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Marches – Chapter 05 (Second Draft)

Author’s Note – So, I wanted to show the second draft of this chapter. I hated the original version of the chapter, but love the character of Romi. I wanted to bring it closer to how I hoped to change the story in the next drafts, and while I’m now working on a third. I really enjoy seeing the evolution of stories, and thought it might be worth a look for anyone watching along. I hope you enjoy this rewritten and revised version of my least favorite chapter.

The Fox’s Bastard

Mirabelle had found herself at home in the village faster than she had expected. The people of Milae were incredibly cordial to her, with an excitement to have her that she never saw in any of the people who visited her old home. She never knew the people of the villages outside of Towers at the Temple, but here – she was already getting to know people. Only a few weeks had passed before she had found a few she could genuinely rely on to help her with many things. Ervig, specifically, had been essential in helping bring her information about the region.

She had been lucky that the Astier owned two manors, as well. They had a fortified home atop a nearby hill, which was built across a river tributary and was where the family actively lived. But Chateau Ronic, where she currently lived, was the home of one of the middle Astier ancestors. From what she gathered, the eponymous Ronic was a leader of the village but otherwise detached from the family affairs. However, while the others were off at war, she was able to defend the village from an opportunistic attack. The villagers held it up as one of the pillars of their relationship with the family.  It seemed the family mostly used the manor as a place to stay when visiting the village now, but for the time being, it was hers to do with as she pleased.

She kept herself busy learning about the region and its people but made time for meals with Tienette. While she did not connect much further with Valamir, she did spend quite some time with Sarus’ younger sister, Cynewise – though she always went by Cyne. The two did not enough together for Mirabelle to consider her a close friend, of course, but she could easily see her becoming one in the future. Still, this isolation made her feel rather lonely. One day, that feeling began to gnaw at her more than usual, and she decided that she needed to leave the residence and go about in town, in hopes of clearing that fog from her mind.

So, with Coralie and Bastien behind her, she ventured out into the village once again. It was a day like any other in the town. A few traders had come into town that morning, as they did every few weeks. It was a time when she could get a few items she didn’t normally have access to – mostly dried goods from the coast, in this case. Still, she enjoyed looking. Every once in a while she would find something from home that helped her feel a bit more grounded. It was a challenge for her to avoid simply buying up more than she needed too, but luckily Coralie was always nearby with a reminder about her stipend.

Today was not unlike any other. The sun peeked through the leaves of the trees scattered throughout the village giving a little bit of warmth on an otherwise blustery day as the summer season faded into autumn. The people were happy though, the sun and early stages of harvest beginning keeping spirits high, despite the colder day. She spent some time chatting with some local villagers as she passed through, still impressed that she was greeted well nearly every time. Of course, there were outliers. A few villagers had let it slip that they’d prefer an outsider not be joining their ruling family – but she had expected that sentiment to be the most common.

Instead, even only a few months into her stay, she found herself walking the streets of the village with the same confidence she might have strolled the temple. While speaking to the baker, though, her ear caught a warning.

“Look out!” A villager’s voice pierced the otherwise peaceful day. There was a distinct, sharp screech of someone in trouble, then the sound of a scared or wounded horse.

Mirabelle felt a heavy hand on her back, the gauntlet edges pressing into her spine and forcing her back. Bastien may have said something, but it was impossible to tell. There was the distinct sound of steel leaving scabbard. On her other side, Coralie and falling back against her as well, both pushing her back and into the merchant’s stall. She barely had a chance to look to see the trouble. A pair of large draft horses had been startled, or maybe injured. She couldn’t tell. Their drivers tried desperately to get them back under control. Then there was a distinctive snap, the leather of their reins giving way under the stress. One of the drivers fell back at the change in force, losing his footing and smashing to the ground with a scream. His partner was startled, and the second horse’s reins were lost. Both horses tore forward. The cracking of wood followed as they stripped free of the cart.

Then the animals rushed forward down the street, panicked. Little was more dangerous than a frightened animal, and a massive draft horse on a busy street was a genuine threat. When they rushed down the street, people scattered. Mirabelle saw the creatures rush at a villager, one raring up and striking out with its front hooves. Luckily, the villager had been able to dart out of the way, but they moved fast towards the other villagers. One villager fell near one of the horses, who kicked back. “Bastien!” Mirabelle’s voice broke through the noise.

The old templar didn’t hesitate. When her voice called, he pushed off from her and rushed towards the villager. He raised his sword, both hands firmly gripping the hilt of the old weathered blade and raising it as a spear. With a yell, he met his mark – the blade sinking into the draft horse as it raised with a sickening sound. The templar followed through, pushing his entire weight into the beast. He was not a small man, but the beast was enormous. He pushed with everything he had and tilted the thing just enough to knock it back and away from the villager crawling to their feet. The villager let out a scream as the horse hit the ground next to it, with the templar now atop it.

That was all the opening that Mirabelle needed. She pushed past Coralie and rushed out to the villager on the ground. She gripped the villager’s hand and helped him up. Her handmaiden was right behind her, though. As soon as the villager had started to climb to his feet, she felt Coralie hit her in the back – hard. She and the villager stumbled forward, and she turned to see the handmaiden rolling out of the way of the other angered horse.

“Coralie!” Mirabelle yelled back to her as her eyes caught a glimpse of Bastien pulling his sword out of the creature and stepping away. Then she realized her mistake. One of the draft horses, the one still standing, had rounded back around to face down the small foreign handmaiden armed with nothing but a dagger. And the other rolled back to its feet, despite the blood pumping out of the sword wound in its chest.

She saw it then, the bright white bone at the center of each horse’s skull.

“They’re licorne.” Mirabelle almost laughed with a mix of excitement and fear. They were not just frightened and scared animals. They were unicorns, their horns carved off their skulls and forced into service as draft animals. They were bred for war, fighters from the day they stood to their deaths. She felt a hand on her shoulder, then another, the villagers pulling her back and off the street and to a nearby building.

Bastien let out a yell and hit the pommel of his blade against his shield. The loud noise drew the attention of the wounded beasts, and as they prepared to strike again, one of the villagers yelled as well, hitting a hammer against the wood wall of the building next to him. It drew their attention, and as the wounded licorne rose to its feet, the other huffed and beat on the dirt road with a hoof. There was another yell, another burst of cacophonous sound. The poor beasts seemed confused, and it was clear they were frightened. They wavered, and shortly after darted down the street and away from the noisy crowd, and twisted hard to move towards the woodlands around the village.

The few minutes after felt like a much longer time, but soon enough, Ervig and his men had reached the scene and were helping people get things back to normal. At first, Bastien and Coralie were reluctant to let Mirabelle help, but once they did, she found herself calmed by the tedious tasks of cleaning up a market stall alongside one of the village artisans. She had helped pick up some of the smaller items that had been knocked aside in the rush of folk trying to find a safe place to stand, but her eyes would drift away to Ervig from time to time.

The man questioned the merchants whose cart the beasts had broken away from, took count of their things and seemed exacerbated by the time he stepped back over towards the stall where Mirabelle and company still stood. Bastien stepped out to greet him, still standing with his blade out and a watchful eye on any around his Lady.

“What did you find out, Sir Ervig?” She heard Bastien say.

“Not much. They bought the licorne from a merchant traveling through Rane. What information they had would be useless in finding out anything. My instinct is that they had no idea what they purchased.” Ervig let out a long sigh, “I’ll be getting some hunters together to try to track them down.”

“Any skilled enough to bring down a frightened licorne?” Bastien asked.

“We’ve got good hunters. I’ll put up a bounty for them, and we’ll get them down quick,” He took a deep breath, lingering a moment. “A bounty should help speed things along.”

“Bastien,” Mirabelle spoke under her breath, quietly joining the conversation and drawing looks from the two men. “Get him the coin needed for a bounty from our stipend.”

“My lady, this isn’t a d’Argent issue. The Astier will handle the coin,” Ervig protested, though only half-heartedly.

“It will be faster if I do it. If you insist, you can have the Astier repay me…” She spoke as she brushed off her robes and smiled over at the shopkeep she was working to aid. “Besides, I saw the danger. I want to assist.”

“Of course, my lady. And we thank you for that. You are too kind…”

Mirabelle just smirked and shook her head. “I will offer double the amount if the beasts are brought back safely. I would like to think they could be reformed.” She stretched. “Coralie and I will walk through the village again. Bastien, go with Ervig, and get what he needs.”

“Yes, Lady d’Argent,” Bastien agreed, “If Coralie is comfortable protecting you on the return to the manor.”

“I am,” The handmaiden gave a single nod.

“And my men are about if you were to get uncomfortable,” Ervig added. “And I will have Bastien back to you quickly.”

“Good,” Was all Mirabelle thought to say before smiling to the merchant and going back to working for a few moments, as Bastien and Ervig moved off to handle setting up the bounty. She wondered if she had made the right choice, but didn’t dwell. As the shop was cleaned up, she said her farewells and returned to the manor for a time.

Two days passed before she heard any word on what had come of the Licorne hunt. The autumn weather continued to push colder, and with a seasonal rainstorm hitting the area shortly after, she found her spirits down. The lands here were beautiful in their way, and from the manor house, she could watch over the small village to the west and enjoy wonderful views of the forest and rivulets to the east. Unfortunately, the turning color of the leaves had been cut short by the pounding rainstorms of the previous two days. What had looked like a beautiful array of colorful leaves had been stolen from their branches, with only a scant few leaves remaining on the branches.

She had expected that their hunt for the Licornes had been cut short as well, made impossible by the rains and fallen leaves. She had little hope they would find it and resolved to keep a vigil for the beasts.

A beating on the manor door near dusk on that second day was answered by one of her servants, who returned to the commons room where she sat reading as Coralie played lightly on her old viol. Bastien, as always, was nearby but left the lady to her own devices and busied himself with other tasks.

“My lady, Sir Ervig is here to see you,” The servant spoke with a bow.

“Very well. Show him in.”

“Yes, my lady,” The servant said before stepping back out of the room.

