welcome to my new blog!

Thank you so much for the tag, @diphthongsfordays!! Let's check in on Quintus the Necromancer again...I'm sure he's doing juuuust fine ;)

Fresh:

“Good grief,” Quintus manages, his voice hoarse in his throat. “Does it need stitching?” “I don’t know.” “Then show me how big it is.” Nikolaos’s right hand comes around, two of the fingers glistening with fresh blood. His thumb and first finger spread, describing a space the size of a large apple. “Good grief,” Quintus repeats. “Yes, it needs stitching.” “Wonderful,” Nikolaos says, in the most un-wonderful tone Quintus has ever heard.

Dull:

All her training is suddenly gone when faced with this mountain of a man. Miriam looks down the flat of his blade – Nikolaos’s blade – and quails in her stockings. How can she hope to survive with only this dull, diminutive, dagger? Breathe, Daniel says in her mind. Shoulders loose. If you have the smaller weapon, rob him of his reach. Miriam charges, ducking under the pirate’s arm and slashing with her blade. He has to twist to avoid her strike, and in the moment before he can turn, she slips past him and sinks her knife into his back.

Peace:

They’re shown the water pump outside, handed a stack of blankets and a lantern, and left alone for the night. The inky dark settles around Quintus like a lover’s arms, and he looks more at peace than he has in many days when he looks over at Nikolaos.

Free:

“Is something wrong?” comes Miriam’s voice, thick with sleep. “No, nothing,” Nikolaos calls back immediately, sitting up and taking ahold of Quintus’s face with his free hand. “Go back to sleep.” To Quintus, he adds quietly, “Breathe, you blockhead.” Quintus does, buoyed by the hand against his heart, the hand warm under his chin, around the side of his face. It is grounding, to be held like this, forced to be still. His tripping heart finally starts to take notice.

OP: Why couldn’t traditional Chinese Yinpiao银票/silver drafts be forged if they were merely slips of paper? (cr大明宝钞，渐越)

Traditional Chinese yinpiao/silver drafts were paper vouchers issued by private banks starting from the Song Dynasty(960–1279). People could exchange these slips for physical silver at bank branches across the country.

Silver drafts were made in multiple copies with matching serrated seal edges. One copy went to the customer and others stayed at the bank. All edges had to fit perfectly together to withdraw silver. The unique split edge marks were almost impossible to copy.

This mechanism is known as qifeng骑缝 (split-joint seal) in China. It first originated in the Western Zhou Dynasty (1046–771 BC). The Rites of Zhou records that contracts were written on bamboo or wooden slips in duplicate. Notches and marks were carved in the middle before splitting the slips, with each party keeping one half. The two halves would be matched by their notches for verification.

During the Spring and Autumn and Warring States periods (770–221 BC), this idea evolved into hufu虎符/tiger tally tokens. A military tally was split into two pieces with identical inscriptions carved along the split edge. Troops could only be deployed if the patterns and characters on both halves perfectly aligned, serving as a metal version of the split-joint anti-counterfeiting system.

The technology matured in the Tang Dynasty (618–907). Government documents and private contracts commonly used split-joint seals stamped across the dividing line. The Chinese character "hetong合同" (contract) was written across the middle before the paper was torn apart, so the complete characters would only appear when the two halves were put together. This split-coupon system was later adopted for Song Dynasty (960–1279) jiaozi paper money and yinpiao/silver drafts of the Ming and Qing dynasties (1368–1912).

Official Song dynasty paper money (Jiaozi交子) was abolished in 1107. Private silver drafts issued by Qing-era piaohao票行 (ancient exchange banks) vanished completely in 1951, hit hard by modern banks and currency reforms. Nowadays silver drafts no longer circulate as currency. Their collectible value depends on their rarity and physical condition.

Thank you for the tag, @talesofsorrowandofruin!! 💛

A line where someone is saying someone's name:

Nikolaos’s dark gaze is searching. His pupils are slightly dilated. “What do you ask of me, Quintus?”

A line featuring a vehicle:

Quintus, limping behind him, sweating through his borrowed shirt, exhausted from carrying only his sword, glares down at the sight of his boots passing over every pebble and crack in the earth. “Only one horse? Why not a carriage?”

A line featuring a food:

Quintus picks at the sweet pear tart and the rich goat’s cheese and the soft, fresh bread. Nikolaos is ravenous, but he holds himself back. Dying always seems to make him starved.

A line that makes no sense out of context:

Nikolaos’s mouth quirks. “We got the peacock.”

