In the woods dark & deep

My name’s Nera ( she/her 30+ ) and currently I am being driven absolute mad with worldbuilding and plotting polishing. I've been writing since I was a wee thing but mostly that was within other media ( fanfiction ) so this has been quite the adventure. These posts always make me feel like being a new kid in class again: What's your name? Tell us something interesting about yourself. And then you completely blue screen and don't remember your name let alone ANYTHING about yourself, interesting or not. So yes this is going to be short because-- I'm out of things to say.

WIP TAG ㅤEXCERPTS ㅤTAG GAMES ㅤSUPERSTITION SATURDAYㅤ ANSWERS ㅤWRITEBLRㅤ BY OTHERS ㅤSPOTIFY

working summary for now written like a back cover summary: ㅤThere is not a blade of grass unfed by the centuries of spilled blood. Nor an empire unsupported by cornerstones of cracking ivory bones. A world grown, nurtured, and sustained by the continuous sacrificial bloodletting and greedy men. Sword and arrow aren’t the only tools we have learned to use against one another. War is not our only excuse to hurt and kill and annihilate one another. Time moves forward unchanging and steady as a spinning wheel; never backward always forward, never rushed and never diverting, and so the past will come again. Maybe tomorrow we will fight upon the bones of who we were Ages ago. Maybe today we will burn upon pyres lit beneath those damned by the New Gods. And maybe tomorrow will be the day that wheel of time finally breaks.

currently reading: the relic by preston and child currently listening to: the magnus archives

some favorites: tolkien, robert jordan, the pendergast series by preston and child, shadow and bone, horror movies, everything guillermo del toro touches, magnus archives, the watcher youtube channel, and whatever strikes my consumes my soul for a few months before i am consumed by something new for a few months before i am consumed…

THRENODY a high fantasy wip

I wanted to post something creative since it's been.. awhile.. since I got some thoughts in order long enough to stream words...whether or not these words form coherent sentences is to be determined. Anyway, feel free to count this as an open tag for everyone. Even you. Yes you. Do it.

Swallowing nearly half the country was the ravenous Elderwood; a forest refusing to be felled, a wood older than the nation it infected. While expansive and ever creeping, the Elderwood was not known for lush greenery or its sustainable wildlife. No. The ancient unforgiving forest was death frozen in decay. Trees rotten from the inside but stood tall and unbreakable. Underbrush blackened with black frost and mud that never dried. Nothing grew in that place and yet the forest itself seemed to expand further and further every decade. Some elders living in BLACKFERN swore its roots crept further and further than even the treeline and somewhere wandering, hunting, within the tendril-like shadows was the very thing keeping that time-forgotten forest in perpetual death, a creature grown from vine and root -- the HAGAMA

I'm trying to update this blog more regularly but, like I mentioned, everything worldbuilding and plot wise comes and goes so unpredictably I'm struggling right now to get my thoughts down.

I wasn't sure if I wanted to repost the wip introduction from the previous two blogs but I think I'll pop this back in the tag so.. sorry if you're sick of this introduction. Anyway, onward and upward here's my wip (re)introduction

working summary for now written like a back cover summary: ㅤThere is not a blade of grass unfed by the centuries of spilled blood. Nor an empire unsupported by cornerstones of cracking ivory bones. A world grown, nurtured, and sustained by the continuous sacrificial bloodletting and greedy men. Sword and arrow aren’t the only tools we have learned to use against one another. War is not our only excuse to hurt and kill and annihilate one another. Time moves forward unchanging and steady as a spinning wheel; never backward always forward, never rushed and never diverting, and so the past will come again. Maybe tomorrow we will fight upon the bones of who we were Ages ago. Maybe today we will burn upon pyres lit beneath those damned by the New Gods. And maybe tomorrow will be the day that wheel of time finally breaks

wip vibes and inspiration: Wheel of Time ( Robert Jordans especially ); Lord of the Rings/Hobbit ( J RR Tolkien / also includes the films ); Game of Thrones (George RR Martin ); Shadow and Bone ( Leigh Bardugo ); various mythologies and cultures

features: immersive worldbuilding; a wide range of cultures, races and cultures; civil and racial unrest; many main characters of color; political drama; ancient evils; magic; war and losses; fictional genocide; history repeating; and everyone's favorite -- moral ambiguity

tagged by @forthesanityofstorytellers ( check out their answer here ) and quietly, softly tagging you.