Ervig stepped in a moment later, his normally thin frame looking even frailer when soaked through by the rains he had walked through to get here. He spoke up quickly, “I am sorry to bother you, lady d’Argent, but I wanted to update you on the hunt.”

“Calling it off?” Bastien spoke coldly from the corner.

“Yes,” Ervig responded with a shrug, “But not for the rain.”

“Why, then?” Mirabelle asked as she pushed up from the seat.

“A young woman brought me the Licorne this evening.” He spoke. “The remaining one. She found the wounded one had succumbed to its wounds, and ended it.”

“But she was able…” Mirabelle turned and set her book aside, trailing off as she turned to speak to the man.

“Trap it, and bring it to us, yes,” Ervig gave a low laugh, “In the pouring rain, deep in the forest, with a fresh layer of leaves. I’ll admit, I am surprised.”

“And who was this lady?”

“That would depend on who you ask, my lady.” The militia captain’s lips twisted a bit uncomfortably, a sort of wince on his face.

“What exactly are you implying, Ervig?” Bastien spoke up, more curious at the tone than most of the others.

“It was the Fox’s Bastard.” He replied.

“And should that mean anything to us, sir Ervig?”

“Right,” Ervig brushed some rainwater off his arms and took a deep breath. “She’s the daughter of Luc Cedolin du Rane. He was a marquis, across the border from Milae.” Ervig explained. “He was called le Renard, the Fox. Not because he was particularly cunning or quick, but rather because he had orange and red hair.” The militiaman pointed towards his head or the hair on it – which bore no resemblance of similar colors. “He never married. His lover died in childbirth, and he raised Romi alone.”

“Her father never granted her status as a full member of his family?” Mirabelle asked calmly, but quietly as they still stood in the midst of the room. She didn’t want to be too loud, to speak to openly and say something uncouth about the huntress who had just accomplished something she had frankly thought a nigh impossible dream.

“Unsure. When her father died,” The captain took a breath and crossed his arms. “She was only fourteen. Her cousin took regency of his estate, and she was officially named a bastard by the Duc du Rane.” He glanced down to the small puddle below him. “There are rumors that her cousin orchestrated it. But, in the end, she is illegitimate. By law, she is just Romi. Her cousin did grant her a small piece of land on the edge of our territory. But she mostly subsists by hunting and has a small contingent of loyal servants.”

“How many?”

“Significantly less than you brought to the village, my lady,” Ervig said quickly. “She is a kind girl, but of little concern.”

Mirabelle made a noise somewhere between a huff and growl. It made the others around her take notice, though primarily those servants that had traveled with her to Milae. She took a deep breath and then gave a little bit of a shake of her head. “I’d like to know more about what happened to her and her family.” Her fingers tapped along the side of her robes, and after a moment, her voice called out an order, “Coralie, have the servants find what they can from the village over the next few days.”

“Of course, my lady.” The handmaiden gave a quiet bow, her music fading as she began to stand up, “We will find what information we can.”

“And I still want to have a meal with her.” Mirabelle clarified. “Bastard or not, she is of noble blood.” She spoke with a quick nod. “And I look forward to it.” She seemed to have decided as she dusted off her clothes and looked to Ervig. “Thank you, Ervig. Please bring me a report after you’ve sent one to the Astier. And given it is Astier land, they may keep the Licorne if they would like, but if not, I would like it brought here.”

“Lady d’Argent,” Bastien started to protest, but a hand raised by the young woman cut him off.

“Yes, my lady,” Ervig said after a moment. His head twitched to one side for a second and he gave a smile, “My lady, you do recall you are just a guest here, correct? There is no need for you to worry about the day to day.” He smirked, poking at the young girl, “Or are you considering staying?”

Mirabelle frowned at him. “You forget yourself.”

“My apologies, my lady,” He replied with his hands raised for a moment. “I meant it mostly in jest.” He admitted with a smile to her, and then he gave her a bow. “By your leave, ma’am.”

She gave him a dismissive wave, and then looked over to the others, before returning to her seat and taking back up her book – though the pages rarely turned. Her mind was elsewhere.

Once the day of the meal arrived, Mirabelle set it upon her servants to prepare a traditional Cote d’Argent meal – light fish, sweet fruits and vegetables, and a stout bread. She gave them their orders and went back to her quarters to bathe and clean herself up. Then, once she had dressed in a nice enough dinner dress, she set about waiting for her guest to arrive. As the night began to fall, clouds began to fill the sky, blotting out the stars, though the rain did not return — only the chill of the Autumnal air.

It made for a dark night, and as the dinner hour passed, her servants began to mill about and see if she would decide to eat without her guest. She did not. Instead, she sat and waited. After an hour or two, she relented and allowed her servants to eat – but she waited. Night fell darker, and the deeper the time went the more she listened to her servants speak about how she was wasting time, that the girl wasn’t coming.

With the darkness engulfing the home, she had her servants light a lantern outside, and one for her to read by, and she continued to wait. As she read, she listened. Bastien’s snores from his place nearby her were perhaps the loudest sounds, but Coralie’s insistence on busying herself around the lady came in a close second. It was not as late as each seemed to feel it was that night. Only an hour or two had passed since darkness fell, but they were impatient.

When there was a knock at the door, Mirabelle stood and moved over to see who it was. Coralie rushed to stop her and to open the door herself, but the lady would not have it. She opened the door to greet the archer and her guard with a smile. She had expected someone more imposing on both counts. The Huntress was a small woman, with a rounded face and bright red hair toned with just enough light browns to give it the tawny or orange color for which her father was known. She only met her eyes for a second before the woman looked away, nervousness extending from every motion and twist of her body. Her guard was not much more impressive, a tall, lanky man with only basic armor of tanned hide and a simple spear. The only impact he made on Mirabelle when she saw him was the odd thought that he looked uneven.

“I apologize for the late hour, my lady,” Romi spoke with a deep bow. “Please forgive,”

“Not at all,” Mirabelle replied swiftly, cutting her off. “Hunter’s rarely come home until the end of the day, Lady Cedolin.”

Romi smiled and lowered her head. “Thank you,” She said quietly.

“Come in and have a meal with me. Your man is welcome to rest and eat as well, of course.”

“You are too kind.”

The two walked into the manor and found themselves in the dining room. The sat to eat and for the next few minutes, they found themselves merely exchanging more pleasantries, which irked Mirabelle – though her face never showed anything but kindness. As the conversation seemed to go nowhere, she opted to push the archer, to see what she could discover about her. After a drink of wine, she spoke plainly.

“Ervig says you are the daughter of Marquis Luc Cedolin – but a bastard.” Lady d’Argent put a hint of emphasis on the last word. “He is wary of you.”

“Ervig is…” Romi’s grip tightened on her cup, and she sighed, “Cautious, but correct. They call me…”

“I know,” Mirabelle spoke softly. “You don’t have to say it.”

Romi nodded and continued. “I live in a small home in the forests on the Rane border with Nid de Vouivre. It is a meager hunting lodge my father built. Something my cousin didn’t care enough to take.”

“You don’t seem to harbor much ill will…”

“My cousin is a fox. He is cunning and always a few steps ahead of anyone who faces him in a political arena. He doesn’t join conflicts he will lose. His case against my inheritance is ironclad in regards to the law. He has contacts at every level of the court of Rane and he can bend them with a few choice words.” She spoke with a clear bit of sadness. “Had he put his skill to something great, he would likely be one of the best of us – but he is driven by power and wealth.”

“Perhaps one day, you can secure your lands again,” Mirabelle spoke with a succinct nod.

“No. My father’s lands are rightfully his. As long as he leaves the lodge and forests to me, I have no reason to test him.” The archer shrugged. “One day, I hope to be able to sway him back to something more important than power and wealth. His potential as a courtier and leader is astonishing. His mastery of debate and the sincerity to which he puts his mind to the research behind arguments is inspiring – if currently misplaced.”

Mirabelle didn’t say anything. She was a little surprised. That was rather high praise for a thief and con-artist, but moreover, she was astonished at her sizing up of the man. “Tell me, what do you think of Ervig’s abilities.”

“Hm?” Romi raised a brow and paused between a bite of her dinner. “I…” She thought a moment. “As a military leader, he is talented, but his domestic abilities leave much to be desired. He tends to want to handle things himself and lacks the education required to adjuvate village projects properly. It drags him down as a domestic steward, but his skills with a spear are quite good. His understanding of bandit tactics and small conflicts makes him very skilled at defending a village such as this. He also has a knack for connecting with his subordinates.”

Lady d’Argent gave a little nod. She thought that maybe there was more to the archer than she let on, but this all but proved it. “Do you know this much about every noble in the region?”

“What?” She shook her head for a moment, and then sighed, “Well, yes. I have had to. Otherwise, how would I hope to keep my quaint holdings?”

“So, you know about the Astier family?”

“Yes, of course. As a regional power, and the nobles of the closest town to me, I have too.” Romi spoke softly.

“What can you tell me about Valamir?” Mirabelle asked, before shaking her head. “Actually, no. I know the Marquis and Marquise…” She pondered for a moment, “Romi, what can you tell me about Sarus?”

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Short Story – The First Magi

Author’s Notes – This is my second Short Story of the year. However, I think I failed completely at the idea of a short story this time. This feels much more like a prologue. The story here is only hinted at, and I don’t feel like it is a complete story. That all being said, I wanted to post it anyway. Maybe if people enjoy it, I might make it into a full fledged long form. I think there are some fun ideas to play with here, and it is always fun to explore magic systems. Take a look. I hope you enjoy. And next week, I hope to have a story that works much better for actually being a ‘Short Story’.

The First Magi

There was little age on his hands, few wrinkles marking the passage of time, but the tremor in his hand as he gripped a feathered pen was clear. This was a man who had seen time pass into memory for ages uncounted. It was the tiredness in his grip and the weight in his eyes that showed the wearing on his soul much more than anything about his body indicated. He took a long breath. His shoulders rolled to find a more comfortable seated position. His joints cracked just a bit as he sat up a bit straighter.

