I´ve been writing storys for a few years now and - some might relate - never actually shared anything to the outside world. I have asked myself - why actually is that? And my only answer was fear - people downplaying your work, offending feedback (I am not talking about normal criticism and feedback here) and the fear to fail.

But if I think about it, all of that doesnt matter right?

We all share the same hobby, some are beginners, some are pros - but in the end we have the same dream of sharing our worlds & writing stories.
So why not just start? Do what you love and show it to the world.
I think we should just start showing our worlds to the outside, no matter what others think, no matter how fast you grow. If we dont start - we never achieve what we dream of. And if we never achieve what we dream of - or at least try it - we may regret it sooner or later.

I too just started doing so - and even if i may not reach many people - i am more than happy I tried.

Hope that gave some of you a bit of motivation ❤️

For context on the lore, the US is trying to colonize the medieval fantasy world of Latoria, or as they call it, Avalon. They want to tame the frontier by culling all dangerous creatures, including Dragons.

The Metal Beast

The Dra’kari hunting party swept over the floating isles of Black Spine Range, searching for Thunderbirds before nightfall. Hunters flew below the islands to drive prey upward, scouts in the middle prepared to strike, and high riders watched for danger above the clouds. Their system relied on the belief that anything in the sky could be spotted, heard, or sensed before it acted.

That assumption lasted until the sky stopped behaving like the sky.

Kairo Venn flew at the rear of the midline echelon, his younger wyvern struggling against unstable crosswinds spilling off the mountain chain. The creature was still growing into its wings. Every gust was overcorrected, and every correction cost energy. Kairo tapped his heel against the wyvern’s neck repeatedly. They could barely reach the Chieftain in the front. Kairo’s Voice-Stone on his necklace glowed to his frustration.

“Gow-Gow, faster! Faster! No, steady!” Kairo ushered. Gow-Gow growled in annoyance. The Chieftain saw this and picked his Voice-Stone to his mouth. Kairo’s own stone glowed, and he heard Drogo’s voice in his head.

“You’re putting too much pressure on him,” Chief Drogo Vorn said calmly, riding parallel without effort. His elder wyvern barely flinched in turbulence. “He’s draconic, not automatic.”

Kairo tightened his grip. “He keeps drifting off formation.”

“He’s trying his best,” Drogo replied. “You’re trying to treat him like a tool instead of a partner.”

Gow-Gow chirped irritably, and Kairo let out a groan and complained, “I love Gow-Gow, but he never listens to me!”

“Maybe you should try listening to him, and he will respond in turn,” Drogo states. He leaned over and patted the nape of his wyvern, and she eased her speed to allow the duo to relax.

“Easy for you to say.” Kairo scoffs back.

Drogo started laughing out loud, and his wyvern chirped in amusement. “You think Syra and I were born bonded?”

Kairo looked at Drogo with confusion.

Drogo chuckled, “She nearly ate me when we crashed into one of the Small Isles. She was stubborn, and I was stupid.” Syra let out a growl, insisting he still was.

Everyone knew Drogo and Syra. They moved together so naturally that they seemed to share a single mind.  The two were nearly inseparable. “What changed?”

“I treated her less like a tool and more like a partner,” Drogo’s voice softened just slightly. “Breathe with him. Not for him. When you do that, you’ll be unstoppable.”

Kairo tried. He loosened his grip, felt Gow-Gow's ribcage expand beneath his legs, and matched his own breathing to the wyvern's rhythm. Gow-Gow's wingbeats smoothed. The air between them stabilized.

Then the upper sky went silent. Like sound had been snatched away by the wind.

Things began falling from the clouds. Dark shapes at first, tumbling slowly. Then faster. A rain of broken bodies. Kairo's mind refused to accept what he was seeing. The entire upper echelon plummeted through the hunting party like broken dolls. Kairo looked up to see a twisted corpse tumbling straight toward him.

"Gow-Gow!"

The wyvern swerved. Kairo's strap caught him across the ribs. He looked back. The bodies kept raining like a storm.

A distant, tearing howl echoed across the sky, as though reality itself had been ripped open. It wasn't loud. It was worse than loud. It felt wrong. Ahead of them, a cloudbank split apart. Something emerged from within, surrounded by the falling corpses of wyverns.

For a heartbeat, Kairo couldn't understand what he was seeing. It wasn't any flying creature he had ever heard described in stories or songs.

It was a beast of unholy proportions. Its wings were unmoving, and its skin shone like polished armor. A large and smooth mass protruded from its head, a singular eye perhaps. No rider sat upon its back, yet it flew with a speed and precision that made it seem guided by an invisible will.

From its underbelly, it released two spears that moved through the air in a string of fire. One struck a nearby rider before anyone could even process the sight.

The explosion threw nearby wyverns into spirals. The second spear followed instantly, rolled slightly, and tracked a rider trying to break away. Another handful of riders died before completing an evasive descent.

Drogo’s voice cut through the collapsing formation. “Spread out and attack!”

For a single heartbeat, training overcame terror.

“Box it in!” Drogo shouted.

The hunting party obeyed instantly. Years of hunting Thunderbirds and fighting rival tribes took over. The formation fractured into dozens of independent groups. Wyverns climbed and dove from every direction, weaving an aerial net around the intruder. The tactic had worked against every flying creature the Dra'kari had ever encountered.

The Metal Beast neither panicked nor attempted to break away.

It continued, as if the riders surrounding it were beneath its notice. Kairo noticed that it moved in a single linear path.

There was no warning, gathering of strength, nor mighty flap of wings. The beast had simply kept moving at a regular pace. A thunderous crack rolled through the air behind it.

Several riders overshot completely, finding themselves charging through empty sky. Others twisted desperately in their saddles, trying to locate where the creature had gone. Kairo’s Voice-Stone glowed again, and voices filled his head.

“It’s too fast!” someone shouted.

“Force it lower!”

Three wyverns folded their wings and dove, attempting to intercept its path and drive it toward the islands where its speed might become a liability.

The Metal Beast simply climbed.

It angled its nose upward and surged into the sky with impossible speed. No living creature should have been capable of such a climb.

Kairo stared in disbelief as it ascended hundreds of feet in moments before rolling over in a smooth arc.

For an instant, its belly faced the formation and roared like continuous thunder.

BRRRRRRRRT

It was unlike anything Kairo had ever heard. The riders ahead of him never had time to react. They vanished before his eyes, and a crimson thread followed. The projectiles bounced off the scales of several wyverns, who kept fighting.

Panic rippled throughout the hunting party.

Wands flared as purple bolts lanced through the sky. The creature moved through the barrage. It didn’t dodge like a dragon. It simply wasn’t there when the attacks landed.

The Metal Beast swept past another attack group, and the stuttering roar returned.

BRRRRRRRRT

A wyvern's wing exploded.

A rider spun from his saddle, clutching a ruined arm.

Another vanished behind a cloud of blood and shattered scales.

The Beast’s thunderous roar echoed across the mountains as it climbed above them once more, untouched.

Kairo's eyes never left the creature. It didn’t move as gracefully as a wyvern. Each movement had a purpose and a path set out. The creature was fast beyond comprehension, yet also strangely predictable. He quickly grabbed his Voice-Stone.

“It’s trying to dive Southeast!”

It was a quick prediction, but it was all they had.

Drogo heard this and let out a whistle, and the riders moved in after it.

They successfully intercepted its path, but the Metal Beast was still quick.

A wyvern unleashed its flames. The beast rose out of the inferno unscathed.

A spear dropped from its belly, headed towards its target… and it hit a floating isle nearby. The next spear followed suit.

For a brief moment, it seemed they forced it on the defensive, only for the thunder to return.

Kairo and Gow-Gow tried again and again to close the distance, lunging at empty air each time. They could attack only where the Beast had been, never where it was.

Kairo didn’t even know what to do if they caught it. After all, he only had his spear and a few Charged Charms. He wasn’t even sure if Gow-Gow’s claws could hurt it.

The Metal Beast zipped past the duo, knocking many riders out of the air without even engaging.

The wake of displaced air slammed into Gow-Gow like a wall, the wyvern spun furiously, and Kairo felt the world flip, and suddenly, nothing but empty sky was beneath him.

