#faralit

There’s this creative you really loved years ago. I mean you really adored their work. Maybe they were even one of the reasons you got into the craft yourself, even if you told yourself you’d “never be that good”. 

But then, as you got more experienced with that same craft, you started to notice glaring laziness or flaws in said creative’s work. Not stylistic choices so much as mistakes in the sort of fundamental areas you’d cover in the most basic of introductory classes. 

Maybe you’re too respectful to point it out when critique was never asked for, but you know it’s there. You see others criticize them, often politely, in such a way you now notice they always have. The creative ignores them, again, as they always have. 

But now, every time you see their work you’re excitedly like “Oh! It’s them!!” for about five seconds before your critical brain kicks in. You look at whatever they’ve posted and just... You feel almost upset -- no, that’s the wrong word -- disappointed that despite having so much more experience than your noob-self they can’t see where the problems lie. 

The almost-but-not-quite anger that flares up when you eventually put aside your stale idolatry and realize it’s not that they don’t see it; They simply don’t care. Why focus on self-improvement when their current work accrues hundreds of thousands of comments, likes, and shares? Why fix what sells when they can keep giving the bare minimum and make a paycheque doing it? 

It’s conflicting, because on one hand you feel jaded; Does that critical eye, that new opinion on something you used to enjoy, make you a worse person?

It doesn’t have to. 

On that other hand you can look back at your personal studies and know: Your skill set may not be on par with theirs yet, but it may be eventually. And when it inevitably catches up, the moment will be short-lived; Unlike your former idol you have the awareness to never stop learning, so you’ll keep moving upwards past that point. 

So I suppose despite not being idolized anymore, that creative still fills a similar purpose: A goal to reach and eventually surpass. 

Your former idol is now a peer and rival in your eyes. 

Legit though, I adore how you felt the need to clarify you were already curious about my son before he made an immeasurably stupid decision. First-pass snippet, not expecting any magic but here you go! [Ask Meme Sauce]

1. why did they choose their class(es)? their subclass(es)?

"When a vast silence remains unbroken for too long, it's easy to forget it exists at all. Then when it shatters, the sudden noise is all the more deafening."

As if on cue, the tent fell silent save for the minstrel's fingernails tapping against his bowl. It was a habit of his they'd come to tolerate over the course of their travels; Jhekk never could seem to perform without some manner of rhythmic accompaniment.

"Okay, that's a bit flowery," he continued. "Point being: The quieter the kid, the bigger the bastard potential. And so it's with a bastard we'll start-"

A single groan loudly pierced the space, and the half-orc's attention shifted to the convoluted pile of limbs that served as the tiefling siblings’ comfort of choice for the evening. 

"We get it," Slug complained. "You've got an origin story."

"Enlightening revelation," came Jhekk's own dry retort, "brought to us by Ser My-village-got-burned-down-by-murder-clowns." The tapping stopped, his impromptu performance all but forgotten in his annoyance. “You never shut up about it.”

"You are literally one of the fucking murder-clowns!"

"I'm not a clown." The statement's gravelly drop in pitch served as much as a warning as it did a correction. "I'm a minstrel, an acrobat, a gorekeep, stagehand… Dabbled in pain artistry for a time…" He trailed off, but continued counting on his fingers for effect. "Any job is easier if you're working to a good beat, so I made my own music wherever I went. It was only a matter of time before the troupe's musicians had me moved to the wagons for proper training."

"Wait, wait wait wait!" It was Cloud who spoke next, the pale tiefling's enthusiastic glee overtaking any concern for volume control in the crowded space as he pushed his brother's head out of the way to address the half-orc directly. "Your origin is that you got adopted by a pack of wild bards!?"

"Nothing so familial," Jhekk corrected. "But pretty much, yeah. It was either that, or get my hands ripped off and fed to the 'yeens for being annoying."

It starts off innocently enough, really. 

Perhaps it’s a phone call from a blocked number, or a voicemail in your inbox despite it never actually ringing in the first place. 

“Would you like to play a game?” they begin. “We will make it worth your time. Do you know Simon Says? Simon says: Untwist a paperclip and place it on your windowsill. Good luck!” 

Many would ignore the message, writing it off as a poor trolling attempt. Humans, however, are curious by nature. 

The first payment comes within a day of placing the subtle bit of metal on display: A single dollar, slipped deliberately between the pages of the newspaper left on your doorstep, or perhaps sent along digitally from some gibberish email. 

A coincidence, or a prize? 

The commands begin trickling in at an unpredictable rate. Most are simple affairs, easy to verify and rewarded with a prize of equal value. The difficulty increases of course, but never are your mysterious benefactor’s instructions beyond the realm of what you might find realistically attainable. 

It starts off innocently enough. 

Do thing. Place proof of thing somewhere inconspicuous. Get paid.

“Simon says: Post a video on Twitter of you jumping on one foot.” 

“Fantastic! Simon says: Go someplace new for coffee today.” 

“What did you think of that shop? Aren’t new places exciting? Simon says: Make that therapist’s appointment you’ve been avoiding.” 

For weeks this goes on: Task, proof, reward. Task, proof, reward.

“Don’t go for coffee today.” 

The message strikes you as odd, somehow. You stare at the words for what feels like an hour before the lack of their signature opener registers. 

You go for coffee that day, placing the receipt in your window before bed as has become routine. They didn’t say “Simon says”, after all. 

Sure enough, the next morning you find your bank account has been gifted almost enough money to pay your rent outright. 

“Good job,” their next message begins. “You’re wonderful at this game. Simon says: Purchase a small animal such as a hamster or gerbil, and Simon also says don’t forget the proper equipment to take care of it. We can’t wait to see what you pick!” 

Purchasing the cage and equipment for your new companion is admittedly exciting, and through the next week your assigned tasks almost exclusively revolve around caring for it. It’s not long until you are utterly enamoured with the little creature. 

It starts off innocently enough.

“Feed the rodent today.”

Aww, thank you! Stylized or deliberate repetition is one of my favorite literary devices to utilize, admittedly. It shows up a lot in my work, even when I’m not aiming to do it intentionally. 

Something I learned very early on is that while diversity in sentence length and format is an essential tool to keep writing interesting, it’s also what we’re used to reading. Repeating elements or themes tend to stick out more; our minds emphasize those fragments even if we don’t realize it at the time. 

Every person reads text differently: 

Reading with their own mental voice, often at the speed they would normally speak aloud (subvocalization);

As above, but with inflection and tone regardless of pacing (narrative);

Imprinting key elements of the text without actually taking in all the words at all (skimming);

Converting text to images and concepts on the fly as they don’t think in words (visualization);

Straight-up reading aloud to themselves;

And Gods only know how many others! 

I find that placed correctly, repetition sets the tempo of a piece. It can force the reader to follow certain “beats” as they read, similar to how artists might stretch or skew comic panels to imply the passage of time or the importance of a moment. 

On that same note, changing an established repeating element is jarring; Pulling the reader out of a false sense of security, demolishing the brain’s illogical assumption that it’s been following a set pattern. 

Even if the reader hasn’t noticed the repetition, 90% of the time their brain has slipped into the pattern and it will sound the alarm when something is suddenly “off”. It yanks the reader’s notice to certain lines or events, triggering feelings of unease or even relief depending on the context.