Those tired eyes drifted across the length of the library he sat within. A crackling fire in an old stone fireplace shone light across the large room, with shadows dancing across the countless tomes and scrolls that lay stacked in endless corridors of bookcases. This was not a flowery description or overly inflated assumptions of the size of the place, it was the truth – or as close to it as a Magi could ever get. The corridors of books twisted in impossible fashions, bending through space and wrapping around one another with no semblance of reliance on the bounds of physics. A corridor may have spiraled over one of the others, disappearing into one of the open spaces in a distant bookcase, and exiting through the back of another on the opposite side of the room.

His eyes caught his apprentice as she approached from a distance. If you had asked him a few years prior, he never would have considered taking an apprentice – but as she searched for a scroll or tome, angled as if she was standing on the wall from his perspective here, he couldn’t imagine having left her behind. The thought let his breath escape for a moment, a sigh. He tapped the pen on his desk and leaned back in his chair.

The tapping seemed to awaken a nearby piece of paper. It perked up like a curious, sleeping cat. With a small flitter, it lifted off the floor near the desk, and it was picked up by some unseen wind and brought up to the desk. It floated softly to rest just next to the man’s hand. He twisted his hand to place the nib against the parchment, and with a swipe of his fingers, the first trail of ink followed behind.

To the Council of Magi, he wrote.

When we last spoke, I submitted that I would not take another apprentice of the Arts in the future. I found myself unwilling to consider such an event would again present itself to me, but I write to you today to say that I have changed my mind and will be taking an apprentice. His eyes drifted up to the distant girl, who struggled to pull a scroll from its base just out of her reach. He shook his head softly and turned back to his writing, I have found an assistant who exhibits exceptional power in the use of magic. 

There as a clattering which caused him to raise his head. In the distance he could see her standing with a hand outstretched, a single scroll levitating under a silver sparkling wind as a mess of books settled around her on the pathway that spiraled above him. He shook his head.

“Alejandra!” His old voice bellowed out.

“I’m okay,” She squeaked out a startled response, leaning back to look down at him – though it was up from her perspective, and her neck was stretched back as far as possible to look at him.

“The books, Alejandra,” He looked away from her for a moment and to the letter. He rarely second-guessed himself, but this was one of those times.

“Right,” She called back. His eyes returned to watch her for a moment – and that hesitation was gone. She stretched out her hands and her a swirling silver mist raised up around her. Her clothes billowed as if she was in the wind, or perhaps falling a short distance, and all the while, the books rose from their resting points. They rose gently, twisting harmless in the shimmering gray winds summoned by the young woman.

He turned back to his writing shortly, his wrist twisting with the letters as he wrote. Despite everything the Council has ever done, despite everything they have said, her very existence has called me to question our leadership. In the thousands of years we have existed, they have spoken of one single truth. Humans are not able to weave the threads of fate. And yet, here I sit, He paused and glanced back up to view his assistant. A handful of books floated back to their spots in the bookcases as she floated just a few inches above the ground, her clothes and hair tossed around by the mystic winds that followed her hands and the direction they gave to return the books. He continued, watching as she uses magic for the mundane tasks I set upon her, having learned from little more than observing me as I work. 

Her potential is there and yet her existence is threatened by the very people who should be embracing her skills. He took a breath and glanced up again. He couldn’t spot her immediately. She had wandered deeper into the stacks on his task for her. For a moment, he hesitated. You. He wrote finally. He tapped his pen against the parchment for a moment before his resolve returned. He sat up straighter, his mind was made up. This facade ended here. Alejandra is my apprentice, let it be known from this moment forward. She will be the first magi of her kind. 

There was a reason he had steeled himself. Again, hesitation reached him. The line he was about to cross was worth it though. My duty to the threads comes first, and I will fulfill it to the best of my ability. Wrongfully holding back an entire people will not stand. You may hunt her and seek to stop me, but know that I will protect her with every ounce of my power. Any attack on her or her kind on her behalf will be known to me.

So it is written, so shall I take my new apprentice, and when her training is complete, she will stand before the Council.

“Sir,” Her voice broke through the silence of his mind as he wrote. He glanced up from his writing to see the young girl with a hand full of scroll cases, standing a few steps distant from his desk. She was shadowed by the flickering light of the fireplace. She gave him a weak smile. “I’ve gathered the scrolls you asked for.”

He started to speak. He stopped, though, and he nodded to her. “Good,” He said with a trailing of the word as his next question came to the air. “Do you want to be a Magistrix, Alejandra?”

She seemed to draw a blank for a moment, before her head hastily bobbed up and down, “Yes, yes, I would.”

“It won’t be easy. It won’t be safe. The art of magic itself is dangerous, and because of what you are people will try to stop you from succeeding.”

“I understand,” She said sternly. There was a confidence there. “So was life before,”

“This is different than people treating you like a mutt,” He spoke coldly, “Or living on the street. Those things are dangerous to this body,” He reached out a finger and pressed hard into her shoulder. “The dangers I speak of will tear at your soul. A mistake in magic, a lowering of your guard, and the very fabric of the universe will seek to erase you to repair the mistake. Even in success, you may find yourself at odds with powers most of your kind only consider to be mythological. You have seen some of the dangers I have faced.” He raised a finger, “There is no shame in choosing a life away from these dangers. Are you sure you are ready?”

She paused for a moment. There wasn’t an answer for a time, but her shoulders shrugged after a moment, “Of course not,” She nodded to herself, “But you said that you hadn’t seen a magi like me before. Humans weren’t seen as capable of using magic, right. So,” She glanced at him, her hands rubbing and wringing nervously, “It would be wrong not to take advantage of that. I think. So I don’t really have a choice.” She shrugged, again, a nervous tick. “I mean, I want to learn. It’s amazing…”

“Alejandra…”

His voice shook her to a bit of a truer decision. “Yes, I’m ready to learn,” She nodded her head hardily. “I accept the dangers.”

He nodded to her and lifted a finger to point to the scrolls and tomes she collected. “Good,” He smiled, “Those will be your first proper lessons,” He gave a dismissive wave, “Take those with you. Return home, and rest. We’ll begin tomorrow.”

“Are you sure? I don’t feel like I’ve done much today.”

He nodded, “I need to finish up some things here. So, you’ll learn nothing more today,” He looked past her to the entrance to the library, “Besides, some relaxation will make you a better student tomorrow.”

“Okay. Is there anything else you need?”

“No,” Was the only response. Neither said anything else. She stood silently for a moment, but then gave a quick nod and took the scrolls and tomes with her as she headed out. She hesitated from time to time, but eventually, she moved behind him and stepped beyond the threshold marked by large oaken doors. When the doors closed behind her he turned back to his letter. The pen in his hands tapped on the paper again, leaving some errant droplets of ink to stain the parchment. He finally put the nib to the end of the letter.

Justiciar, Magister of the Watch. He signed off. A small flicker of silver flame fell from the pen and onto the ink. It spread across the page and in mere seconds the document had turned to ash. He looked off to the distance, and for a moment there was silence and stillness within the room.

Moments passed before there was a flash of light, a blue flame appearing where the letter had been, and leaving a smoldering remnant that formed into another letter. This letter was different.

Justiciar, It said, You have made your choice. You are hereby relinquished of your council seat, and exiled from Magister society. You have chosen the enemy. We will not suffer a traitor, especially one who has fallen as far as you. Then, signed at the bottom was a simple, So it is written by the Council of Magisters.

He turned his eyes up again looking out to the libraries beyond. One by one the stacks began to spark with that same blue flame. Roaring fires soon engulfed the countless tomes and pathways beyond, riding through until they reached the points where the stacks met the library. There was no heat, there was no sound, only the visual representation of the magic tearing through the cases of books and tomes. Once they had all reached the library where he sat, the fires relented and faded. They left nothing. Unadulterated void stretched beyond, with no sign of the knowledge that had been within moments earlier.

Still. He was happy with his choice. She deserved to have one soul believe in her. He was proud it was him. It was a familiar feeling to be so alone from one’s own kind, and only fitting that she would take his place. She would become the next Justiciar, with or without the Council’s resources. With that thought, he stood and took a breath. He reached out towards the fireplace and slowly closed his fist. The flickering fire was snuffed by a silvered wind, and he turned to head towards those oaken doors.

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Short Story – The Answer

Author’s Notes: This is something a little different for me. I’ve wanted to try to write more short stories, so I’m giving myself a challenge to write one short story a week. This is a weird one, and came from a weird idea I had. I wanted to keep it under 2500 words, so I felt a bit rushed. I’ll get over that as I improve, and hopefully these will get better. Either way, I hope you enjoy my first Short Story in this very random series.

The Answer

The only way to explain the experience of deep space hibernation was to imagine hitting the snooze button on one’s alarm over and over, except instead of buying oneself a few more minutes, one was buying a few more centuries to fade back into the virtual dream they had lived within for so long. Of course, that was the original technology. A person would be put in hibernation, with micro-adjustments allowing them to experience a virtual world in lieu of dreaming. Over the years, the mind was allowed a few scant thoughts. To the person in hibernation, it was a short dreaming sensation, a fun diversion to pass the time. It was impossible to realize that the service was designed to reboot the brain over and over, moments before it faded away entirely.

The body was placed in a sort of coma for as long as possible. The thoughts were given as brain activity drifted dangerously low, and for short moments one was woken up before the body faded – but never brought from the hibernation fully. To the passenger, it was a short nap, but great distances and times had passed. It was the only way to exist in the great vast distances between stars. Connected pods would allow one to have some socialization.

This had not been one of those trips. A lonely night on the edge of a hill watching the stars was the entirety of the virtual experience, interspersed with strange drifting off only to confuse the dream and real life for a moment as the body rebooted. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it also wasn’t designed to be pleasant. It was solemn. It was a view that wouldn’t be seen again.

One dream, a word appeared in the sky. It was a simple digital text that read nonsense. The program had lasted as long as it could. As the garbled words spread across the skyscape, the vision faded to darkness. There was an instinctive deep breath sometime later, and opening of eyes and the slow realization that the dream was over. The real world was all that remained. The voyage, as it was, had come to its end. Waking was always the hard part. Drowsy, heavy eyes begged to stay asleep. Limbs struggled to move. But after a time, after a few long moments, there was movement. There was breath.