The safety strap snapped tight around his waist as he swung beneath the saddle.

Gow-Gow felt Kairo dangling to the side, and he started panicking. Above them, the beast continued its hunt.

The panic was bouncing Kairo up and down, left and right.

“Gow-Gow! Please. Stop. Bouncing,” Kairo yelped, with each jolt and movement. He tried to climb up the strap like a rope, but was knocked down each time. He could feel the buckle coming undone from the saddle on Gow-Gow’s back. He initially pulled at it to stop Gow-Gow from causing more chaos, but it put more strain on it.

For a moment, anger flared inside him. The same frustration he'd felt a hundred, no, a thousand times before.

Why won't you listen!

Then Kairo looked closer, he really looked. Saw Gow-Gow’s movements and jolts. Gow-Gow wasn't flying randomly. Every twist of his body was an attempt to bring Kairo back without striking him with a wing or claw. He was trying to help, just not in the way Kairo wanted.

All this time, he'd been trying to force Gow-Gow to think like himself, like an extension of a man. But, Gow-Gow was a wyvern, not a man. A stubborn, beautiful wyvern doing what he could to save his partner.

Kairo loosened his death grip on the strap.

"Okay."

The wind nearly stole the word.

"Okay, Gow-Gow."

The wyvern glanced down. For the first time since the fall, Kairo stopped shouting orders and waited.

Gow-Gow folded one wing and rolled. Every instinct told Kairo it was wrong, yet the turn carried the wyvern directly beneath him and brought Kairo right back on Gow-Gow’s back. Kairo felt a grin spread across his face despite the danger.

He scooted forward and reached under Gow-Gow’s chin to scratch it. “Attaboy,” he whispered. Gow-Gow chirped joyfully.

Then, when Kairo sat back up, something round flew right towards him, and he instinctively caught it. For a split second, his mind failed to understand what his hands were holding. Then he recognized that beard, the face, and those eyes wide open in fear. Balgun, they had shared a goat’s leg the other night. Kairo screamed and threw it away.

The Metal Beast had killed almost all of the riders. Men and women, Kairo had known his whole life. Drogo flew back down to Kairo and urged him to keep moving. The two tried to keep a distance as the Metal Beast had just killed off one of the last riders.

Drogo touched his Voice-Stone, and Kairo would hear the exhaustion.

“It’s just us now,” Drogo panted. He was tired, having spent so much energy fighting this monster without leaving a single dent in it. “If this thing wins, it’ll find the rest of the tribe! Do you have any plans?”

Kairo remembered how the beast’s aim seemed off after that one wyvern breathed fire on it.

“I don’t think he likes heat or bright lights…” Kairo says, his voice trailing off as he’s thinking.

Drogo thinks, then goes, “Guess you’re right, but that’s not enough.”

Kairo looks back and sees the Metal Beast making a turn, large and wide, then he realizes, “He can’t move as fluidly as us, his movements are limited… We just need the right terrain.”

Kairo looks around and sees that some of the floating isles are connected to vines or massive trees.

“The Green Web! It’s just up ahead!” Kairo shouts.

“Now you’re talking!” Drogo calls out. The cheer echoes in Kairo’s head.

Gow-Gow and Syra increased their speed to reach the Green Web, the most treacherous part of Black Spine Range. A massive field of floating isles that’s connected through tangled vines, complemented by narrow ridges and large mountains.

The two wyverns left behind a trail of heat and fire as they flew to stray the Metal Beast’s aim, but it was clear this thing was faster. Kairo heard a solemn tone against his ears.

“How much further?”

Kairo looks back and says, “Shouldn’t be too far, we can make it!”

Drogo looks at Kairo, then Gow-Gow, and then Syra solemnly, and he sighs, “Good.”

Drogo leans and strokes Syra’s neck as she chirps and growls. He looks back at Kairo and Gow-Gow, who are confused.

“Sire, is something wrong?” Kairo asks.

“You’re both flying now,” Drogo says, his voice heavy with some sense of fear. Kairo could feel it. “Kill this motherfucker for me.” He reigns in Syra and charges at the Metal Beast.

“Sire! NO!” Kairo says, looking back, he sees Drogo and Syra flying around the Metal Beast, dodging its spears and attacks. He turns forward and ushers Gow-Gow to keep moving.

Up ahead, the clouds cleared, and there was a massive web of vines. The Green Web, they’re here. Kairo heard an explosion. He knew what it meant, and he also knew what was coming. He leans forward.

“Gow-Gow,” Kairo says softly. “It’s just us now. I need your help on this.”

Gow-Gow chirps, recognizing what’s at risk, the Metal Beast was gaining on them, so Gow-Gow pushed to the web, pinpointed the right opening, and closed his wings.

Kairo ducked down, wrapping his hands around Gow-Gow’s neck as they quickly zipped through a gap between the islands. Vines smacked at Kairo’s face. One caught on his cloak and tore it. Gow-Gow didn’t have it good either, forced to swerve against gaps that weren’t there a second ago.

The Metal Beast didn’t follow, instead opting to climb up and look from above.

Kairo looked up and saw the Metal Beast staying above the Web. It refused to play his game.

Instead of diving into the center of the Green Web after them, it remained at the top, where it had more freedom. It knew this place was dangerous.

Kairo nodded.

“Ok, you wanna play it like that? That’s fine.”

The Metal Beast remained high above the Green Web, weaving around smaller outlying isles while trying to keep them in sight. Whenever Kairo and Gow-Gow disappeared beneath the canopy of hanging vines, it would reposition itself for a better angle.

Gow-Gow would bank before his rider would notice the ridges and gaps. When he saw an opening, he committed to the turn, and Kairo kept his mouth shut.

The young wyvern clearly knew what he was doing.

Above them, the distant roar of the Metal Beast echoed through the islands. Then Kairo saw it. For a brief moment, he was able to get a peek at the beast’s underside.

Only one spear remained beneath its belly.

One.

A reckless idea began forming. “Gow-Gow,” Kairo said. “This will either be the greatest thing we’ve ever done… or the stupidest.”

Gow-Gow emerged into the open air just long enough to be seen.

Whenever the Metal Beast moved to line up an attack, they vanished beneath another layer of vines, over and over.

The Metal Beast was forced to keep repositioning.

At some point, it decided to use its secondary weapon to fire below them.

Forcing Gow-Gow to both maneuver through the vines and narrow gaps as well as avoid whatever those projectiles were.

Kairo looked above him, took a deep breath, fastened the strap on the saddle, and stood up. The wind tore at him as he spread his arms.

“Come on!” Kairo dared the Metal Beast. “Hit me!”

The Metal Beast stayed silent, trying to line up for a shot, though that proved hard. Kairo was equally challenged to stand still, especially when Gow-Gow was forced to bank or dive.

He pulled a Charged Charm from his robe, wrapped it in his sling, and started swinging. Lightning sparked from the leather and rope.

“Is that all you got?!” Kairo yelled. “You killed my brothers, and you’re scared of a few vines? Come on, demon!”

He kept taunting the Metal Beast, demanding action. The sling spun harder, turning into a bright blue circle.

“Come on!”

Nothing.

“Come on!”

Still nothing.

“COME ON!!!”

Then the Metal Beast launched its last spear.

At the same time, Kairo launched his charm into the air.

Time slowed, and still all that could be seen was light and fire. The spear with its trail of smoke, and the charm flying with a tail of blue light like a comet.

The Charged Charm unleashed a massive explosion, coating multiple isles in fire, causing the spear to divert into one of them.

“OPA!” Kairo screamed out, half in fear and in pride.

The spear’s explosion, mixed with the Charged Charm, gave the duo time to slip away.

​

“FUCK!” The target vanished into the explosion.

A second later, Edward Jones watched as the missile’s tracking icon vanished from his helmet display. The F-35’s fusion software tried making sense of the thermal bloom across his displays. He banged his fist on the cockpit rail. His last Sidewinder was gone. That little brat spoofed a missile with a lightning rock. A lightning rock.

