#character-driven

Thressl hated stillness.

Not because he feared it — Wolves feared nothing worth naming — but because stillness noticed him. Every ache, every lingering echo of Warp backlash, every place where his body and soul had not quite agreed to be whole again rose to the surface when he was forced to sit.

The medbay lights were low, deliberately so. Apothecaries knew better than to flood a recovering psyker with glare. Incense hung faintly in the air, threaded with antiseptic and machine oil. Thressl sat bare-armed on the edge of a plasteel cot, fingers flexing, braid beads clicking softly as he rolled his shoulders.

“Depth perception?” Cedric asked, slate in hand.

“Still off,” Thressl replied. “Only when I’m tired. Or annoyed.”

Cedric snorted. “So constantly.”

Thressl grinned, sharp and feral. “You wound me.”

Cedric didn’t rise to it. He stepped closer instead, peering into Thressl’s eyes as a scanner hummed softly. The Rune Priest resisted the urge to bare his teeth — reflex more than intent — and held still.

The machine chimed.

Cedric exhaled. “Your optic nerves are regenerating cleanly. No hemorrhaging. No Warp bleed.”

“That’s good,” Thressl said.

“It is,” Cedric agreed. Then, after a beat, “You’re still grounded from unsupervised projection.”

Thressl’s jaw tightened. “For how long.”

Cedric met his gaze evenly. “As long as it takes.”

Silence stretched between them. Thressl looked away first, nostrils flaring as he breathed through irritation that had nowhere useful to go.

“And duty?” he asked.

Cedric tapped the slate. “Limited. Apothecary shifts only. You assist. You do not lead.”

A pause.

“And my training,” Thressl said carefully.

Cedric hesitated — just a fraction too long.

Thressl’s eyes snapped back. “Ced.”

“You need control,” Cedric said. “Not belief. Not instinct. Control.”

“I have control.” He responds bristling a little bit.

“You had control,” Cedric corrected. “And then you nearly cooked your own brain trying to punch a Thousand Son through the Immaterium.”

Thressl opened his mouth, then closed it again. His headache throbbed in distant agreement.

Cedric continued, gentler now. “There are not enough Rune Priests on base. The ones we have are deployed or overwhelmed.”

“So I wait.” Thressl says jutting his chin out and narrowing his eyes.

“No.” Cedric replies with a shake of his head.

Thressl stiffened. “Then what.”

Cedric set the slate aside. “You train.”

The words should have been reassuring. They weren’t.

“With who,” Thressl asked. “Karlsor? He’s been training a whole bunch of firstborns and Primaris Marines Warp powers.”

Cedric held his gaze. Did not flinch.

“A good guess. But Karlsor has enough students. He’s not able to take on more. Also- he’s not trained in Biomancy. Or Apothecarium duties. However, there is a Librarius-adjacent specialist,” he said. “Psyker-apothecary. Loyalist. Pre-Heresy lineage.”

The medbay seemed to narrow a bit as his clever mind darts to who it could be.

Thressl’s lip curled. “You can’t be serious.”

“It is practical.” Cedric respond calmly.

“It is grox-shite.” Thressl barks out his teeth baring for a moment.

Cedric sighed. “You need instruction. He has space. End of equation.”

“Thousand Son,” Thressl growled, the word a challenge.

“Yes.” Cedric respond. “Loyalist. Pre-Heresy.”

The silence that followed was not explosive. It was heavy. Pressed down on Thressl’s shoulders, his chest, the place behind his eyes where memory and instinct tangled. He thought of the psy-wound.  Of the calm, precise hands that had closed it. Of the way the Warp had listened.

“No,” Thressl said at last.

Cedric waited, tilting his head as he looks at Thressl. He understand the struggle Thressl is going through. About why he doesn’t want to work with a First Born Thousand son. Loyalist though he is.

Thressl clenched his fists, then forced them open again. “I’ll do the shifts,” he said. “I’ll follow the restrictions. But I will not be turned into—”

“You won’t be turned into anything,” Cedric interrupted. “You will be trained.”

Thressl searched his face for doubt. Found none.

“How long,” he asked.