The Dreamer woke to the world of their starship. It was a cold place, both figuratively and literally. The temperature was well below comfortable, only enough to keep the life that it held from freezing. The lights were dim, barely illuminating the plain metal bulkheads and accessories of the room. Wires and straps held the dreamer to a bed, where their body had lain for the duration of travel. As they woke, they slowly removed the straps and tubes one by one, and eventually sat up. It was strange to see their body again.

They were younger than they felt, aging slowed by the unnatural coma that guided them safely here. In the dream, the Dreamer had aged as they would have expected. Their body grew and grayed on that hill under the stars, but here, they had remained frozen at the moment they had gone to sleep – give or take a few years from the short restarts. After a few short, unbalanced breaths, they turned to twist. Their hips wobbled on the bed, their hands catching the edge and keeping them from falling but only just. Their legs swung weakly off the side, and with a small push, they tried to lift off.

In a low gravity situation, this was easy. It was lucky, though. The strength in their legs likely wouldn’t have held up their form. They had one goal for now. Every long sleep required a wake-up period. Though they didn’t know how long they had laid there struggling to wake from the dream, they knew what to do after.

On a counter near the bed where they had slept was a small box. It was not labeled and showed no signs of movement for a long time. There in the room, it had been kept in the same brutal stasis they had been.  They opened the box and glanced across the items with a small sigh. It was a series of small tubes and a small syringe to use them. This was the cocktail that would eventually bring them back to the land of the living. The feeling of the vials in their hands, the needle against their skin, the slow sting of something entering their body, all were part of sensation that had been left behind so long ago. Now, suddenly it was back. Their body responded slowly. There was a bit of warmth, a bit of energy, an illusion of health returning. It would be a long time before that strength returned.

Then, they reached out to the counter. They pulled themselves along the counter, floating through the small room towards a sealed door. The console at its side lit up as they approached. The dim blue light was almost brighter than any of the others that had been illuminating the place before. It made a weak chime and with a resounding hiss, the door cracked open. The atmosphere spilled out of the small room and into the others within the ship beyond that door. A loud, droning hum vibrated along the bulkhead walls as the ship lumbered back to life. Faded lights flickered a bit brighter, and for a moment. They were waking up.

They reached out and grabbed one of the many small handholds near the now opened door. This was no massive ship; it seemed to be little more than these two rooms, at least that was accessible. The room they pulled themselves into was the control room, with powered down control panels lining each side, and most importantly the large transparent viewport that looked out into the space around them. In all their years, all their experiences, they had never experienced a view like this, though.

There was nothing. No stars lit the sky beyond. There was no glowing dust lit by dim stars in a distant sky. For the first time, they felt a strange sensation. It was a growing excitement. For a second, the realization that there had been a success with the plan was there. They had made it.

But the realization of success was followed by a growing dread. There was a small red light on the cockpit controls. Their fingers ran across the light, and the machine chimed at the touch. The sound was calm, uncaring. It made the light chime and blink, checking for signals beyond the small room they inhabited.

The waiting for a return signal and despite every technological advance they had, could take some time. For days, they hovered around the room, waiting for a response, hoping for a response. There was nothing to do but wait. There was no science to be done, no tests to be run. The outside, everything beyond the ship was gone. There was hope that they were not the only ones to reach the End.

Time had lost much of its meaning. The grim realization set in that they might have been alone. There was no response. No signal from the others driven to explore this far. There was no sign of life or much of energy out beyond this place. They had reached the end, and for a moment, recorded what had happened.

As time wore on, there were creaks and sounds within the ship. The ancient creation had been running out of time for many thousands of years. Now, beyond the edge of eternity, it felt that the final stage of existence. Even the forces of nature which held it together had begun to decay. They too weakened, the energy of life slowly fading from existence with them. One by one, the systems of the ship shut down. They always strove to keep that single red light on the console powered, a signal beaming out to the world around them that there was still life. There was always hope that someone out there faired better, that they would know others survived and be able to learn from them.

The truth, they had long ago realized, was that they were the last.

When that light in the ship faded away, and the console grew dim, they knew it was over. With a silent resolve, their eyes closed, and they waited to fade away with the rest of the universe.

Then for a time, there was only silence. They let themselves drift away.

Until there was a voice.

“Hello?” The voice was familiar but foreign. They could not place it. Perhaps it was a memory or an amalgam of them. Or so they thought – until it continued. “I let myself in, I hope you don’t mind. Oh,” The voice was paired with a tap on the bulkhead nearby, “Dozing off. Did I get here too late?”

Their eyes drifted open. They were heavy, barely able to move. Seeing the source of the voice would be impossible. There was no light. Though, when they opened their eyes, there it stood holding a flickering light.

The source was an old man. He wore a warm smile, with cheeks rosy from the cold of the ship as its power failed. He had a long, white beard and a head full of white hair. His face was plump, with the rest of his body large. There was nothing about him that looked as if he should have been there. He didn’t wear a spacesuit, instead wearing an old-fashioned fur-lined jacket over stereotypical winter clothes. He leaned against the bulkhead, with his free hand holding an old gas lantern that bathed him in dull light. They could see his breath.

“Not a talkative one, I see,” The man laughed and leaned down. “Mind if I sit with you?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, he sat down next to them, leaning against the bulkhead. They could hear the lantern as it was placed on the deck plating. They heard the man sigh and felt him turn towards them.

They hadn’t spoken in so long, and they struggled to do so. Their voice was weak, barely above a whisper. “You aren’t real…”

“That’s an odd thing to say,” He responded.

“It is impossible for you to be here…”

“I could say the same to you,” The man responded. “You sought and found the end of time, in a machine designed to reconstitute itself over and over, with little more than debris caught falling into the last black holes, and the hawking radiation from their deaths…” He laughed a bit, “It seems we’re both impossible.”

They didn’t say anything for a moment. That was impossible for him to have known, and with no entrance or exit to this craft, it was impossible for him to have entered. Yet, they indulged their delusions, “You’re a figment of my imagination.”

“I hope a comforting one, at least.” The man said as he rested a hand on their shoulder. They didn’t say anything. They didn’t respond. There was no reason to do so. After a few moments of silence, the man opted to continue. “Well, either way… I was surprised to see you made it this far. There shouldn’t have been anything left, but here you were. Your people were always explorers. That’s what I liked about them.”

“You liked that about them?”

“Yes. Think of it… from the moment they began, they sought to explore. First out of the ocean and onto land. Into the trees. Beyond their forests, and into the fields. Across their seas, beyond the livable places in the world. When they couldn’t explore their world, they explored themselves. Eventually, they explored their solar system, then beyond. Their galaxy. The next. They always sought the next exploration. And that drove them to keep exploring. Beyond everything. To the end of everything.”

They heard the voice and shook their head. “You say that like you knew them.”

“I did. Say you are right, and I am a figment of your imagination…” The man spoke. His hands rose and fell with his words, brushing and tapping against them as he looked out into the nothing. “Then, I – like you, I suppose – am of them. I have the memory of everything that came before for your people. I know them because I was born from them. From their explorations, their explorer.”

“Why are you here?” They asked, changing the subject away from the bigger picture.

“I saw there was still a spark where their shouldn’t have been, so I came to investigate.”

“You saw?”

The man nodded, and a smile crept across his face. “Yes. I was shutting everything down. Turning off the last of the lights on this universe, and saw you.”

“Of course,”

“You don’t believe me. That’s fine,” He said with a smirk, “I could be the last neurons in your mind firing as you fade away.”

“That, I believe,” They said quietly.

“What did you hope to accomplish out here?” The man asked quietly.

They turned to face him and paused. Their eyes were weak, and their head shook lightly. “We didn’t know… what happened next. Someone needed to see it.” They put a hand on the bulkhead and tried to push themselves up a bit, but there was no movement. “Someone needed to see what happened.”

“Why?”

“Just…” They paused. The question lingered unanswered in the air. There was no real answer to it, not that they could find at first. Then, it came to them. “Just in case we were wrong…”

The old man smiled. They had never seen such a wide smile. “That’s the perfect answer. And, it sums up why I do it too…” He patted them on the shoulder. “I’ll leave you be for now. You might want to wake up, just for a minute, though. Or you’ll miss the end.”

They no longer felt him there. After a single blink, there was only darkness and silence again. They were alone at the end of time. There was no light, no lantern, no old man. But their view was drawn to the outside world, or where that should have been. They watched for some time but felt themselves struggling to stay awake.

Then, they saw it. They saw the end. It was a single moment that made a warm smile cross their lips, and as that smile crested their eyes closed.

And the world ended.

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Marches – Chapter 07

For this week, I am posting Chapter 07 of Marches. This chapter was the one that hooked me and made me, though I’ll admit I am not one hundred percent sure on the why. You might see as you read. This chapter will need a lot of cleaning up and clarification in the rewrites, but the soul of this chapter will remain the same. Little things such as changes to the reasoning she ends up in the snow, the introduction to the chapter, and similar will all be readjusted. But, I do like this chapter, even as it is, flaws and all. So, with that in mind, I hope you enjoy it. And let me know what you think!

Fair winds,

Muselessbard.

A Meeting in the Snow

After Romi’s story and some additional meetings with the Astier family members, Mirabelle’s mind had fallen heavily on the upcoming decisions. She knew that winter was coming and soon enough she would have to make her choice, to pick whether she wanted to go through with this marriage or return home. She felt she didn’t have much of a clue on which direction she truly wished to go. As winter fell upon the village, and the weather turned bitterly cold, she found herself still enjoying her life here. The villagers were incredibly supportive of her, and as the first cold nights fell a great number of them would come to her manor with gifts of warm soups or drinks, freshly woven blankets, or even just simple supplies like firewood. She was incredibly well taken care of, but she felt like a member of the town. That was something she hadn’t felt on the Coast. She had always felt distant as if the people watched her from afar. Here people seemed to genuinely care for her safety. It made her like the idea of staying, at least with the people of the village.