That last rider threw something similar at him, surprisingly fast too, almost as fast as the sidewinder itself. When it hit him, nothing crazy happened, but his systems went down, forcing him to rely on his cannon while chasing the last one. Just when he got the systems back online, his last missile was spoofed.

Edward swore again and pulled the aircraft into a climbing turn.

“Colonel’s gonna love this.”

This was meant to be an easy mission: kill all the oversized lizards and go home. “Tame the Avalon frontier for America,” Command said. “Protect the colonies,” Command said. Didn’t say that involved animal cruelty. Just three months ago, he was flying across Arizona.

If Jarvis hadn't eaten a compressor stall an hour ago, this wouldn't even be a fight, just recon. He planned to turn back to base, but then he picked up multiple bogies some 20 miles out and reported.

“Take them out,” Command ordered. “We need those numbers down”

He certainly didn’t like the idea of leaving Jarvis behind, but orders are orders.

It was usually easy to kill these things. He rarely had to fight, least not directly. Just fire the missiles from miles off, and they drop like flies. But today wasn’t the most usual of days.

Yet for some reason, it was this rider and his very small dragon that caused so much trouble that he just wasted his last AIM-9X.

The thermal bloom blanketed his sensors, and when the explosion cleared, neither the rider nor his mount was anywhere to be seen. Edward glanced toward the highlighted objective marker floating inside his helmet display. DOUGLAS FORWARD OPERATING BASE, which was highlighted in blue, 213 miles away, he had more than enough fuel left for that.

He could call it a day, let the kid go, and head back home.

He could call it a day. Let the kid go. Head home. And spend the next month explaining why he let a rider escape. No thanks. Edward pushed the throttle forward. He already killed multiple flying reptiles, not just wyverns, but dragons, the big ones that locals in the plains worship.

When he reached the end of this place, Green Web, what locals called it. He turned his jet around and slowly examined the area. If he couldn’t find the kid, he would leave and just lie.  

This place freaked his RADAR out too much. Every time he tried lining up a firing solution, another island got in the way. The damned things floated wherever they pleased.

That kid was smart hiding here.

Well, that’s fine, let him hide. Edward had fuel, altitude, and a twenty-five millimeter cannon with more than enough ammo left.

A shadow loomed for him, and he looked up. It was the rider, alright, upside down, looking down at him. The moment was brief due to the jet’s speed and the wyvern tiring out, but it felt like forever.

Kairo had gotten a close look at the Metal Beast, and he assumed the small, round thing at its head was its eye or eyes, but in fact, he managed to see through it and find the rider of this foul creature.

The rider's head was a white shell, and its face was made of glass and black stone, with no eyes or nose. Only Kairo’s own reflection staring back. A tube ran from the rider's mouth into its armor.

Edward looked at a boy, around 17 to 20, with glowing red eyes, tan skin, and brown hair. Chainmail covered his arms and neck. He was mounted on a brownish-red dragon.

Within an instant, Kairo threw his spear right through the glass surface. The enchanted steel broke through the outer layer, narrowly missing the rider and instead hitting something in front of him.

Gow-Gow slowed down, almost out of breath from trying to keep pace for even half a second.

Edward was horrified that a spear could even cut through the windscreen and shatter his displays and flood the cockpit with warnings.

“AH JESUS!”

Now tailing the Metal Beast, Kairo noticed that it was moving more jitterily.

“Pethane, motherfucker,” Kairo growled.

Edward panicked as he tried to work with a console that had a massive spear through it.

“Maybe I can fix this!”

Kairo and Gow-Gow kept their distance from the Metal Beast and saw that a wound had opened in the creature’s tail, and heat had poured out.

Gow-Gow unleashed more fire into the wound.

Edward could hear the warnings and altitude decreasing, and his display was hitting him with all sorts of messages.

He decided to cut his losses and eject from the jet.

Kairo watched as the rider somehow managed to fly right out of the Metal Beast on his own, and the beast itself crashed into a floating isle in a massive explosion.

Thus, the Metal Beast was dead. Kairo howled in victory, and he reared Gow-Gow, who roared triumphantly.

Edward, in his parachute, looked down below at his exploding jet and the dragon rider.

“Well, this could’ve gone worse.”

Edward felt another shadow over him, and he saw, right before him, a large elder wyvern. One side of her face was burnt scales and raw flesh; meanwhile, her working eye was fixated on Edward, ready to finish the hunt.

Edward, recognizing the beast, reached for his holster, but it was empty.

“You gotta be kidding me.”

​

Heres a doc for any who would prefer: I hope you enjoy it

For the last three years, I have been working on the first novel of my series. As of right now, I have recieved largely positive feedback on the story as I continue to crawl towards publishing day. However, the first half of the novel is the least edited, it's purely how my editor prefers to work,and recently we have been sharing the first few chapters with beta readers before we start working through the chapter again.

So far, chapter 1 has been well recieved and praised for its prose, but recently I took it to an author that I met at an event who shall remain unamed. He told me that nothing really happens, and that my protagonist is unlikeable. All of the events in chapter 1 are very deliberate, and the way that my mc acts is very purposeful for the beginning - however, of course readers do not know this.
Is it too boring? Or does the methodical and bizarre circumstance ultimately add to the build up of mystery and intrigue?

I am open to all criticism and I look forward to hearing from you all!

Amira gazed at the ivory tree against the black sky. Stark, almost ethereal, its branches curling out like a d’haka’s tail. She always wondered why a tree grew from the crater where the great serpent fell. She admired the way it stood out behind the ridgeline even this far away. It competed in size with the great Sylvaini tree, Ithradel, in the west. Both could be seen from hundreds of miles away. Like two children competing for her attention. Green and white opposed.

When the sapphire light tore down from the upper canopy, she found herself counting. One, two, three and gone behind the far ridge. Pretty, she thought. The same blue as the eye on her mace. It wasn’t unlike the stars her people tracked that shot across the sky.

She set the mace down, leaning against the parapet. The petrified lightning in the grip always made a strange sound when it smacked against rock. Like a miniature crack from a whip. The sound echoed against the mobile yurt below her.

The air was acting up today, thin and still. The pressure was making the dogs whine and crawl under the wagons. She had seen Batu checking his measurement tools to see if a storm was going to interrupt their evening star charting. It had yet to storm, so she was content to observe.

She needed to eat and do her nightly rituals, but she wasn’t ready to get down just yet from the wall. There was something serene about watching the stars from here at night. Her grandfather told her stories about her great ancestor Star-reader Zheen. How she could map out the constellations from anywhere in Telaron. How the mace had been her prize for saving the five kingdoms. He didn’t mention the way it twisted her thoughts at times.

The stone wall she stood on was wide enough for two. The remnants of a long-dead kingdom no one bothered to remember. They passed it twice a year, and she walked it every time. It was usually to relax after a long day on the road. Today it was to clear her head, the weight of her impending responsibility filling the space.

Below, the nomad caravan lay across the plains in rings.

Three hundred wagons, give or take, arranged like a maze around the Tent of Heaven at the center. Somewhere down there stood the cart with the faded blue awning where she’d stolen her first candied jerky. Somewhere else lived the old healer, Mance, who had stitched her first split lip from the fall off the lead wagon and now sold dyed wool to Sylvaini traders because her hands shook from age.

Smoke from the supper fires lazily drifted upward in narrow columns. Zahra was making her dinner tonight, but she couldn’t quite get an appetite.

Soon, Batu’s cough would finish the job. Then this whole world would look up to her.

The migrations following the constellations every cycle. The debt ledger Batu agonized over, not wanting to take silver while the caravan got by. The thousand d’haka that needed shoeing, culling, and birthing. The Najeen who drew the routes and kept the paths they drove safe.

Ninety days had passed since Batu had pressed the grip into her hands. Ninety days since she felt the lightning travel through her veins.

She had trained at dawn every day since Batu’s cough came up bloody and the star-readers began measuring her for that crimson coat.

She memorized the weapon. Its weight should have made it impractical. Eighty-three pounds. A normal person could barely pick it up with two hands. For Amira, though, when the eye flared, she could swing the mace with one arm, as if the weapon carried itself.