I'll tag @reneesbooks @mrbexwrites @zmwrites @sunset-a-story @talesfromaurea @pertinax--loculos @loopyhoopywrites and anyone else who sees this and wants to join in! Your lines are:

they are only there some of the time or at certain entrances (possible but prosaic, includes the potential for tra la la lallying as shift work)

elrond’s magic has some kind of built-in warning system and they cleared out to avoid potential danger (plausible and realistic considering that i don’t think team tra la la lally is either interested in fighting or skilled in emergency response)

the changing political climate and increased danger around rivendell resulted in all tra la la lallying activities being moved inside the valley (which begs the question of where, and if they just manifest barbershop quartet style beneath guests’ windows)

elrond didn’t know about it until bilbo unwittingly mentioned the experience over dinner, and all roadside tra la la lallying was brought to an end (either petering out without the allure of secrecy or simply by the power of elrond’s consternation)

the whole thing was contrived solely to troll the dwarves (elucidates the standout conformity of only these elves to historic ‘tree-dwelling hippies’ stereotypes)

bilbo fully made it up (this was revealed when merry and pippin cheerfully asked elrond when the tra la la lallying would start, and elrond said ‘gesundheit’)

First, song is immensely important in Middle Earth, to the point where some of the most powerful character moments and magic effects we see are done through singing and poetry. The tra la lally gang are most likely quite powerful sorcerers!

when comes the dawn monthly update [ June 2026]

THE STATISTICS

the draft → 55,089 words

words written this month → 1,914 words

average word count per session →  383 words

words written this year → 17,344 words

STORY NOTES

Not too much writing this month because 1) I was on vacation with my family at the start of June and 2) act 2 is still kinda daunting to write. Not because it's particularly large or 'action packed' per se, but just because I've changed quite a bit of things from the original act 2 so I'm partially flying blind here haha

Finished Fenice and Charles' letters to each other to briefly bridge the acts together

Fenice in these opening chapters is going to really show the readers wtf is wrong with her lol

Also starting to introduce kyr-Luxana (official first name still pending), the Tempus Praetori.

EXCERPT

But despite seeing it, this ugly and gaping wound her father’s campaign wrought upon this land, Fenice felt no profound sense of shock, or despair, or horror, or…

Maybe if she was not this child of portent and ruin. Not born from war hungry hands and raised with stories of myth and legacy and legend. Maybe if she was anybody else but Fenice vi Aetier, she might’ve felt a shred of sympathy for these poor people. 

Instead, she looked at the kingdom her father carved out of the map, and the people Luxana’s policies were slow to reach in his attempts to turn himself from soldier to courtier, and thought: I could do much better than this. 

Why should she be confined to the pearly shores of Lurs-e-Luran, untouched by the war, when she could be here. Here near the heart of its ruin. Where before her laid a tabula rasa from which she could carve her first marks into history.

The blood of conquerors and kingmakers flowed through her veins. Surely, her father could not blame her for following in the footsteps of those that made her?

TAGLIST

(ask to be +/-)

It feels like forever since I've done one of these, hooray!! :) Thanks for the tag, @memento-morri-writes. (and no, this is not the tag from yesterday, this one is much older and i'm sorry) I'm looking for knock, snow, control, and old, in my necromancer WIP <3

Knock:

Roslyn stretches across the table to reach the butter, and Nikolaos hands it to her without waiting for her to ask, or worse, knock something over. The little one tugs on his arm and whispers in his ear, and he pours more milk into her tin cup.

Snow:

Quintus smiles. He’s like a being of the landscape in the low, harsh light of the moon on the snow – hair black as the sky, smile as bright and gleaming as their icy surroundings. “Of course, you’re taking his side,” he says. “He’s already dead,” Nikolaos says, and thinks, lucky bastard. “Leave him alone.”

Control:

They are talking about it again. Miriam calculates her losses and her victories, and carefully says, “How badly does it hurt?” Quintus says nothing, but his entire face screws up as though he can’t control it anymore. He looks miserable. Miriam can’t help it. “Oh, Quintus,” she says under her breath. He does not tell her to mind her own business. He does not tell her to keep her pity. He does not move.

Old:

“You are a curious woman.” Miriam scrunches into a ball, slides her feet from the blanket. The morning air is cool to the touch, and her skin prickles. “And you are a subject of great mystery,” she replies. “Let’s cease with stating the obvious.” “The mystery grows old after a while.” Nikolaos rolls to his feet, graceful even first thing in the morning.

me:

me: *remembers Tolkien named that ^ slippery bastard "worm-tongue"*

me: yeah we can add more sss sounds

She was woken at 7 on the dot by something heavy planting itself on her chest. “What—” She opened her eyes reluctantly to investigate. “Oh. Hello, Enya.” Enya chirped a greeting, and bounced her tail onto Isi’s stomach. It was unfortunately reminiscent of Enya’s mother’s much heavier, spiked, tail. “Can I help you?” said Isi. Enya made a grumbling noise and snapped at empty air. Then she hopped down onto the floor and gestured with her nose in the direction of the dining table.

the basics: she/her; 34; baby dragon with dark red scales and fan-like frills behind her head <3

Enya summed up: Enya is about the size of a cat and behaves a bit like one. she loves scritches and riding on people's shoulders (usually Isi and Robin), and does not love not being fed on time. she sings sometimes! she also chirps, trills and growls.

role: cutest member of the team and a key part of the inciting incident

Beta Call!

I have finished a decent draft of a new gothic novella, and I'm looking to get some fresh eyes on it before I lock in with detail editing.

The Tower of Briars is a gothic fairytale in the form of a 17.5k novella. I'm looking for general story feedback, though if you are knowledgeable about (very loosely) 1840s England, I would love any extra help improving those aspects.

I'm hoping to have the book out in October, so I'd like to get feedback in by mid-August, to give me time to fix and edit things.

Content warnings for standard gothic elements (death, narrative dooming, incest) apply. This is a work of Romantic Horror.