On the night of the first real snow in the region, she found herself entertaining a few guests. She had invited Romi back a few times, and the two had become close rather quickly. The young noblewomen had few things in common in their background, but they were both visitors in this land and that gave them connection beyond the time they had known one another. Tienette and Cynewise had also come to the home and decided to stay after the snow began to set in. The four chatted about nothing. The three youngest carried the conversation, with Tienette often just listening to them chat. They shared warm teas and shared stories of everything they could think of.

The snowstorm had been come on quickly and laid down inches of snow without much warning. It was cold, but the roaring fire stoked by the servants of the manor kept the four comfortable. They expected to be stuck there at least until the sun was high in the sky the next day. So, they would make the best of it. It was hard to think of much better than the warm room, friendly chats and laughter, and safety they enjoyed. Coralie softly played her vielle, giving a light tune to back up the conversation.  All in all, it was a nice night.

As the night began to stretch, though, there came a knock at the door. As late as it was, it was impossible to consider who it may have been. It was Tienette’s guardsman who went to the door and soon returned with a half-frozen rider. Crystals of snow and ice clung to the man’s furred cloak, but the blue colors gave him away immediately. As soon as his eyes fell on Mirabelle, he fell to one knee and lowered his head.

“Lady d’Argent, forgive this messenger his tardiness.” He spoke with a hoarse voice, his throat clearly as dry and frozen as his skin. “Your father bid me bring a message and a gift.” He spoke softly. “He asked I say but one thing. His words, if I may, my lady?” The man stretched out his arms and waited for a response.

Mirabelle was a bit flustered by the sudden entrance, a bit worried as to what it could mean. With the gift, though, it was clearly in relation to her marriage. “Of course, you’ve come all this way.”

“Your father says, he hopes that your choice is clear and that he knows you’ve will have made the right choice for the honor of your family.” He did not raise up or move at all from his lowered position.

“That’s all?” Cynewise spoke quietly, likely meant to go only to her mother, but it was heard by everyone.

Mirabelle just nodded and moved over to the messenger. “And the gift?” She asked.

The messenger pulled a small ash box from one of the satchels hanging from his hip, and without looking to her, he held aloft the gift. She took it and took a breath fighting back a bit of excitement.

She looked down at him and finally let a smile cross her lips, “Thank you, messenger. Coralie will see that you have a warm place to rest, and food and drink.”

“Right this way, sir,” Coralie spoke from the back of the room, having set aside the vielle in the seat she had been sitting in.

The messenger bowed lower, and then raised up. He nodded to Mirabelle, “Mercy, my lady.” He spoke quickly, before stepping away from the girl with a lowered head and moving back and into the home to follow her servant. As he walked, the strange phrasing caught everyone off guard and a few now watched him like hawks, eyes glued to his actions as he moved off towards the dining room with the handmaiden.

Then there was a clattering nearby. All eyes were back on Mirabelle, but she had dropped the gift and without a word darted out of the manor. Most were surprised, and all called after her. She looked like she had seen a ghost, her face pale and a clearly visible quiver in her lips as she fought to get out of the room before anyone could truly see her reaction.

Bastien was up and after her first, racing to the door to follow his ward. He likely would have caught her if a voice had not called for him.

“Sir Bastien,” Marquise Tienette spoke swiftly, “Let her go,”

“No, my lady, I need to…” He had paused to turn, to speak to the Marquise directly, when he saw her.

Tienette stood over the gift that had been dropped to the floor. The box had broken, letting its contents spill to the floor in the center of the room.

Bastien stood with his mouth agape, stunned silence his only response. Tienette just nodded and took a deep breath. She didn’t say anything for a moment, before finally letting out a sighing, “Oh, Mirabelle. I am sorry.” She said as she knelt next to the box and pulled the gift away from it. It was a small black stiletto, only a few inches long. She touched the blade, and her lips twisted to a disappointed snarl.

It had been a blur, but as he followed the path of footprints in the snow and dark, he heard a faint sound – sobbing. He moved towards it, following the path that had been taken by the other as best he could without stumbling. He walked through the brush and snow, and as he came to the edge of a hill he saw her. From the disturbed snow, it looked as if she likely slid down the side of the hill, at least halfway. With no light, she was lucky she wasn’t terribly injured.

“Mademoiselle, are you alright? Are you injured?” Sarus called down to her.

She turned her face up to see who was speaking, but the two had never met. Neither Mirabelle nor Sarus could have recognized one another. She responded, with a bit of a laugh at herself, “I am uninjured.”

Sarus took a breath and nodded. He waved a hand at his bodyguard, who stood down and waited just behind the top of the hill. “I’m coming down anyway.” He said, stepping over onto the slope and slowly but surely sliding down the hill with a torch in hand. As soon as he reached the bottom he moved over to where she sat, nestled near a frozen creek bed and under a young willow tree struggling under the weight of the snow. He knelt next to her, and for the first time, the light fell on her face.

The light fell on pale skin and silver hair, now damp due to the snow that had fallen on her during her hasty escape. He took a breath and offered the torch over to her. “Here, my lady, take the torch. It will help warm you if just a bit.”

“Thank you,” She said softly taking the offered torch and pulling it into her little willow hovel. She felt the fool as she looked at him. “And you are?”

“If I tell you, my lady, you will be upset.” He admitted as he smiled over to her, a nervous smile and one that was clearly unsure how to proceed.

“I am already upset, sir.” She shook her head.

“Fair.” He spoke, “My name is Sarus Astier,”

“No,” She spoke as fast as she moved, trying to back away from him and covering her face. “You can’t see me for another few months, my lord.”

“Lady d’Argent. I will absolutely leave if that is your request.” He said with a nod. “But, I can’t leave you out here in the cold.”

“You’ve already given me a torch, that would be enough.” She protested, still hiding her face.

“At least my cloak as well.”

She didn’t say anything in response for a moment. But she was cold. Freezing, even. It was stupid to run out here alone. She relented and gave a quiet nod.

“Very well,” He felt a bit odd not speaking to her, something easy enough to see from yards away as he fidgeted and almost struggled with the clasp of his cloak. “Is there a reason you ran out here into the dark and snow, my lady?”

“A message from my father.” She spoke, trying to keep her eyes off of him for the time being.

“I suppose the wedding is still on then,” He attempted a joke as he finally reached the clasp and pulled it off. She gave no response. “I’m sorry, that was crass of me. I try to joke when I’m nervous, you see.”

She shook her head. “No, it was fine. I just…” She let her eyes drift over to him for a moment. In the flickering light, she finally saw him for the first time. After years of his name in her head, she had a face. It wasn’t what she expected in the least. His father was somewhat scruffy, a traditional vagabond, his mother was the basilisk. She assumed he would have the same look to him. But he didn’t. He had a surprisingly strong jawline, that same dark hair as his parents but it was cut short and well maintained. His eyes were smaller than she expected, but that may have been from the squinting due to the torchlight. He did have some scruff, but she wasn’t disgusted. She shook her head. “I was still deciding.”

“Ah, yes. Mother said she gave you the option to decide whether or not you wanted to go through with it.” He nodded and offered over his cloak. “Here, wrap up.”  She took the cloak and struggled to wrap it around her shoulders with the torch in hand. He reached over and pulled one side over her shoulder.

“Thank you,” She spoke softly.

“It is my honor, Lady d’Argent.” He replied with a succinct nod. “Once you’re warm, I’ll help you up the hill and we can get you back to the manor.” He paused a moment, “Can I ask which way you are leaning?”

“No.” She said sternly, looking away from him for a moment. She sighed, “I do love Milae, though.”

“They are loveable. But you miss the villages of the Coast and the people there. It must be com-“

“No, there isn’t a village at the Temple,” She interrupted.

“Wait, so just you and your family and servants?”

“Yes. Magi don’t administer to people in social matters. Not like the Astier do.” She said softly. “I’ve enjoyed walking with the people. Days and nights with just parishioners are a bit less engaging.” She paused for a moment, “This isn’t what I imagined as a girl.”

“Yeah. I know the feeling.” Sarus spoke with a nod.

She looked to him for a moment and then paused. “My father sent me a gift.” Her eyes welled up at the words, a little crack of her voice and quiver of her lip as she fought back another wave of sobbing.

“What gift drove you to the woods in the snow?”

“A black stiletto.”

Sarus swallowed and shook his head. He clearly didn’t know how to respond. “So, he said go through with it, or kill yourself?”

She whimpered out a small, “Yes.”

There was a moment they sat in the snow silently before Sarus spoke up again. “I’ll break it off, then, if you want. It saves you from either, and I doubt a little dishonor will sink my standing at this point.” He reached out a hand, “I don’t know you, but you don’t deserve to be forced into a life you hate just to fit the whims of our father’s.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment again before her hand reached up and took his. She shook her head. “No…” She spoke with a little choke, “I think I’ve made my decision. I think I had before tonight…” She said with a nod.

“I guess I’ll find out soon enough on that.” He spoke and stood, “Are you ready to head home?”

She gave a nod and stood with him, stepping back out from under the willow. “I am.” She shook her head a bit. “You weren’t supposed to see me until the wedding.” She added again as they moved towards the hillside and began the trek back up.

“I know. I won’t tell anyone.” He said as a joke.

“I’m sure they’ll find out one way or the next.” She responded, “You wyverns do have a knack for it.”

“True.” He paused to help press her up and over the edge of the hill, letting most of her weight press down onto his arms as she stepped up and across the bank. Then he was surprised as her hand was offered down to him. He gave a small smile and took the offer, and they reached the top. Then, joined by Sarus’ guardsman, they began the walk back to the village.

They didn’t say a word until they almost reached the outskirts when Sarus did finally speak up again. “My lady d’Argent,” He started, quietly and close to her. “I am serious. What your father did, I will never understand. But, if you feel that this is not the path for you, send word to me. I will end it.”

She paused, stopping both in the falling snow. “You are serious aren’t you?” She asked quietly. “I know the culture of the Wyverns, my lord. Do you?”

“I do,”

“So, you’d be willing to dishonor your family, never be allowed to marry, and have to repay my dowry… just to keep me alive.” She spoke plainly.

He never answered verbally. He just nodded. It was enough for her at that moment.