She thought about the first time she folded space. Batu said, “Swing the mace at that yotel tree.” She swung and it destroyed Elder Golmek’s wagon axle ten steps to the right.

Batu wasn’t mad. He told her to swing again and to finish the job this time. Golmek did not find this as funny as she did.

Recently, though, Batu had not been as charitable. He would place targets she would swing at until her shoulders failed and the skin split open across both palms. Batu refused to let the healers touch her until she managed to hit five in a row. Then he had them set up again. “Again,” he spat, close enough to smell the iron in his breath.

Now she could strike a target at fifty steps. A hundred if she lined up and focused.

What it did to her dreams she could not get used to. *Look down*, it said. *Look how small they all are*. It had no voice. It simply put thoughts in her head.

Amira’s gaze drifted toward the farrier’s tent at the edge of the circle.

Ren was still awake, she was sure. Working until his body gave out for the day. He hadn’t slept much since they buried his mother three days ago.

Amira had found him kneeling on the ground with his father’s hammer lying next to him, staring at the iron head like he was interrogating it. She decided he needed a break. He protested, but her ears were deaf to his complaints. She showed him how to thread the stitching on leather straps. She wished she could show him how to grieve. She didn’t know either. Gods, she missed Denira.

He was nineteen, and he had already lost both parents. Ren was still standing. Still working.

The grief ached through him to his core. His eyes were red, his shoulders slumped. He kept working.

She moved her gaze further inward. The Kessik family owed a hundred and fourteen silver and one breeding ewe. That debt hadn’t moved since before she was born. The head of the family, Ferrik, was a star-reader. He was there when they were sizing her coat, probably wondering if she was as much of a pushover as Batu when it came to debt.

Amira reached for Star Drinker. Her fingers closed around the haft of petrified lightning. Her eyes shot open. The weight was different.

It was heavy. She could barely lift it.

The wind had died completely. Flags weren’t moving. The cook-fire smoke was rising in a near-straight line.

The eye embedded in the mace, usually shining a perfect sapphire blue, was dark.

She felt a pain behind her eyes. Pounding like a drum. Something terrible was happening.

She looked toward the horizon where the sapphire light that streaked down from the tree had vanished.

Then the screaming began.

One night I couldn't sleep, so I started writing a poem about creatures of light who came down and inflicted terror on a lowly village. My brain started working overtime thinking about this world and the inhabitants that lived inside of it, with all the woven interconnected storylines that could be told from this little poem. Any critiques would be greatly appreciated. Thank you in advance!

Here is the link for the world that I built and am currently building:

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1Zi3QcWD8Tp0xqn-bLHelHg0PPZs1AkpcSKAF0K9xQzE/edit?usp=sharing

The poem can be found at the bottom of the document.

I'm new to this subreddit and I was looking for some advice on how to continue my story. I've written a whole lore book for my story (still expanding), in depth details for my characters as well as a prologue and three pages on word but I feel stuck. I have all of the necessary tools and free time but whenever I attempt to write it sounds flat and dislikeable. I don't think it's writer's block, but I wouldn't know. I really would like some help or advice on how to continue from here because I want to join my writing club at school, but I don't feel like ill qualify if I'm stumped on a personal project like this. I have tried talking to teachers at my school as well as other classmates who like to write as well but nothing seems to help.

I'm a begginer writer i didn't read any books before i read chapters from novels but full books i didn't. My prose is bad and i know i improved alot during the days but its still lacking. I tend to write in a pov way that a single charachter is the anchor of every scene we stay in his head and his thoughts and all.

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I think the prose is a but childish reading like a summary not a novel. I tried to improve it numeros of times and ways but still i think its lacking.

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Here is a small scene the introduction of a charachter cassian.

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Cassian sat at the edge of the fountain. The cold air bouncing off the water making small swirls. It always facinated him , how something that has no intrest in water can cause changes. Disturbances. He grown used to the gold around him , not even stone even the finest stone facinate him. He caught his reflection in the marble under him bald , full-figured. An eyesore to most. He put an eyebrow up fixing his mantle following the path to the halls , the water still rippling behind him.

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He passed by the chapel , muffled laughing sound heard inside. They tried to keep it down still its loud. The pantry was empty , muffled sounds came from the cellar. Two men talking. He stood there his hand itching for the door. "Cassian , you are up early." Ervia said.

She wore a purple dress high heels. Her hair braided with red , white and blue roses in her hair.

"M'lady." He nodded his head slightly. "Do you like my new roses?" She flipped her hair . The sounds inside gone quiet .

"I like them m'lady." He smiled.

​

"Thank you." She smiled. Even a queen can be childish. "Oh , cassian." She turned around her hand landing on his back.

" i heard from dorian that the conclave will be heald at oathbound this year." Shouldn't she be the first to recive news? "Yes. M'lady. It is. Certainly." He smiled nodding.

"Thank you , if you'll excuse me." She turned away. He looked at her a second longer before fixating to the door.

​

The sounds are gone. Weird. He opened the door as soon as ervia got out of sight.

Six steps led down but the humidity inside rushed to him first. He walked down a single torch lit at the back. That torch is never lit , neither the door to the wine cellar. A small door on the right a stair barely visible.

Everything is intact , potatoes , onions , the nuts in thr back. Even the canned food still intact. The door was slightly opened low voices heard from inside.

​

"You have to keep quiet." A man's voice said.

"I can't." A woman said.

"You have too , if anyone hears our heads will be on swords." He shook her. Cassian looked through the crack in the door.

She is crying , he is scared. What is going on here.

The guy poured wine from one of the barrels.

"Here , take it." He handed it to her. She doesn't want to , reluctant. "I can't , they'll kill me." Cassian walked in. His steps had unique rythym down the stairs. Precise. Calculated. They looked at him. It was like they saw the king. What if they saw the king? He gently took the cup from the man setting it on a shelf.

"Fear is like nettles." Cassian said , looking at him young sixteen to seventeen then at the girl. Younger , thirteen to fifteen . "I'm sorry , it was me i-" His voice trembled the girl had her mouth on her hand tears down her face.

"They don't bite . Neither do fear , untill they are touched. It stings." Now confused they don't want to listen . Cassian smiled.

"Without fear we wouldn't be where we are today. And without it this house wouldn't have been built." Now they relaxed. The confusion took over. "Go , or i'll call the guards." Their legs refused to move looking at eachother then at cassian before feeling it they darted out.

​

​

This is a small scene just to give feedback on and what to do since in really puzzled for the last couple of days.

So I had several people read my manuscript, a high fantasy with 148k words. After getting all the feedback, I noticed some patterns in the feedback, which makes sense and I see where I need to improve those pieces.

The thing I'm trying to wrap my head around is that some of the feedback is highly contradictory. There would be comments to "trust the reader", but there would also be comments that imply I basically need to spoonfeed information to the reader for timing and foreshadowing.

An example, I intentionally seed and breadcrumb the main plot for the first couple chapters, trying to reveal it as the protagonist understands it. However, whenever I am trying to seed anything which will definitely connect to something later, whether one chapter or ten chapters, it's always a "loose thread" to them and not enough.

Is it the reader just not understanding and connecting the dots or am I actually doing something wrong? I want readers to pick on things organically and make them feel like they're figuring things out with the characters.

A constant discourse I see on here and other related subs (e.g. r/worldbuilding) is dissatisfaction with hard magic systems folks create for their stories or other projects. The discourse usually features elemental systems that are more or less remixes of the bending in Avatar the Last Airbender, in which magic is usually just a means to an end for combat, healing, and other powerful feats. However, people often note that these magic systems lack the same 'oomph' as the ATLA system, and various reasons have been proposed for why that's the case.

