days. Its tracks were clear: hoofprints pressed into the damp soil, the occasional nibble on lower branches. Every snapped twig and patch of disturbed undergrowth painted a trail in Tarran’s mind. His patience was paying off.

At last, he spotted the deer ahead, grazing in a small clearing. Tarran crouched low, his muscles tense as he notched an arrow. This was it—a perfect shot. He drew back the bowstring, the tension humming through his arms. For a moment, the forest seemed to hold its breath alongside him.

Then it came. A sound.

High and sharp, it tore through the stillness like a blade. A scream—weak, shrill, and unmistakably human.

Tarran flinched, the string slipping slightly in his grip. Before he could steady himself, the deer bolted, vanishing into the thicket with a flurry of snapping branches and rustling leaves.

“Damn it,” he hissed under his breath, lowering his bow. His heart still pounded, the adrenaline of the hunt replaced by an uneasy tension.

The sound didn’t stop, faint yet persistent—a cry that could only belong to a baby. Tarran’s brow furrowed as he turned in the direction of the noise. A baby? Out here? It made no sense. He told himself to walk away, to forget the noise and focus on what mattered. But his feet betrayed him, drawn forward by a mix of dread and curiosity.

The deeper he ventured toward the sound, the heavier the air seemed to grow. The cries grew louder, more desperate, clawing at something deep within him. Tarran felt his chest tighten.

When he finally reached the source, he froze.

The clearing before him was wrong—violated. The ground was dark with blood, its sickly metallic tang hitting him like a physical force. It soaked the earth in a wide pool, seeping into the moss and staining scattered leaves a vivid crimson. The surrounding foliage was in disarray, broken branches hung limply, and the ground was littered with torn leaves and clawed-up soil.

In the middle of it all was the child.

The baby couldn’t have been older than a few months, its tiny body trembling as it wailed. Its skin was filthy, smeared with mud and streaked with blood. Thin scratches crisscrossed its arms and legs, shallow but numerous, as though it had been dragged through brambles. What remained of its clothing was barely recognizable—a ragged scrap of fabric clinging to its fragile frame.

But what truly unnerved Tarran was the blood.

It shouldn’t have been possible. The scratches on the child’s body, while distressing, were far too minor to explain the sheer volume of crimson soaking the ground beneath him. The sight was a grotesque contradiction.

Tarran’s breath caught in his throat. His first instinct was to turn away, to leave this unnatural sight behind. In Alderwyn, children born of chaos were omens of ruin. Witches’ spawn, the cursed children of the Devil—such things were whispered about in his village, and this child, amidst such carnage, could be nothing else.

And yet, he hesitated. His eyes lingered on the boy’s fragile form, on the way his small chest rose and fell with desperate breaths.

He swallowed hard, his grip tightening on his bow. “No,” he muttered to himself, as though trying to convince his own heart. “This isn’t my problem. The gods can sort it out.”

But the cries didn’t stop. They grew louder, more desperate.

Tarran cursed under his breath and stepped closer, his boots squelching in the blood-soaked earth. The baby turned his head toward him, tiny hands reaching out blindly, as if grasping for salvation. Tarran’s pulse quickened. Against every instinct, he knelt and reached out.

“I don’t know what you are,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. “But no child deserves to die alone in a place like this.”

He scooped the baby up, cradling him in his arms. The cries softened slightly but didn’t stop. Tarran noticed something peculiar as he held the child—despite the scratches on his body, there

Perhaps the whispers of witches and curses weren’t just stories. Perhaps this child was something far beyond his understanding.

Though Tarran carried a poultice for emergencies, he hesitated to use it on the child. The wounds, though numerous, were shallow—hardly life-threatening. Yet it wasn’t just practicality that stayed his hand; the whispers of Alderwyn’s teachings clawed at his thoughts. What if the child was a spawn of the devil? The scratches could wait. Better to bring the infant to the village, where its true nature could be assessed, than risk tainting himself in the middle of this cursed forest.

It didn’t matter now. Tarran tightened his grip on the boy and started toward the village, his mind racing. He would bring the child home—for now. What came next, only the gods could decide.

Can anyone give me tips on how to be a better writer? I have some questions on how to write properly and make it not seem like a chimpanzee wrote it. Every excerpt I've attempted to write just doesn't sound right and I have received criticism on how to write better, but for some reason I can't do it. For some reason, I can't write properly, can't make it seem good to read, write coherently nor can I write in a way that would make readers want to finish.

So any advice on:

• How to write an origin story that makes sense

• How to neatly transition between paragraphs

• How would I write a battle without it sounding like complete gibberish

• Where would I start putting names or descriptions of characters in the story

Any criticism is welcome.