They had stood long enough. “We should get you in soon. I’m afraid this is where we need to part ways though.” Sarus spoke softly. “We can’t be seen together yet.”

“Of course.” She spoke with a smile and a nod, removing his cloak and offering it back to him. “Thank you for finding me, and making sure I was able to return safely.”

He took the cloak and nodded, “It is my honor, Lady d’Argent.” He gave her a low bow and stepped aside.

She then walked back to the manor alone, through the town of Milae. She hadn’t moved more than a hundred meters before one of the townsfolk rushed out of their home to her, with a warm cloak in hand. They draped it over her shoulders and walked with her. Soon enough, a militiaman had met up with them as well – and before she reached the manor it was a small cadre of citizens making sure she reached her home safely.

Before her father had sent her a message, before that hideous gift, if she was honest with herself, she had already made up her mind. Meeting Sarus didn’t change that. This was her duty to her family and his duty to his. If he was a brute she would still have her own name to fall back upon. Her father wanted to force her hand, but in truth, she had always wanted to be away from him. She was just lucky that this village was where she would end up. Milae had become like her home, her people driving her to want nothing more than to stay in the village. As she thought, she realized that wasn’t true. This place had become her home long ago.

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Marches – Chapter 05

Author’s Notes – I am reluctant to post this chapter. I hate how this chapter turned out in its first draft. I would have preferred it lay forgotten. But, there is an importance in showing mistakes. Or, I guess more importantly for me, I need to be willing to show those mistakes. This chapter is very important though. Romi becomes Mirabelle’s closest friend in her new home, and gives her a bit of a sense of normalcy. Despite the fact that Romi is not a Noble in the eyes of many. She becomes her confidant, and appears again throughout many of the future stories.

For this chapter, I did a lot of removing. The fight in this chapter was confusing and unnessecary, so in my first rewrite of this chapter removed it. It changed it to a simpler style where our Fox hunts down the Licorn off screen, and meets Mirabelle after finding them. In addition, I decided against killing both off. They were never mentioned again after this chapter in the first draft, and that felt like a waste. So, I’ve changed that. Other changes include pulling characters a little closer to their later characterizations, since I have a better grip on them, and detailing some sections to fit better with the story’s thematics.

I may add the second version of this chapter to the website, but I haven’t decided yet. For now, I am just posting this version. I do not like this version, and I am not proud of it. But, it was a first draft. And that is the building block of any part of a story. I hope you enjoy some elements of this part of Marches.

Fair Winds,

Museless Bard

The Fox’s Bastard

Mirabelle had found herself at home in the village faster than she had expected. The people of Milae were incredibly cordial to her, with an excitement to have her that she never saw in any of the people who visited her old home. She never knew the people of the villages outside of Towers at the Temple, but here – she was already getting to know people. Only a few weeks had passed before she had found a few she could genuinely rely on to help her with a great deal of her required tasks in this new life. Ervig, specifically, had been essential in helping bring her information about the region.

She had been lucky that the Astier owned two manors, as well. They had a fortified home atop a nearby hill, which was built across a river tributary and was where the family actively lived. But Chateau Ronic, where she currently lived, was the home of one of the middle Astier ancestors. From what she gathered, the eponymous Ronic was a leader of the village but otherwise detached from the family affairs. However, while the others were off at war, she was able to defend the village from an opportunistic attack. The villagers held it up as one of the pillars of their relationship with the family.  It seemed the family mostly used the manor as a place to stay when visiting the village now, but for the time being, it was hers to do with as she pleased.

She kept herself busy learning about the region and its people but made time for meals with Tienette. While she did not connect much further with Valamir, she did spend quite some time with Sarus’ younger sister, Cynewise – though she always went by Cyne. The two did not enough together for Mirabelle to consider her a close friend, of course, but she could easily see her becoming one in the future. Still, this isolation made her feel rather lonely. One day, that feeling began to gnaw at her more than usual, and she decided that she needed to leave the residence and go about in town, in hopes of clearing that fog from her mind.

So, with Coralie and Bastien behind her, she ventured out into the village once again. It was a day like any other in the town. A few traders had come into town that morning, as they did every few weeks. It was a time when she could get a few items she didn’t normally have access to – mostly dried goods from the coast, in this case. Still, she enjoyed looking. Every once in a while she would find something from home that helped her feel a bit more grounded. It was a challenge for her to avoid simply buying up more than she needed too, but luckily Coralie was always nearby with a reminder about her stipend.

Today was not unlike any other. The sun peeked through the leaves of the trees scattered throughout the village giving a little bit of warmth on an otherwise blustery day, as the summer season faded into autumn. The people were happy though, the sun and early stages of harvest beginning keeping spirits high, despite the colder day. She spent some time chatting with some local villagers as she passed through, still impressed that she was greeted well nearly every time. Of course, there were outliers. A few villagers had let it slip that they’d prefer an outsider not be joining their ruling family – but she had expected that sentiment to be the most common.

Instead, even only a few months in. She found herself walking the streets of the village with the same confidence she might have strolled the temple. While speaking to the baker, though, her ear caught a warning.

“Look out!” A villager’s voice pierced the otherwise peaceful day. There was a distinct, sharp screech of someone in trouble, then the sound of a scared or wounded horse.

Mirabelle felt a heavy hand on her back, the gauntlet edges pressing into her spine and forcing her back. Bastien may have said something, but it was impossible to tell. There was the distinct sound of steel leaving scabbard. On her other side, Coralie and falling back against her as well, both pushing her back and into the merchant’s stall. She barely had a chance to look to see the trouble. A pair of large draft horses had been startled, or maybe injured. She couldn’t tell. Their drivers tried desperately to get them back under control. Then there was a distinctive snap, the leather of their reins giving way under the stress. One of the drivers fell back at the change in force, losing his footing and smashing to the ground with a scream. His partner was startled, and the second horse’s reins were lost. Both horses tore forward. The cracking of wood followed as they stripped free of the cart.

Then the animals rushed forward down the street, panicked. Little was more dangerous than a frightened animal, and a massive draft horse on a busy street was a genuine threat. When they rushed down the street, people scattered. Mirabelle saw the creatures rush at a villager, one raring up and striking out with its front hooves. Luckily, the villager had been able to dart out of the way, but they moved fast towards the other villagers. One villager fell near one of the horses, who kicked back. “Bastien!” Mirabelle’s voice broke through the noise.

The old templar didn’t hesitate. When her voice called, he pushed off from her and rushed towards the villager. He raised his sword, both hands firmly gripping the hilt of the old weathered blade and raising it as a spear. With a yell, he met his mark – the blade sinking into the draft horse as it raised up with a sickening sound. The templar followed through, pushing his entire weight into the beast. He was not a small man, but the beast was enormous. He pushed with everything he had and tilted the thing just enough to knock it back and away from the villager crawling to their feet. The villager let out a scream as the horse hit the ground next to it, with the templar now atop it.

That was all the opening that Mirabelle needed. She pushed past Coralie and rushed out to the villager on the ground. She gripped the villager’s hand and helped him up. Her handmaiden was right behind her, though. As soon as the villager had started to climb to his feet, she felt Coralie hit her in the back – hard. She and the villager stumbled forward, and she turned to see the handmaiden rolling out of the way of the other angered horse.

“Coralie!” Mirabelle yelled back to her as her eyes caught a glimpse of Bastien pulling his sword out of the creature and stepping away. Then she realized her mistake. One of the draft horses, the one still standing, had rounded back around to face down the small foreign handmaiden armed with nothing but a dagger. And the other rolled back to its feet, despite the blood pumping out of the sword wound in its chest.

She saw it then, the bright white bone at the center of each horse’s skull.

“They’re licorn.” Mirabelle almost laughed with a mix of excitement and fear. They were not just frightened and scared animals. They were unicorns, their horns carved off their skulls and forced into service as draft animals. They were bred for war, fighters from the day they stood to their deaths. She felt a hand on her shoulder, then another, the villagers pulling her back and off the street and to a nearby building.

Bastien steadied himself and took a few steps back. His stance changed, his center set and ready for the oncoming charge. “Coralie, can you get to safety?”

“I’ll try.”

“Go left.” He ordered as the two unicorns charged at them. Both dodged to the left. Bastien’s blade swung up as he was passed by the creature. Coralie had rolled away, taking a swipe but her blade didn’t seem enough to cut through the creatures hide without getting closer, and her goal now was to run and protect her lady. As soon as she was clear, she did just that. Leaving the Templar alone.

The Licorne did not hesitate to rush at him, recognizing he was the only threat against them at the moment. The templar swung at the first to rush him, ducked away from the second, and resettled just before they rushed again. It was the only strategy that would work here, but these creatures were smart. After only the second rush, the one he dodged past stopped short and kicked with its hind legs. The powerful hooves hit the man’s armored back and sent him crashing forward. The wind was clearly knocked out of him, and the second creature turned about to make another run. Then there was a whistle and another. Two arrows struck the creature in its wound, sinking deep, and causing it to stagger.

An archer at the end of the street stood, another arrow knocked into the simple bow. A man stood a few steps ahead of the archer, with a wooden spear readied and waiting. The archer didn’t slow down for a second. As soon as that arrow was knocked, it loosed and a whistle followed. The target had changed, striking the uninjured licorn square in the flank. It let out a pained noise and then turned to the new target, rushing down the street towards its new threat.

Bastien was able to pull himself to his knees as it started its charge and brought his sword around with everything he had left in him. The blade found its mark, cleaving the back leg off the creature. The severed limb toppled harmlessly to the ground, and the Licorn itself lost is balance and stumble, crashing to the ground. Another arrow struck it as it fell, this time square in the head. The spearman rushed for and quickly finished the job with a powerful thrust into the creature’s chest. The other unicorn fell to the ground and struggled to keep itself up. After another minute it gave up and collapsed, its breathing slowing and fading.

Mirabelle rushed out to Bastien, who was climbing to his feet slowly but surely. Coralie stayed close but kept her blade drawn and her body between the archer and her lady.

“Bastien, are you alright?” Mirabelle asked as she helped him steady himself.

“I’ll live to fight another day.” He said with a bit of a panting breath, “You stay put next time.”