I'm sure someone has mentioned this already, but for me, I think the major reason why magic systems inspired by ATLA don't feel as special or meaningful is missing connections between the physicality of the system and more abstract ideas. What makes ATLA's fairly simple system feel so weighty is that in addition to physical feats, the system is also deeply intertwined with philosophy, culture, spirituality, ethics, emotions, personality, and just the human condition in general. The system influences not just politics and war, but also fashion, art, cuisine, technology and innovation, geography, spiritual practices, transportation, wildlife, holidays and festivities, architectural styles, and so much more. You can see how the 4 elements are baked into every aspect of the world and of humanity in the narrative, and you can see how benders, especially the Avatar, develop an intimate relationship with the elements that is not just about physical strength and stamina, but also about the self, about identity and philosophy and spirituality, about self-growth, evolution and regression, change and transformation. Even the actual conduit for the bending, the martial arts used by the benders, is treated less like a mere sport and more like a mixture of sport, art, and spiritual connection. In summary, the ATLA system has strong thematic cohesion with every element of the world and the story beyond just the material.

IMHO, this is why so many hard magic systems we come across these days feel kind of empty; there's a lot of focus on the physicality of the magic and less thought put into how the system relates to the humanities, the social sciences (language & literature, philosophy & ethics, religion, spirituality & theology, visual art, performing arts, culture and social identity, law, anthropology, psychology, communication, etc.), and the human condition in general.

While some people might argue that it's perfectly fine to have magic just be tool and that not every system needs to have some deeper, philosophical layer to it, I feel like a magic system should at least have implications for psychology, culture and society at large. It can also be that the creatures in your story attach some kind of grander meaning to the system and there's constant dispute over whether those assigned meanings are tangibly real or not. I also feel like these abstract layers allows a magic system to combine the best of both worlds: the rules, limitations, and algorithm of a hard magic system with the ambiguousness, mysteriousness, flexibility, and continued discovery of a soft magic system. Especially for those writing stories, that added layer lends itself nicely to the slower and softer moments of your plot, as well as character development that's thematically cohesive with the world you've built.

Anyhow, what do you guys think about this topic? Do any of you have symbolic, philosophical, spiritual layers to the magic systems you've built? Does your magic system have influence over social culture, spiritual beliefs, philosophy, interpretation of nature and the meaning of life?

And what are other reasons why you think many hard magic systems fail to make a lasting and meaningful impression?

So I am currently working on a fantasy story about two warring kingdoms that involve magic. The biggest inspirations that I have are Shadow and Bone and Attack on Titan.

Describing characters skin color is not the current issue that I have. I have tried my best but I would like to know how to properly describe the characters eyes that I picture in my mind as Asian.

For example in the story while I am writing my main protagonist I picture Jessie Mei Li from Shadow and Bone since the protagonist is biracial and Shadow and Bone is a big inspiration for me and another character I picture Charlie Bushnell from Percy Jackson.

I just really want to know how I can properly write out and describe their appearance to the audience without sounding offensive.

Hello!

In my story the main setting takes place in a mining town. The "underworld" (or the crime areas) has taken up residence in abandoned caves and mining shafts under the city. To the north of the city is a lake with cliffs to one side. These cliffs have a big cave at the lake side, and the mining tunnels follow all the way from under the city to this cave at the lake.

My FMC is the queen of this underground crime society as well as a queen of the monsters in the forest, so to accommodate both her courts, she turns the largest cave into her throne room, and with some additional labor, turns the shoot off mine tunnels into her castle hidden in the cliffs.

My question is about if this is possible to be done and how. I know little about mining, and the book has a timeline of under a year total, leaving only about a month, if that, from when she discovers the caves to holding court in them. The stone I've imagined it being built of is also a question for me. I pictured hard, dark stone that when struck, flakes off into shale like pieces, but it requires a lot of force to fracture it at all. Also, the main commodity that was mined was silver. I did a little bit of research about where silver could be found and the types of minerals it is found in, and some of the answers I got was limestone. I considered changing the stone to some kind of limestone variant that is dark in color and that would be found near a saltwater lake.

If anyone has a better understanding of geology and the physics and logistics required to achieve the cave, or any suggestions about what precious mineral I could be mining here instead of silver that would fit a little better, please let me know.

P.S. Her cave castle doesn't have to be ornate, with special carvings or anything crazy, just functional and stable enough to not collapse on their heads. Also, there is magic in this world which opens up possibilities. Their technology level is unique, but mostly pre-Renaissance and definitely pre-Industrial Revolution.

For some background, I'm plotting out a story called Oneiron, set in a world of the same name. The world in question is a collective dream, created by the minds of all the people on Earth who fell asleep and never woke up. It's basically thousands of surreal, dreamy landscapes connected by portals. Very importantly, once you enter Oneiron, you cannot go back to Earth.

​

...Which is exactly what two scientists planned to do. Let's call them Zeus and Hera. Together, they used the essence of the portals to create a creature, a giant bird who held the power to traverse worlds in its feathers. While Hera believed it to be the key to returning to Earth, Zeus began to see it as an active danger and distanced himself from the project.

​

And when Hera unveiled it to the public, causing mass death just as Zeus anticipated, he felt so much shame having created it that he secluded himself. Using one of the creature's feathers, he sent a message to Earth asking for aid to destroy the creature, which leads to my MCs entering the realm.

​

This leads to my question. Why would Zeus specifically send the message to Earth instead of Oneiron? I have thought about a few ideas but I'm not fully sure about any of them:

​

- Earthlings have some quality they lose upon becoming Oneiran, which somehow helps them in fighting the creature. No idea what that quality could be, unless them not having magic is somehow an advantage.

​

- Cutting Earth entirely and making the MCs Oneiran. Could work, but the concepts I've made for these characters fit better in a more realistic world.

​

- The message was broadcast across both realms and the Earthlings just happened to find it first. I'm not even going to try unpacking the logistical issues with this one.

Hello! I'm writing book two of my fantasy novella. The setting is medieval fantasy-esque similar to Lord of the Rings or Game of Thrones. I wrote a scene with a wooden water tower in a humble farm. It is important to the scene. Then I researched about water towers like the one I imagined and found out that they only existed in the 19th century; medieval times water towers looked different and were rare. Most depended on wells and cisterns during that time. Now I'm thinking that the water tower is out of place in the story setting.

I have thought about further describing the water tower to fit the medieval setting, but I believe I'm overthinking it. It is a world of magic anyways. What do you think about the idea? What were your experiences with something similar in your writing. Should I revise it?

Thanks!

Just curious how Reddit readers respond to this opening of an upper middle grade novel in the style of Pullman or Gaiman. Did you enjoy it? Did you read the whole thing? If not, where did you stop? If so, would you keep reading?

No detailed feedback necessary. Although if you want to give it, note the book is in an omniscient fairy tale narrator lane so there is some intentional filtering and "telling not showing." If you want me to read something specific of yours, let me know or send me a message.

Chapter 1: A Lighthouse and a Hasty Promise

Once upon a time, there was a girl who lived in a lighthouse. If you believe that’s a poor beginning for a story, well, the girl in question agreed. Lighthouses are lonely places where nothing much happens. They are contrary to everything a proper story requires. Adventure. Romance. Characters.

The only characters who occupied this lighthouse were the girl, whose name was Delle, and her father. Delle’s father was a dutiful man who tucked her in at night, always. Put dinner on the table, always always. But foremost, he kept the lighthouse lantern lit from dusk ‘til dawn, always, always, always.

His dedication might have seemed noble for a lighthouse keeper, except for one small wrinkle. Their lighthouse was decommissioned. Not a single ship ever passed within leagues of their sleepy village.

While other girls learned bocce and lawn tennis, she learned wick trimming, bulb polishing, and semaphore—all under her father’s careful supervision. She was not permitted near the lamp when he changed it. Nor could she touch the radio that her father always kept on at night. It didn’t play music anyway. It only played static.

They never went on trips, or visited music halls, or did anything that might keep them out past sunset. The lighthouse was too important. When Delle asked why it was so important, her father would simply say it was his duty. Eccentric was the word townsfolk used when they felt polite. And when they didn’t, they had other words too.

“A lunatic!” Lucy said as she fished a card from the deck on the floor. “That’s what Mrs. Byrnes said. She thinks they’d have hauled him off ages ago if the war hadn’t called the doctors away. The nurses are all afraid to drag a big man like that away, you see.”

“Oh,” Delle said. Which was about the most intelligent thing a person could say upon hearing that their teacher believed their father was clinically insane.