Cedric’s voice softened. “As long as it takes.”

That again. Thressl looked down at his hands — scarred, steady, capable of healing and killing in equal measure. He exhaled through his teeth. He rubs at his gut- the scars there- from surgeries and battles he’s fought in the past.

“…Fine,” he said. “Temporary.”

Cedric nodded. “Temporary.”

As if summoned by the word, the medbay door slid open. The temperature shifted — not colder, but cleaner. Ordered. Thressl’s senses prickled before the man even spoke. If he had fur his hackles would rise. Oh- he really doesn’t like this at all, and just barely stops himself from baring his fangs and growling. Barely.

“I was told my presence was required,” came a calm, measured voice. Cultured. Ancient. “A Primaris Rune Priest requiring oversight.”

Thressl’s head snapped up.

The Thousand Son stood just inside the threshold, crimson and gold muted by the medbay’s light. His helm was mag-locked at his belt, revealing a face composed like carved stone — eyes dark, assessing, not unkind.

And in the Warp— Thressl sucked in a sharp breath. The resonance hit him like a struck bell. Not intrusion.  Not dominance. Recognition. The Thousand Son paused. For the first time, something flickered across his expression. Even on Ancient Terra- where the Warp was trapped behind thick ice, slow as cold molasses. He can feel the other. And he doesn’t like it.

“…Ah,” he said quietly.

Cedric cleared his throat. “Thressl,” he said, “this is Apothecary Amonhep Rhan.”

Amonhep inclined his head. “Rune Priest.”

Thressl’s hackles rose. His teeth bared before he could stop them. He does not growl. Because of the look- mild though it would seem from others that Cedric is giving him. The flash of warning- something that could be jabbed into his veins to calm him down if he decides to cause a ruckus. Amonhep studied him — not as an enemy, not as a curiosity, but as a problem that deserved precision.

“This will be… educational,” the Thousand Son said at last.

Thressl snarled softly.

“Like hell it will,” he muttered.

Amonhep’s lips twitched — not quite a smile.

“We shall see,” he replied.

I've always been very focused on character creation as the foundation of good writing. When I was younger, and just starting to write, I remember someone proposing the question - which is more vital to creating a good story - a strong plot, or a strong character? At the time, I answered strong characters, hands down. My argument was that a strong character can still carry a weak plot, but a strong plot can still be boring af if the characters are weak. I do still see some merit to that line of thinking.

When it comes to actually writing down my stories, though, I've always really struggled with first drafts. I would fill notebook after notebook with detailed notes on plot points, worldbuilding, and most of all, on characters. Elaborate backstories, personality breakdowns, strengths and weaknesses, hopes and dreams and fears and every other thing that you've seen on a character profile template. I would take my time with things like choosing names, and I would flesh out their families and the people around them because to know their relationships is to know them. I've been protective of my characters, cherishing them, as many of us do, as if they were my children, as if they were dear friends of mine.

But I have yet to complete any long form projects. I have yet to complete any rough drafts for novels. When I was younger, it was because I was determined to do my stories justice. I was determined to do my beloved OCs justice. I didn't feel my writing was strong enough so I just... didn't write for my original works. I would play around with fanfiction, and I read a lot, and eventually I got into writing RP. But I didn't do anything concrete with my OCs beyond making plans for their stories.

Then I entered a short story contest — NYCMidnight's short story contest. They go in four rounds, and give you a prompt, a word limit, and a time limit in which to write your story. You get a week and 2500 words for round 1, three days and 2000 words for Round 2, two days and 1500 words for Round 3, and 24 hours and 1250 words for Round 4. The first year I participated, I went 3 rounds before being knocked out. Last year, I wrote for the first 2.

Which means I've produced five completely original short stories for the prompts given. I was absolutely shocked by how productive I was in such a short span of time. You are given your prompt the moment your clock starts ticking for each round, so you don't have time to prepare ahead. Which means that not only did I have to come up with a plot very quickly, I was also creating characters on the spot.