“Announce yourself,” Coralie’s usually soft voice barked out at the archer as she approached.

“This is Lady Romi Cedolin du Rane.” The spearman barked back. “I am her guardsman, Alain.”

Mirabelle glanced up, but what she saw was not what she expected.

Lady Romi Cedolin du Rane carried a simple bow, ashen in color with a frayed bowstring. She wore clothes more suited to a hunter than a noble. She had a simple hide and fur cloak and worn and somewhat ragged clothes. The only mark of nobility on her was the pendant necklace she wore. Moreover, the woman was unimpressive, and if she was honest, a bit odd. Her face was round, with puffy cheeks and a small chin. In a way, it looked as if the bottom half of her face ended a little bit earlier than it should have. With thick, bright lips and large eyes, it just made that even more the case. Her form otherwise was thin, more so than it needed to be, and she was not particularly tall, and would not have been tall enough to draw back a longbow well.

“Thank you for your assistance, Lady Cedolin,” Bastien said with a bow of his head. “I fear it might not have gone well without you.”

“I’m just happy I was able to help.” She spoke with a mousey voice, high pitched and quiet, but quickly spoken. She gave a little bow of her own as she handed her bow over to Alain. “And you are?”

“I am Sir Avent Bastien, templar of Lune and protector of Lady Mirabelle d’Argent.” He said motioning to her. “And our protective handmaiden here is Coralie.”

“d’Argent?” Romi’s eyes went wide, much wider than normal. She visibly swallowed and then quickly knelt before them, her voice barely a whisper. “My lady, my sincerest apologies. I did not recognize the Fille de Lune.”

“No, no, no,” Mirabelle said pushing past Bastien and Coralie to put a hand on the archer’s shoulder. “You saved my guard and helped protect Milae. You don’t need to bow or apologize for anything.” She gave a smile and a shake of her head. “I should be apologizing to you. I do not recognize your name. I’m afraid I’m not familiar with all of the noble houses in the region yet.” She didn’t wait for any sort of answer though, “But, I insist you and your man dine with us tonight, and if you need a place to stay, the Manor has more than enough visitor space.”

“I wouldn’t dare intrude.”

“I insist. It isn’t an intrusion. It is our honor, and I’d like to repay you, even in a small way such as this.”

While Romi was very reluctant to accept at first, she finally relented saying that she would be honored to share a meal that evening, but that they had already arranged for a stay at the local inn in the village. They thanked her again and allowed her to head off to finish her business in the village, and they stayed behind to deal with the aftermath. Soon enough, Ervig arrived with militiamen to handle the cleanup.

As his men began the cleanup in earnest, he had the story relayed to him by a few different people. He clearly took Bastien’s version as gospel, only adding the others’ details as he needed too. A few villagers had given him wildly exaggerated claims, but he was glad to find out it was little more than scared beasts. He was clearly concerned that they were Licorns, but he was more curious about another fact.

“She was introduced as Lady Romi Cedolin du Rane?” Ervig spoke up softly with a slight shake of his head. “Romi, le batard de Renard?”

“What exactly are you implying, Ervig?” Bastien spoke quickly, a bit defensively.

“The Fox’s Bastard.”

“She’s the daughter of Luc Cedolin du Rane. He was a marquis, across the border from Milae.” Ervig explained. “He was called le Renard, the Fox. Not because he was particularly cunning or quick, but rather because he had orange and red hair.” The militiaman pointed towards his own head or the hair on it – which bore no resemblance of similar colors. “He never married. His lover died in childbirth, and he raised Romi alone.”

“So, her father never granted her status as a full member of his family?” Mirabelle asked calmly, but quietly as they still stood in the village streets. She didn’t want to be too loud, to speak to openly and say something uncouth about the archer who had saved them.

“Unsure. When her father died,” The captain took a breath and crossed his arms. “She was only fourteen. Her cousin took regency of his estate, she has officially declared a bastard by the Duc du Rane.” He glanced down to the path below him. “There are rumors that her cousin orchestrated it. But, in the end, she is illegitimate. By law, she is just Romi. Her cousin did grant her a small piece of land on the edge of our territory. But she mostly subsists by hunting and has a small contingent of loyal servants.”

“How many?”

“Less than you brought to the village, my lady,” Ervig said quickly. “She is a kind girl, but of little concern.”

Mirabelle made a noise, somewhere between a huff and growl. It made the others around her step back and away for a moment. She took a deep breath and then gave a little bit of a shake of her head. “I’d like to know more about what happened to her and her family.” She ordered after a moment. “Coralie, have the servants find what they can from the village over the next few days.”

“Of course, my lady.” The handmaiden gave a quiet bow. “We’ll find what information we can.”

“And I still want to have a meal with her.” Mirabelle clarified. “Bastard or not, she is of noble blood.” She spoke with a quick nod. “And I look forward to it.” She seemed to have decided as she dusted off her clothes and looked to Ervig. “Make sure the people are safe and this is cleaned up. Please bring me a report after you’ve sent one to the Astier.”

“Yes, my lady,” Ervig said after a moment. His head twitched to one side for a second and he gave a smile, “My lady, you do recall you are just a guest here, correct? There is no need for you to worry about the day-to-day.” He gave a smirk, poking at the young girl, “Or are you considering staying?”

Mirabelle frowned at him. “You forget yourself.”

“My apologies, my lady,” He replied with his hands raised for a moment. “I meant it mostly in jest.” He admitted with a smile to her, and then a gave her a bow. “By your leave, ma’am.”

She gave him a dismissive wave, and then looked over to the others. “I’d like to return to the manor now.”

She took her time returning to the manor, lingering on the streets for a time and working slowly but surely to return. Once back, she set it upon her servants to prepare a traditional Cote d’Argent meal – light fish, sweet fruits and vegetables, and a stout bread. She gave them their orders and went back to her quarters to bathe and clean herself up. Then, once she had dressed in a nice enough dinner dress, she set about waiting for her guest to arrive. As the night began to fall, clouds began to fill the sky blotting out the stars.

It made for a dark night, and as the dinner hour passed her servants began to mill about and see if she would decide to eat without her guest. She did not. Instead, she simply sat and waited. After an hour or two, she relented and allowed her servants to eat – but she waited. Night fell darker, and the deeper the time went the more she listened to her servants speak about how she was wasting time. That the girl wasn’t coming.

With the darkness engulfing the home, she had her servants light a lantern outside, and one for her to read by, and she continued to wait. As she read, she listened. Bastien’s snores from his place nearby her were perhaps the loudest of the sounds, but Coralie’s insistence on busying herself around the lady came in a close second. It was not as late as everyone seemed to feel it was that night. Only an hour or two had passed since darkness fell, but they were impatient.

When there was a knock at the door, Mirabelle stood and moved over to see who it was. Coralie rushed to stop her and to open the door herself, but the lady would not have it. She opened the door to greet the archer and her guard with a smile.

“I apologize for the late hour, my lady,” Romi spoke with a deep bow. “Please forgive,”

“Not at all,” Mirabelle replied swiftly, cutting her off. “Hunter’s rarely come home until the end of the day, Lady Cedolin.”

Romi smiled and lowered her head. “Thank you,” She said quietly.

“Come in and have a meal with me. Your man is welcome to rest and eat as well, of course.”

“You are too kind.”

The two walked into the manor and found themselves in the dining room. The sat to eat and for the next few minutes, they found themselves merely exchanging more pleasantries, which irked Mirabelle – though her face never showed anything but kindness. As the conversation seemed to go nowhere, she opted to push the archer, to see what she could discover about her. After a drink of wine, she spoke plainly.

“Ervig says you are the daughter of Marquis Luc Cedolin – but a bastard.” Lady d’Argent put a hint of emphasis on the last word. “He is wary of you.”

“Ervig is…” Romi’s grip tightened on her cup and she sighed, “Cautious, but correct. They call me…”

“I know,” Mirabelle spoke softly. “You don’t have to say it.”

Romi nodded and continued. “I live in a small home in the forests on the Rane border with Nid de Vouivre. It is a meager hunting lodge my father built. Something my cousin didn’t care enough to take.”

“You don’t seem to harbor much ill will…”

“My cousin is a fox. He is cunning and always a few steps ahead of anyone who faces him in a political arena. He doesn’t join conflicts he will lose. His case against my inheritance is ironclad in regards to the law. He has contacts at every level of the court of Rane and he can bend them with a few choice words.” She spoke with a clear bit of sadness. “Had he put his skill to something great, he would likely be one of the best of us – but he is driven by power and wealth.”

“Perhaps one day you can secure your lands again,” Mirabelle spoke with a succinct nod.

“No. My father’s lands are rightfully his. As long as he leaves the lodge and forests to me, I have no reason to test him.” The archer shrugged. “One day I hope to be able to sway him back to something more important than power and wealth. His potential as a courtier and leader is astonishing. His mastery of debate and the sincerity to which he puts his mind to the research behind arguments is inspiring – if currently misplaced.”

Mirabelle didn’t say anything. She was a little surprised. That was rather high praise for a thief and con-artist, but moreover, she was astonished at her sizing up of the man. “Tell me, what do you think of Ervig’s abilities.”

“Hm?” Romi raised a brow and paused between a bite of her dinner. “I…” She thought a moment. “As a military leader he is talented, but his domestic abilities leave much to be desired. He tends to want to handle things himself and lacks the education required to properly adjuvate village projects. It drags him down as a domestic steward, but his skill with a spear is quite good. His understanding of bandit tactics and small conflicts makes him very skilled at defending a village such as this. He also has a knack for connecting with his subordinates.”

Lady d’Argent gave a little nod. She thought that maybe there was more to the archer than she let on, but this all but proved it. “Do you know this much about every noble in the region?”

“What?” She shook her head for a moment, and then gave a sigh, “Well, yes. I had too to keep my holdings.”

“So you know about the Astier?”

“Yes, of course. As the regional power, and the nobles of the closest town to me, I have too.” Romi spoke softly.

“What can you tell me about Valamir?” Mirabelle asked, before shaking her head. “Actually, no. I know the Marquis and Marquise…” She pondered for a moment, “Romi, what can you tell me about Sarus?”