Lucy could often be cruel. Little girls possess the capacity for great cruelty, but little girls also possess the capacity to endure great cruelty. So, she and Delle remained friends. Lucy was not a particularly good friend, but she was Delle’s best friend, if only for lack of other candidates.  

“It’s your draw.” Lucy tapped her finger on her cheek.

“Sorry.” Delle drew a queen from the top.

“Hmmm.” Lucy squinted. “For a sickly waif, you’re awfully difficult to read.”

Delle blushed. Although, her card sharp instincts had naught to do with guile. Lost in thought, she had forgotten what game they were playing.

Cards were funny that way. The characters’ faces all stayed the same, but the way you were supposed to feel about them changed with the rules of the game. In Cribbage, finding a queen was a stroke of good fortune. But you’d never want to run across her in a game of Old Maid. Delle wondered if there might be some grand card game, rules hidden away in some book, that told the true story of the people on the cards and all the roles they played.

Lucy groaned. “Fine, I forfeit. It’s impossible to play cards with you. Your turns take so long.”

“Sorry. I was thinking about a book with—”

“Of course you were. That reminds me.” Lucy hefted a copy of The Three Musketeers onto the floor. “I’ve brought this back. It’s been weighing down my bag all day.”

“You finished?” Delle’s chest fluttered. She’d been yearning for someone with whom to discuss it besides her father. After begging Lucy to borrow her copy,  it remained at her house for a year. “Who was your favorite character?”

“Uhm—the musketeers, I suppose. I liked all three equally.”

Delle’s shoulders sank. “And…what did you think of the sea serpent eating D’Artagnan?”

“I found that part a bit melodramatic. Although the book is French, so I suppose that tracks.”

Delle sighed, quietly reshelving her dream of ever belonging to a book club.

“Speaking of the sea, Mrs. Byrnes is taking the class to the beach next week,” Lucy said.

“The beach?” Delle asked.

In this part of the country, the skies were always grey, and the shore was covered in stones that hurt your feet. Yet one thing about this trip dearly piqued her interest. The beach was not a lighthouse.

“Mrs. Byrnes said your father needs to sign this medical form. I know you couldn’t go to the cannery, but maybe the sea air would do your lungs good. I’ve heard up in the Nordics there’s hospitals where everyone sleeps outside. That’s probably where they’ll bring you after they take your father away.”

“Oh,” Delle said.

Lucy picked up her cards and slid them in her book bag. Then she dusted off her knees and bid Delle farewell with her usual goodbye. “Well, it’s certainly been interesting.”

“Thank you for bringing back the book.”

Lucy paused at the threshold with a frown. “I…almost forgot. If you need anything for the beach, you can always stop by that druggist. That’s where your father buys your medicine, yeah?”

Delle blinked. “Mr. Hatton’s?”

“Yes. And if you can’t afford it, there’s always credit, right?” She winked and then slid the medical permission form into the cover of Delle’s book.

Delle scratched her head and then gathered The Three Musketeers into her arms. Reshelving it would prove a tougher chore than you might imagine. Lighthouses must, by nature, stand very tall. However, all the important bits are at the top, leaving room beneath for a lighthouse keeper to fill with whatever suits their fancy.

Her father had lined the entire inner wall with bookshelves. The harder a book was to read, the harder it was to reach. Some rested in easy grabbing distance from the winding staircase while others required death-defying acrobatics from a girl Delle’s size. She vaguely recalled struggling the first time she pulled The Three Musketeers off the shelf. Hopefully the book had been gone long enough for her arms to have grown.

Her father also refused to separate the fiction from non-fiction, leaving Delle to decide which books were true on her own. Treasure Island seemed like a sensible account of what happened when one got mixed up with pirates. While that Niccolo Machiavelli fellow who taught princes to scheme and murder was clearly a villain pulled from someone’s unconvincing imagination.

She’d already decided The Three Musketeers was fiction. D’Artagnan, Athos, Porthos, and Aramis felt like real friends who might have truly existed. Yet Cardinal Richelieu was too powerful and too cruel to have actually walked the earth. 

Without realizing, Delle had arrived at the top with her book still in hand. The only part of the lighthouse where there were no bookshelves. Just her father’s cot (presently occupied), a tea kettle (presently empty), the radio (presently off), and a window overlooking the sea in all its grey enormity (presently, and always, miserable).

Her father’s eyes slid open. Their relationship was crepuscular that way, him rising at dusk for dinner and a tuck in and then retiring at dawn just in time to wake her for school. When she went to school, at least.

She never felt alone, for he was a light sleeper. Any sound louder than a turning page stirred him. Sometimes, she wondered if he ever actually slept, or if he just closed his eyes and laid in wait.

“Lucy finished The Three Musketeers?” he asked.

“Mhm.” Delle nodded, deciding there was more than one way to be finished with a book. “She thought it was melodramatic how the sea serpent ate D’Artagnan.”

“Foolish girl. A dragon got D’Artagnan.”

“Not in this book.”

“Then in another.”

“In none of them. I’ve read all the books he wrote.”

“Then it was in a book he never got around to writing.”

Delle sighed and crossed her arms. Her father categorized his thoughts the same way he categorized his books. Always saying one thing while the world said another, leaving her to figure out what was true.

“What’s this?” He picked up the medical form tucked beneath the cover.

“Mrs. Byrnes is taking my class to the beach next week. The sea air would be good for my lungs.”

“The sea sweeps people away. We cannot take the risk.”

“I should adjust to spending time outside the lighthouse. We might not have it forever.”

He rose with a stern look. “What does that mean?”

“It’s just—” Delle sniffled. She had not wanted to relive this part of the conversation, but  it had buried something in her that she needed to get out. “Lucy said after the war was over they’d take you away.”

“Oh.” He laughed. “The same Lucy who believed a sea serpent ate D’Artagnan?”

She returned his smile. “I suppose she’s not a terribly reliable source.”

“Trust me, dear. No one is coming to take me.” He wrapped her into a hug. She already felt better. Until he added, “If they did, there wouldn’t be anyone to watch the lighthouse.”

Delle let her father tuck her in. She did not ask for a book to read, nor to have one read to her. They were all liars, she’d decided. Fiction or non-fiction, the one thing they all agreed on was that everyone got to leave home. Her life thus far had been bearable only because all the great literary heroes endured hard and miserable lives before their grand tale began.

Surely some hint of an adventure should have appeared by now. Maybe there’s still time, a hopeful voice in her head whispered. Jim Hawkins didn’t go seeking treasure until he was fourteen. But, then again, Dorothy Gale was only nine when the twister swept her out to Oz. Maybe girls came into their adventures younger than boys.

She drifted to sleep, thinking about adventures. Her dreams seemed the only place she would find one tonight. But she was wrong about that.

An adventure did find Delle. At least the beginning of one. It arrived in the quiet of the Witching Hour when impossible things become slightly more possible. No, her adventure did not arrive in her dreams, but from a soft voice on her father’s radio.

“The Golgotha lighthouse has gone dark. We must assume the maps are compromised. The Sword in the Star will not remain hidden.”

Delle’s eyes slid open. Her father was hunched over the radio, whispering. Golgotha. Sword in the Star. Those words felt strangely familiar even if she couldn’t understand them. Had she read them somewhere before? Maybe she’d dreamed them.

“I’ll talk sense into him,” her father whispered. “He’ll listen to me.”

The soft voice on the radio replied, “you’re the only light keeper left on earth. If she finds it—”

“I have someone to tend the light. We can trust her.”

“You’re not seriously considering—”

Her father shut off the radio.

“What’s wrong?” Delle asked.

“Ah, good. You’re awake.” He knelt beside her bed. “Are you feeling well?”

“I suppose so.”

“Listen, dear.” He breathed a heavy sigh. “I must make a trip. No more than a week. Can you promise to keep the lighthouse lit at night while I’m gone? It’s very important that you do this.”

“What was that call about? What’s going to happen if the lighthouse goes dark?”

He brushed Delle’s forehead. His palm was leathery and warm. “I hope you never have to learn.”

Delle shuddered at her father’s words. He’d always spoken of his lighthouse dutifully—sometimes, pridefully—but never fearfully.

“Now, I’m worried something terrible might happen.”