Rules are to talk about the origin of your OC(s)...how you came up with them, where the idea came from, etc.

As I'm a fanfic writer I tend to write a lot of canon characters whose personalities are already figured out rather than a lot of fully original characters, but I think as far as characters I think ISI has to be one of my favorite original characters... so far. She started out more distant with a dry sense of humor similar to Yennefer from the Witcher and Johanna from Hunger Games, but has since morphed more into a character similar to Primrose Everdeen from the Hunger Games, and maybe Hermione Granger from HP.

She's an extremely resilient character who grows a lo throughout the first book and I love that she's both a sensitive and empathetic character as well as a strong and capable character who I really test throughout my wip.

Like Hermione, Isi is a quick study and fairly outspoken and quick to defend her friends, willing to risk everything if it mean protecting those important to her. And like Prim, she's a kind and soft soul wanting nothing more than to Help. It doesn't matter the circumstance ( in the middle of battle, in the cells of a prison, or even a joyous festival ) Isi doesn't hesitate to run into danger if it mean protecting those who can't protect themselves.

Never ask the future for what must had in the present. Futures are not finite, her grandmother always reminded her of that, especially after her calling came in the form of a red feathered falcon. The future was like water, it rippled outward and while some ripples held strong, other broke and faded to nothing. But the future was also a serpent eating its own tail, ongoing, relentless, and doomed to repeat every last bite. A hunger never sated. That was why she saw in fragments, incomplete ripples, gnawed away ends. It wasn't her visions' job to weave the whole story. It was the PROPHET's.

stolen from @forthesanityofstorytellers ( check out their five here ) and I'm going to gently, softly, tag you. yes. all of you.

rules: share five things the reader can expect from your WIP(s)

Music spoke all languages, she remembered, music is a language all souls speak. Nacha realized, as Isi continued bouncing a hand against her knee and Nevin's flute slipped into the air, she'd never truly understood what her grandmother meant. Elderyn had their own music, their own hymns to appease the spirits but nothing so personal. Isi's low tone drug her song across the embers of their cook fire, crackled brokenly within the flames. Such a sadness rippled into the world and even the trees bent to listen. Nacha didn't understand the words, had no understanding of the life of Tinkers and their hardships, but in this moment, beneath the canopy of Isi and Nevin's beautiful melancholy, she was one of them. Their grief was her own. Their pain and their mourning were shared. As Isi's rolling and rippling lament stoked the fire, the night stilled, the world slipped into deep slumber, and all the world fell away.

Atarah was not a queen, nor was she a sarashi alone. She was a force. A storm and siege wrapped in golden tanned skin. Stood at the end of her balcony, she overlooked her empire; the dotted gold glittering domes down to the red-hued clay streets. Her people were too low and too small to be seen or minded and those beneath with heartbeats were of little interest. Her gaze was on the horizon. Her intent aimed to the north. Her hunger craving Redfirn. An icy breeze stirred beneath silken drapes, the fabric kissing Atarah's sun warmed skin, brushed through the loose strands of her hair, fluttering the ribbons of fabric draped around her body. Gooseflesh kissed a delicate trail down her spine dragging a stuttered breath from between her deeply painted lips. Peering deeper into that bloodied skyline, carried on the whisper of an endless winter, Atarah heard the sounds of metal clashing. Bodies breaking. Smelled blood thick rivers carving new veins and new borders through reddened snow. Taste the cutting steel and salty tears of a yielding lord's keep. Enchanted by the siren's song of dying screams and the roar of merciless flame. Redfirn's refusal to bend knee, their arrogant display of independence, coming to an end by her own hand. Lord Cantrell had been left a wide berth, allowed the patience of all those before her, but Atarah was hunger. The air warmed to a burning degree, ashen blisters dancing up her throat singing the hair tucked behind the gold pierced ear, a voice stoking the embers lining Atarah's flesh, words meant for her and her alone. And the hunger for Redfirn collapsed into obsession.