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Marches – Chapter 04 Notes

For today I am posting up the fourth chapter of my novel in progress, Marches. This chapter, for those of you reading along, was meant to be a short transition from the Silver Coast to the land of the Wyverns. It was originally just a chapter I wanted to use to introduce some concepts, places, and characters. Looking back, and it did that passably. It was important to see Mirabelle’s first look at her new home, and the surprise she has that people would be excited.

 

This original draft ended up being more of a means to an end though. Some of the characters introduced here are more important than others and likely deserved more focus. Many of the concepts are only touched on and would be better served if they were explored in depth. The biggest one that jumped out at me when editing this chapter was Roheis’ wedding. Now, Roheis doesn’t make a big impact before this point, but her wedding would be the perfect opportunity to show just how vast the differences are between the lands the d’Argent inhabit and those of the Astier. I think that is missed in the actual wedding chapter, and it would be something that gave a little bit more insight into how the world works in this setting.

 

In addition, I think showing the two as close sisters will clarify their relationship more before Roheis’ later appearances. Ghislain, her husband, would likewise be a good person to introduce. He plays more major roles in important sections and seeing him earlier on and in more detail would do the story well.

 

This chapter is also the first chapter with Bastien and Ervig in it. These two become Mirabelle’s closest advisors in her new home. Bastien, as I mentioned in another set of notes, needs to have been introduced earlier. Why did I wait four chapters originally? Because I didn’t come up with the character until chapter four. But he should appear in the earliest chapter if he is to be believed in his backstory in this one. Ervig, on the other hand, was planned to start when Mirabelle arrived. He was not intended to be a pivotal character at this point, but I grew to like him as time went on and it only made sense that he would be in many of the later stories. Expanding on him, and bringing him more in line with his character as portrayed later would be essential.

 

One last note on essential changes. I originally called the village in the Astier territory Mileo, but soon changed it to Milae. This is a little thing, I know. But in my printed edit copy it was still Mileo here. Just a fun note. I like Milae better, so that’s the name I’ll be sticking with throughout.

 

As for changes coming to this chapter, it will be one of the first major rewrites for the introduction. I’d like to focus on Roheis’ wedding. It is the final chance to show the differences for a while and will give a little more time to expand on their characters. Bastien will be introduced earlier, so he will mostly stay the same, but be brought closer in line with later appearances. The ideas of this chapter will still serve as the breakpoint from her life as she knew it to her new life, but I think they’d do well to be expanded upon.

 

As always, I hope you enjoy this look into one of my first draft chapters.

 

Fair Winds,

 

Museless Bard

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Marches – Chapter 03 Notes

Today, I’m posting the third chapter of the original Marches. This is where I feel now, looking back, the story really began. This Chapter, or at least its heart, will make up the first couple chapters of the rewrite. This is the first time we spend any real time with Mirabelle, and it shows Tienette off a bit, hinting at her character a bit early on. Without any changes, I think this is an okay chapter, but there are a lot of ways I could expand on it.

Most importantly, I think, this was the chapter that made me realize I wanted to concentrate primarily on Mirabelle’s perspective. Originally, I intended on changing back and forth from Mirabelle and Sarus (the son of Tienette and Valamir, who would be her husband). This was when I started to lean more towards Mirabelle, if only because I didn’t have a good view of Sarus yet while I was writing. This is also the first chapter that I feel will make it mostly intact in the second finished draft. It will be rewritten but a lot of it will stay. The heart of the conversations, the snow falling on the beach, and the general feel I enjoyed and would like to remain.

Now, there is a subtextual content that may change. In this chapter, I feel that Tienette felt less like she was up to something than say Valamir, or even to some degree Vedast in later chapters. But, she is as much a schemer as her husband, though her goals here are very different. Also, I want to highlight the familiarity of the situation that she displays. Tienette was also wed to the Vouivre as an arranged marriage, just as Mirabelle is about to be. She, however, wants a different path for her son than the one her husband was given. It isn’t made immediately clear what that difference is.

I don’t think at this point in my writing I knew fully who Tienette was. I think she was still a bit of a mystery to me, and I tried to keep it that way. But later on, it becomes clear that she is from another province, just like Mirabelle was, and one that plays a pivotal role in the story. I think highlighting that, and some of the other expansions made to her character, later on, would be great to demonstrate here, to provide a bit more context as to why Mirabelle connects with her – at least partially – as quickly as she does.

I also didn’t add much of Bastien (her guardsman) in this chapter. You’ll meet him in Chapter 4 officially. I’m not sure if he was a real character yet when I wrote this. He doesn’t appear at all in this chapter, and that is a glaring omission that needs to be fixed. It is a continuity error once you get a couple of chapters forward. It could be handwaved, I suppose, given she is at her family’s hold and there are plenty of guards around. But it is something I want to change.

I hope you enjoy. Let me know what you think.

Fair winds,

Museless Bard

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Marches – Chapter 02 Notes

This chapter is another casualty of the change in perspective. Originally, the first few chapters were laying the groundwork for Mirabelle’s change in experience, and at first, I was very confident with that choice. But as I read back over while editing the first draft, I found that the story was solely hers, it was from her perspective, despite what I had planned originally, or even tried to continue a little later in the stories. With this original set up, there was very little time to set up just how different Mirabelle’s life would be with the arranged marriage to the Astier. 

 

The story itself in this chapter was the first introduction of Mirabelle and the first interaction with the couple that would become her inlaws. Elements of that, I believe, are important to hold to the story – but could be done in a much better way. This chapter, the chapter before, and the original prologue are being re-written to bring them into a new sort of prologue, to lay the groundwork for the story, but be separate. These people set Mirabelle’s story in motion, but from her perspective, they didn’t enter it until much later.

 

Still, this was the first chapter where I started to see the story coming together, so I wanted to post it up. Pieces of it will survive the edits, but I am honestly not sure how much. I think it works better if Mirabelle doesn’t remember them at all, or only vaguely, on their first meeting in the early chapters. So, we’ll see where the rewrites take me.

 

That all said, I just want to take a moment to highlight Tienette. She was literally a late addition, and I thought ‘oh, she needs a cool title’. So I settled with calling her the Basilisk. This wasn’t meant to be anything at the beginning. I really thought of her as a background character, whereas Valamir would be the main member of the Astier family that made appearances. Beyond Mirabelle’s, as yet unseen husband to be.

 

That did not last. It is part of the nature of how I write. Marches was a much different beast for me. It didn’t start with worldbuilding. It started with a single idea, and I built characters to fit that idea, and the world formed around them. Normally, I do the reverse – build the world, so that the characters react more naturally with it. But this way was interesting. Why did, even in these early chapters, Tienette feel different? I don’t know. 

 

Basilisk was too cool of a name. And for that matter, so was Tienette. So I latched on to her. By the next chapter I had shifted gears, and it was Tienette who became Mirabelle’s drawn into the world of the Wyverns. In these early chapters I still didn’t know the characters, but as strange as it might sound, Tienette was the first one that I thought I might have someone else in the setting to connect onto – especially outside the setting as a whole. 

 

Anyway. This chapter was alright. Nothing special. There are elements I’d like to keep, but the perspective had to be changed, and so, it needs to be completely rewritten. So, as always, here is the original for you all to enjoy. 

 

Fair Winds,

 

Museless Bard.

 

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Marches – Chapter 01 Notes

Author’s Notes

This chapter was the first I got down on paper in Marches. Originally, my plan was to set the story in small sections, concentrating on various characters in the story as they worked around the central story of Mirabelle. However, that lasted all of a handful of chapters. This part of the story was designed to show that Valamir Astier was the character that set everything in motion and set the groundwork.

While the Chapter itself I liked quite a bit and enjoyed writing, and honestly felt that it opened with the story pretty well. The dichotomy was something I wanted to set up early, with Ava and Vouivre having very different styling in how they held themselves and visually, so it was important to set up a more roguish appearance for Valamir.

Of course, that was before the shift to writing the entire story under Mirabelle’s perspective. So, this part of the story no longer works with the rest. There are portions of it that will survive in the future first chapters – likely changing to Valamir’s arrival in Cote d’Argent and seeing that first appearance from the side of a young woman seeing a figure she’s only known from rumor and stories before. In almost every way, this new intro will work better for the story as a whole and give more time to understand where she comes from and how far she travels.

The original perspective was a fun way to write out the start of the story and show some of the characters in the story. A lot of them would change as things went on, and Ava became much less of a focus. In looking back, I had bigger plans for Valamir’s attendants originally, but they don’t show up again until much later in the story, and even then it is rare and short appearances. It was a good start to the project for me that no longer fits the story, but one that does show the early stages of an idea and how it evolved rather quickly.

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Marches – Chapter 00 Notes

Author’s Notes

So, this is an interesting case. On November 1st, I decided to take an old story I had hidden away and rewrite it for NaNoWriMo. At the time, I had no idea that this story would become Marches. It was literally titled “NaNoWriMo 2018 Introduction” at the time. I just started writing things down. It was a quick, short introduction chapter hoping to set out the basic ideas of the story for me to start getting it written out.

So much of this first chapter didn’t make it into the story. Most obvious is the Narrator. After this first chapter, I decided I wanted to make it a third person story instead, as aside from Heinlein stories, I’ve never really enjoyed a first person storytelling perspective. It is an artifact from the original idea I had that would become marches, and it didn’t even last until November 2nd. In addition, a lot of the story elements would be changed. For instance, the Silver Wyvern mentioned at the end of the Chapter was the original direction I had decided for Mirabelle, where she would become this sort of mix of her old life and new life.

The way the story moved through, it no longer made sense by the end. Mirabelle becomes more of something entirely new, not her clinging to her old life or the expected new life, but something more built on the ruins of both. It fit the character better, I think, in the end, and made me rather happy.

This chapter no longer fits in the story in almost anyway. The prose moved to be fully from Mirabelle’s perspective, which changes things a lot. The narrator in this story never shows up again, and for lack of a better term, this chapter just needed cut completely. The new introductory chapters jump straight in to introducing Mirabelle and her life before the Astier show up and change everything.

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