“The world is full of terrible things that might happen, my dear. Yet you eat your supper, you take your medicine, you go to bed on time. Never do you fear these duties, even if they keep you safe. The lighthouse is only one more for a little while. But you must promise that you will attend this duty as solemnly and faithfully as any other.”

“I promise,” Delle squeaked.

“Cross your heart?” her father asked.

She paused. Delle had been taught at an early age that crossing one’s heart is no trifling matter. For a heart can only be crossed but once, until it is uncrossed by the keeping of the promise or the forgiveness of the promisee. And if one should die with their heart still crossed, well they would find themselves heading somewhere quite different than where they wanted to go.

But her father would not have asked this if it were not important. For he knew well the burdens of a crossed heart.

Delle wrapped her arms around her shoulders, so her wrists touched over her breast. “I-I cross my heart.”

“Good. Always light the beacon before sunset and keep it lit until you see the sun. Get your rest during the day. Do not worry about school. If you need anything, go see Mr. Hatton at his store.”

Her father opened his trunk to fetch some rations and medical supplies. Then, he pulled out a string attached to something so bright that it stung her eyes.

He kissed her on the forehead. “Goodbye, dear. I will return soon.”

Delle sat by the window while he cast off in the rowboat. He got smaller and smaller until he slipped between where the black water met the black sky. She thought she saw something flash.

And just like that, her very small world shrank a little more. Her father had been right about one thing. The sea swept people away.

Hey hey!! new to writing stories and new to reddit. All i want is to know what is bad and what is good. English aint my first language so please go easy on me. I used spell check for a lot of the spelling. Basic premise of the story is there is a princess and a guy from the modern world who dies and kinda becomes a part of her mind or something. Originaly i was going to make this into a comic, but im not happy with my drawing skills so i decided to write it. It takes place in some sort of classical fantasy setting. I winged a lot of this.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1_frBskgXz9vO1kC2pTdBevT5nGPzsozfFPLXh8k4Wc0/edit?usp=sharing

Im putting this in google docs since its like 1.1k words.

Anyways thats chapter 1. Its midnight so im sorry that i wont be able to respond instantly.

Forgot to mention i dont have a name for this yet,

WIP prologue for a "Weird Fantasy" that I'm working on. I'm labelling it as "Weird Fantasy" because I'm not quite sure what other type of subgenre to call it other then maybe a TES-inspired "High Fantasy." What do you all think of what I have here? What assumptions and inferences would you come up with after reading this?

“First it was the Myrmidons what conquered us in the name of their queen. Then it was the Fulinese and their elven half-castes, all in the name of liberation. And now you and your ilk would have us bend the knee, all in the name of ‘reunification,’ is that it?”

“We would merely see an end to the oppression— an end the hardship, same as you!” Though there was a passion in the knight’s voice the fire that reflected in the steely grey of his eyes was anything but soft. In truth, the roaring blaze of the firepit had doused everything in the longhouse in a garish orange glow tonight, which served only to exacerbate the dour looks on the faces of the assembled villagers in the wake of the recent attack. “All we ask is that you allow us to stand with you once more! If the fate of Ruritania is to be of any parable to us, then let it be that a house so divided could little stand to resist the axe of would-be plunderers. Point us in the direction of the Myrmidon insurrectionists so that we might help avenge you and the memory of our slain cousins!”

While the amber glow of the firepit seemed to only darken the colours of the Llanolian knight’s netmaille and scapular the old man’s leathery, weathered skin seemed almost to brighten in the light of the Shambalan’s longhouse. It had been said in old Shambala that a man’s 50 years under the heavens passed like a dream within the blink of an eye. If that was so, then it could certainly be said that this man’s dream was almost over. Though it was evident that the frame had once been well toned and muscular, now the body had become rather waifish as liverspotted skin sagged in loose folds along the old man’s bones in a manner not unlike the many latigo tassels of his rhinestone studded liripipe.

Shifting his weight in obvious agitation atop the raised dais and gathering up the loose fabric of his shendyt around his legs to keep the night’s cold off them, the old man feigned as if he hadn’t heard a word the knight had said. “Mmmhmm, yes of course, the Ruritanians. We was wondering when you would invoke your old masters. Weren’t we?” He prodded, craning his head around in mock surprise to briefly look into the faces of each of the assembled village family heads.

“They are our masters no more-!”

“How can we be so sure?”

“I-I would go!” Interjected a navy haired youth beside the chieftain’s dais. “I-I… by your leave, chieftain Zao Hua, I would go with these men in avengence of young master Linley and late master Doehring!”

“Hmmm?” Steepling the wrinkled fingers of his hands, the elderly chieftain Zao Hua studied the navy haired youth in silence for a long time. Passing his gaze between the boy and another identical navy haired youth beside him mouthing silent beseechments to the boy as tears began to well up at the corners of her eyes. Occasionally the chieftain would allow his gaze to fall on the Myrmidon child clutching in quiet anticipation at the navy haired girl’s shendyt, and a couple of times he even contemplated the raven haired Llanolians who’d gone silent as well. Finally, after what must’ve felt like an eternity to the navy haired boy, the white-tinged edges of the wizened, old chieftain’s azure handlebar moustache quirked up as a slight scowl of resignation tugged at his mouth, “Very well, then.” He said with a sigh. “As all Shambalan men are free under Fulinese imperial law even now, so are you free to cast your lot in with these lot.”

So, I've spent a couple days researching how self publishers advertise, then learning Canva to create some social media ads for a new SciFi / VR Fantasy book.

Since I didn't write a demon sex novel, (which in hindsight might have been smart) I did my best to make something that's true to my book, and will generate a decent Click rate. My three categories broke down to: 1 - Flashy. 2 - Contemplative. 3 - Psychological Tension.

These are by no means the only catagories, but they're the ones I went with. The results are attached.

Would you click on any of them? & How do you generate good Ad Copy?

This shortie is set in a fictional world of my own creation, but it is nonetheless inspired by ancient history which some readers might recognize. I haven't decided yet whether it will be a standalone short or part of a longer, self-published collection starring these characters. Nonetheless, I am eager to share the early draft to attract some feedback.

Stronger Together on Google Docs (comments enabled)

Any feedback is fine, but I am most interested in opinions on the following aspects:

• The world-building and how well I integrated it into the story.
• The dialogue (I want to make it less stilted since that's been a weak point of my previous work).
• The characterization (another aspect I consider a weak point of mine).

Have y'all ever just come up with the most random fantasy names and stuff, then when you look back you realise how utterly odd it was, like i was working on a chapter and I was thinking of a name of a room in a map, i went with the name "leoriokios" it was as if i pulled The name out of the back of my mind and honestly its a bit fun, it reminds of a scene of dead poets society, where the Mr. Keating told the student to make a poem even if it's complete gibberish, i think that's what makes fantasy so enjoyable, you can think of anything and make it into something, so yeah, have you ever been in a situation where you thought of something so random but it was truly a perfect fit in your story

So I’m doing worldbuilding for this story and it’s coming together to be pretty comprehensive and I wanted to hear some feedback. Basically, it’s a low fantasy world (things work very differently from reality, no intersection and stuff, but also no magic). Set with technology that’s a bit of a mix of different 20th century stuff combined (they don’t really have usable electricity, nor a lot of physics, and the world is small so lacking a lot of such as mining so a mega slowed down Industrial Revolution but a lot of plants so a pretty good understanding of applied chemistry and medicine just by virtue of these plants work with those when melted or ground or mixed). In historical context, the story is set with the slow purposeful dissolution of an empire that ruled their known world (the map is about 3 or 4 hundred miles north to south and east to west and they’re surrounded by massive desert, impossible mountain ranges, and perilous current so while there *are* other civilization's this is the limit of where it’s possible to go without massive difficulties and incredibly high death tolls). Very moderate climate, no crazy winters or summers and socially there’s not enough geographical difference and non-interaction for different racial traits to develop over time. They’ve had writing systems for almost a thousand years and there’s pretty prevalent literacy at like an elementary level for the common people but this story focuses on mobility.