When you have three days to write a story, you can't spend months carefully crafting a character. So when it came to drafting, I just started slapping very quick characters together that could do what was needed for the plot. My prompt is genre: ghost story, character: a best man, and subject: temporary? Okay, then I need a bride, a groom, a best man, and a ghost. My bride is (picking a random name) Victoria, she's checking out venues with her fiance, and she realizes the place they're checking out is haunted. And off we go.

And you know what? I figured out who Victoria is as I wrote. She's conflicted, she's on the verge of breaking things off. The ghost is reaching out to her, helping her come to terms with the end of her relationship. I didn't need to know her favorite color or her childhood trauma or her blood type to write the story. Some of those things might come out in the writing. Many of them just never become relevant.

Now, I'm not saying that character profiles are trash. I don't hold with blanket advice, and this isn't advice, remember, this is just a thought. But for me, doing these fast exercises even though I always had thought of myself as a planner not a pantser, showed me that I can still write a damn good story even without writing a novel's worth of notes and plans alone.

Getting back to the original thought... I guess what I'm trying to get at here is, sometimes I think authors can get so tangled up in the create-a-character stage, or the world-building stage, that we forget that we aren't meant to be writing a travel guide, or designing a fully-realized person.

At some point, you have to say okay, now lets put that person in some situations and see what they do. You gotta stick them in a scenario where they are not just spouting backstory at another character, but are making a choice. Okay, they have trauma. They have complex personalities. But what are they doing? What choices are they making and what waves are they making? That's where the plot comes from, and how you make it go. That's plot. And the plot is where the story happens. And you're just writing it all down as it goes, and that's your rough draft.

Every time i get stuck on a story, I instinctively reach for the background notes. I just need to know what makes them tick, I think, and that's how I'll fix it. But nine times out of ten, I don't, actually. That way leads to Not Writing (tm). And I still struggle with that more than I'd like for my bigger projects.

Trying (again) to bring it back to the initial thought... I just think it's interesting that the stories that were easiest to complete were ones where the characters were made up as I went along. I just wrote. Added new characters when needed. Oh, protag needs a friend to carry out a conversation? Guess we have a new character. They continue on their merry way, surprise, someone's stalking them, new character! Meanwhile the stories where I've outlined every character and know who each of them are, still sit unwritten.

That's not the sole factor in why a story has or hasn't been written out, mind you. It's more a comment on, if your OCs are too dear and you're taking too much time with designing them, you are losing valuable time that you could figure out who they are as you write their story. By you I really mean me. Or whoever might find this useful, I suppose.

History So why and wherefore did this whole plot v. character thing come from? I present to you the “Great Man Theory” https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Great_man_theory

This say great people, mostly men shaped history. That means schlubs and the rest of the people out there did nothing. This is the pro "character-driven” side. So, that person that threw the brick at Stonewall was secretly a “Great person” and that’s why the chain of events happened with pride (who was also later erased to be a white male.)

And the people we forget, say, Bass Reeves, who was whitewashed, was ranked lower than the people who created the Lone Ranger from his story, because, you know Bass Reeves deserves to be forgotten.

You can see about here what I think of this shit theory of time.

Of course people loved this theory. If you try hard enough, you can be great too, which is why you don’t remember who really created the Bamboo filament for the lightbulb. It was the height of imperialism, so of course people loved it.

There is an opposite time theory though, that goes, that events called someone to be great at the time, so with the people absent, it won’t change.

Both are shit theories, honestly, which was why by the 1980′s-1990s, they were abandoned, but writers latched onto them in the same time period, while the rest of the world, say philosophy, history theory, and physics lept forwards. Because people like buzzwords that make things feel simple. But it’s a shit theory.

So where is time theory now?

Time theory has jumped mostly towards string theory. Rather than a linear progression of events with either great people or people just filling in, that time, looks organized, while it’s truly chaos. So a more popular theory of time would be Butterfly effect, which says, the smallest of events and changes affect everything in the scene. This means there is equal weight to events and characters, as well as the other 98% of what makes a story a story. This means things like, oh, say setting, tone, theme, etc ALSO matter to making the story more complete. So if you change a hat, it has ripple effects on the rest of the story. (It’s the more annoying, but feels more realistic, and less flat.)