I MOVED

it's my goal for the last half of this year to finally get my patreon off the ground, so I'm doing an interest check. Some ideas i have:

First tier: probably something like $1 to $2 a month. I'm thinking something like book reviews/movie reviews, character dossier's and access to the progress on The Big Big Book of Lore

Second Tier: probably something like $5 a month. All the above plus character sketches and monthly poetry.

Third Tier: Somewhere between $10 to $20 a month idk yet. All the above plus a monthly short story published nowhere else.

Reblogs are encouraged! Being able to have these sorts of things seen helps grow my audience as a writer. Thanks!

Gonna throw this to my tag list. If any of y'all have suggestions please let me know!

Thanks so much for the ask! I have a bunch and as i was looking through which one to share i, uh, realized they're all huge spoilers

sooooooo this isn't really a song that i imagine a particular scene to. Backstory: one of the regions in my world is the Ixoryn Marshes (which are swamp lands, not marshes, which is a meta joke in canon that any Marsher can tell you the Marshes are swamps and that the person who named them [me] didn't know the difference between a swamp and a marsh when he named them, but they'd [also read me] been attached to calling themselves Marshers so they won't change it) The Marshes are based heavily on the american south, specifically Louisiana, and although it's not a one to one culture by any means, their accents definitely range across different southern states.

One of my central characters in The Name, Witch is a Marsher named Silas. And I really like to imagine when he was raising his son, he used to carry him on his hip and sing him this song

Tagged by the @mrbexwrites Thank you so much!

Gonna tag @orphanheirs @illarian-rambling @seastarblue and @eternalwritingstudent to share a line you're proud of and a line that's ridiculous out of context

LINE I'M PROUD OF

The Realm of Shadows existed as an inversion of his own; such nonsense, it was impossible to describe. The opposite of black wasn’t necessarily white. The opposite of Life wasn’t necessarily Death. Whatever existed within the realm of Nybiegh the Silver Moon…it was the opposite of everything. So completely foreign, Uthyr had no means of comprehending it.

(well, a few lines. sue me)

LINE THAT'S RIDICULOUS OUT OF CONTEXT

Thanks for the tag @illarian-rambling! I'm slowly gonna start catrching up on the tag games i've been mentioned in, but I figured I'd go ahead and start here

There's only been one kiss in The Name, Witch. I think I may have shared a bit of it before, but...

Crucius’ smile was soft, out of place on his lips. Something wistful veiled his gaze. Gently he said: “Please be safe.” Uthyr sobered. “I will. You too.” “I came by to give you this,” Crucius said, breaking eye contact and handing off a small drawstring bag made of emerald green velvet. “If you ever need passage, if anyone blocks your path forward and you can't sway them to move, use this. I promise they won‘t fail to get out of your way.” “What is it?” Uthyr asked. Before he could open the bag, Crucius pressed it deeper into his palm, his other hand cupping the bottom of Uthyr's. “It comes with a price,” Crucius said, his voice so hard, it could mortar gravel. “Do not take it out until you have use of it. Don’t use it unless you absolutely must. I will answer no questions about it. I know it’s much to ask, but please trust me.” “I—” Uthyr didn’t know what to say. “I trust you.” Crucius nodded, his jaw working. “They won’t answer to me, but I’ll pray to the gods to keep you safe. Never lose sight of your virtues. Never forget who you serve. Stand strong. “And farewell,” Crucius added at the end. He leaned forward, pressed a kiss upon Uthyr’s brow, then released his hands and left the hut without turning back. Uthyr stood stunned. The skin where Crucius’ lips had touched felt colder for the loss. “Farewell,” Uthyr whispered in his friend’s wake, once he’d recalled how to breathe. The bag in his hands was heavy, heavier than he thought it ought to be. His hut was empty. Would be emptier still when he left. A lump formed in his throat. Stand strong. It all felt bigger than it should have. He was going to be gone less than a fortnight. The rain from the last two days wouldn’t have even dried enough to worry about watering his garden until he returned. He shook his head. Maybe he’d make a wand before he left. Just in case.  He hoped it would see no use. In less than a fortnight, he might still be able to reattach it to the tree. In less than a fortnight, he’d be back at his hearth, making potions for hay fever to bring to market.  Tending his carrot sprouts.  Watching the pollywogs.  And missing Crucius desperately.