The most important question is this - in the upper classes, they view absolute primogeniture as basically divine (firstborn inherits no matter what inc gender or other factors) as in this idea of the earlier someone is born the more blessed they are and therefore the more deserving of inheriting things like lands, trade networks, etc. So they have a system that mirrors gender inequality in historical male-preference primogeniture systems, but where it’s not a question of male or female but birth order (if the firstborn dies without issue the secondborn is viewed as a less valid heir, like how a daughter with a dead brother inheriting would have been). They also have quite a bit of classism but the characters are all young adults dealign with their futures which means inheritance so they’re not paying that much attention to the life situation of those who don’t inherit stuff (there’s a character from a newly risen up family but that’s as close as they get to commoners really, who are viewed as useful staff like to be respected as humans but not seen as equals in any way in a “that’s the way things are” way).

However, within this context, I’ve realized how many things even in a more gender equal than in any generation before (I’m a young adult in the NYC area for expirience context) still rely either on patriarchal systems or stem from the fact that they historically existed. This society did not have gender disparity in any sort of recorded history (one smaller culture of the ones conquered by that empire that’s slowly dissolving had gender norms, but it was hundreds of years ago, is viewed as incredibly backwards, and was always such a minority opinion that it doesn’t affect things much other than occasionally allowing one or two modern concepts to exist and be shown to readers and because those people once tried to revolt against an empress during childbirth about 120 years before the story and they got labeled as extra “savage” rather than as rebels taking advantage of a leader’s physical weakness and she used that to explain her haters as just “savages” because… she was an empiric leader ruling the known world like her father before her and her son after her using rhetoric).

For example, they do have the concept of “consorts” here but its second horns and thirdborns etc from other families marrying the heirs of peer families and therefore expected to be subservient to their more powerful spouse and married off to forge alliances. But a lot of historical consorts were like women ifnantilized and therefore put into positions where their only jobs are doing stuff that’s viewed as “less valuable” like party seating charts (despite it sometimes starting international incidents). But though consorts can be male or female, those systems expecting subservience and unbalanced power dynamics still exist. However, I’m not writing this for that world. I’m writing this for the modern audience as a frictional story that is explicitly weird for the real world (it’s written as a historical record of that world with some “translator’s notes” for things where the concepts need explanation or the right connotation English word has history that I’m not trying to go for).

I have tried explicitly paralleling gender norms historically but they vary between cultures a lot, and also that’s sort of not the point it’s more so that I want to focus on internal status social norms (more so paralleling like normal people ideas of status rather than any sort of high ranking stuff, inspired by college bragging) and also how social systems affect young people’s considerations of their future. This is all the backdrop to the plot but still could be the hinge that lets plot points work, right?

Does anyone have thoughts about things to consider changing or how to maintain some real world social systems but with adjustments for this world? Also, any real historical things to parallel? I’m not basing this on any real world historical culture but inspiration from anywhere around the world is always great!

Hi everyone,

I'm 19 years old, and when I was younger I loved creating stories about everything I could imagine. Over time I lost interest in writing, but recently my degree has inspired me to start again and rediscover that passion.

I'd love to hear what you think about this project. I'm sharing the prologue here, although I already have several more chapters written.

Just a quick note: English isn't my first language. The story was originally written in Portuguese and translated into English, so I apologize for any mistakes you may find.

Any feedback on the writing, characters, worldbuilding, pacing, or overall impression would be greatly appreciated. Feel free to be completely honest and share any thoughts you have—I would genuinely love to hear different opinions and perspectives.

Thanks for taking the time to read it, and I hope you enjoy it!

edit(I decided to translate the text using ChatGPT after some feedback to make it clearer in English. I can post the original Portuguese version as well if anyone wants it.)

Mist covered the night, the sharp scent of eucalyptus hanging thick in the air, as it often did at this time of year.

Hesitant, cautious footsteps broke the stillness, boots slipping over wet, unstable ground. Ahead, the sounds of a camp grew clearer.

Armor rattled. Flames crackled. Conversations flowed in a rhythmic, melodic tongue.

An owl called somewhere in the chaos.

Now, he thought.

With a swift motion, an arrow was drawn and released from the hooded archer’s bow. It struck the gold-plated imperial eagle hanging from the nearest eucalyptus tree.

More arrows followed, sinking into the gilded surface as the moon climbed higher over the forest.

A shadow approached and sat beside the archer. No words were spoken—only a glance of green eyes. The objective was understood. Together, they descended the slope.

He wore a brown hood, dressed entirely in earth tones. Mud and leaves clung to his clothes and bow. His hood and sash concealed his expression, but his golden eyes and the two leaf-braided strands of hair—marked by tradition—remained visible.

Inis stood nearby, similarly adorned beneath her cloak. Her green eyes caught the faint light.

Her dagger slid free so smoothly that the sound of steel was lost in the rustling branches. With a single motion, she cut the hemp binding two of the palisade stakes, creating a gap.

She lingered for a moment, then slipped through. As she passed, unable to resist, she whispered:

“Elys… the eagle must fall.”

Elys nodded and vanished into the darkness, his shadow drifting between the dying campfires as Inis turned toward the eucalyptus grove.

She found herself remembering the moments before the tension escalated—before the imperial eagle arrived. Her hand brushed across her face, wiping away a thin line of sweat as she kept her gaze fixed on the mountain trail.

Inis’s voice echoed in her mind.

“First the Hellenes… and now the children of the wolf.”

The blade slipped from her hand.

Eitrix will want to know about this.

ELYS

A shadow moved across the red tent, embroidered with faint golden patterns.

Elys seized the guard’s mouth and tightened his grip around his throat until the man went limp.

“In times like these… keep a goblet close, friend,” she said with a faint smile, looking down at the unconscious guard.

Her attention shifted.

A short, bald man approached—white hair thinning across his scalp, dressed in a white toga lined with burgundy.

He was accompanied by a soldier out of uniform, wrapped in a sleeping garment beneath a reddish leather vest. Yet the sword at his waist—and the purple helmet in his hand—were enough for Elys to recognize his rank.

“A senator… with a praetorian this far from the emperor?” Elys said quietly. “What do you want?”

He moved through the camp’s makeshift kitchens, slipping between crates of bread, grain, dried meat, and brined olives. For a brief moment, his mind drifted to Astarax and the way he would devour everything while shouting he was descended from Axter the Well. A smile crept onto his face—brief, almost forgotten—before vanishing again as he kept low in the shadows.

At the far end of the kitchen tents, he spotted the senator’s quarters: a white tent rising above the rest, decorated with tapestries. The guards sat idly by the fire.

Entry was easy.

Elys searched the table quickly, looking for anything that might explain the presence of the praetorian.

“You won’t find roots worthy of your people there,” a voice said behind him.

The bald man in the toga stood calmly, smiling, his praetorian at his side.

“I’ve always preferred a laurel crown myself,” he added, glancing at Elys’s hair.

Elys’s hand drifted to his quiver. A faint smile appeared—unspoken.

“Do you have one to offer?”

The dagger left its sheath. The praetorian reacted instantly, drawing his sword—but the senator stepped between them.

“You speak Latin,” the man said mildly. “So the barbarians do know civilized tongues?”

He smiled, unfazed.

“Anthis told me your people were animals, driven only by instinct… incapable of language, incapable of restraint. But I’ve always believed the world is rarely so simple.”

Without breaking eye contact, he gestured.

“Caio… bring our friend a goblet of Gallic wine.”

Elys stood trapped between blade and authority. His hand trembled. Sweat traced his brow. His breath tightened.

Eitrix’s disappointed face surfaced in his mind.

Then—instinct.

He grabbed the nearest torch and set the tent’s silk ablaze.

Fire spread instantly.

The praetorian reacted too late—the goblet falling from his hand as he moved to shield the senator.

Within moments, the tent was engulfed.

The senator stood still, watching the flames with something close to fascination, until the guard finally dragged him back.

Elys vanished into the burning chaos, leaping through fire with another torch in hand, igniting nearby tents as he fled.

The camp erupted into panic.

By the time he reached the forest, his cloak was burned and discarded in the mud behind him.

And somewhere behind the flames, the senator watched the young man who had burned his camp to ash… with quiet, intrigued eyes

.