roboblu

I'm such a needlessly descriptive writer. When I read my posts, I get a kind of stream-of-consciousness feel where all of the words just tumble out and land as they may. I have such strong emotions in my head while I'm writing that I feel the need to try and put them into words, even if the reader has just as vivid an imagination and can conjure up the emotions on their own. I'm trying to be more concise, but everything feels so choppy without 525,600 commas in each sentence! Everyone on this site has such a cool style 😭

Wren saw his own self reflected in those haunted eyes, and the vision both comforted and disturbed him deeply. He saw Frygg's youth and hope intertwined so fiercely with tragedy, and it caused him to think back on his own tumultuous childhood. It had been stripped away from him, piece by piece, ultimately culminating in the man who stood here, in the attic, today: a man with a strong sense of survival, sure, but a man of dulled emotions, exhaustion, loss. He had shed some of his humanity in order to withstand the trauma, and it had made him naught but a shell of a person. The last of his passion had been left behind in Shrine City with a pair of dark, starry eyes, and yet instinct continued to pressure him to prolong this miserable existence. Staring at Frygg and his eyes spilling with life, it occurred to Wren that he might not be the protagonist of this particular story. While Wren and Frygg were working to hold themselves together, Cricket was busy watching the strange human whisk a few logs into the fireplace without actually touching them. This confused the dragonlet to no end. Although Cricket was not one of the near-omnipotent Genesarian dragons, she did possess the intelligence of a human child, and was totally captivated by this feat in a way that only toddlers can be captivated by things. At one point she tried to bat one of the logs out of the air with one massive paw, but Dan was too quick and too clever; the log slipped around her talons, and settled into the fireplace with a dull clunk. After a moment, the other-boy-who-was-definitely-not-Wren dropped a few more pieces of wood into the pit, and Cricket was snapped back into the task at hand. She leaned down and coughed out a few sparks, then took a deeper breath and released some of the flammable gas kept in a sac within her soft palate. The gas easily ignited with some friction, causing a stream of blue flames to spill out of her open maw. True to Dan's word, the pile immediately caught fire, and bright orange flames filled the mouth of the fireplace. Satisfied with herself, the young dragon sat back on her haunches and continued to monitor Dan's antics as her rider did some business with a considerably less interesting human. "As it can be," Wren said, limping over to the boy, lips carrying an easy smile despite the weighted look in his soft brown eyes. At this point, the more, the merrier. "Dragons have been known to cause some noise." It took the veteran a moment to size the newcomer up, but the half-human was very distinctive in appearance with wide-rimmed glasses and pointed ears. "Trellis, isn't it? I'm Wren. Tell me- is there any development downstairs?" Wren stuck his false leg out, completely unabashed. "Cricket needed some space, so we came up here, but it's, uh, a bit difficult to get up and down."

I found a Gaian Zodiac and now the first question out of Maya’s mouth will always be “so like, what’s your sign”

The challenge will change on Friday the 29th!

Try the challenge in any of your posts, and link to your attempt here! It’s as simple as that! No official roster of participants, and you are free to try or not try out any given challenge. 🙂

Before Wren understood what was happening, his dragon sprang up off of the ground and coiled around his body, snapping a wing open to shield him from view. It was her 'guard' position, typically used to protect Cosima when guns were drawn. For a tense moment, the only sound in the room was caused by Wren as he shoved the dragon's wing aside, opening his view to the chaos. By the time Wren was able to comprehend the scene before him, Frygg had dropped his gun and was staring at the hovering Dan with a look of total shock. The expression quickly melted into grief, fear, guilt- but only a moment later, everything dropped from his face like a slate that had just been wiped clean. 'You're the one who told him to 'shoot first,' a little voice whined in the back of Wren's head. Perhaps his advice had been a little premature, the veteran mused as he watched Frygg's feet shuffle lifelessly in a 180-degree turn. In a sorry state, the young soldier directed his best thousand-yard-stare out of the open window and into the thick curtain of white. Something was deeply wrong. "Shit," Wren muttered at last. He hopped out of Cricket's tight embrace on his good leg, and used her flank to balance himself. "Cricket, disarm." The young dragon immediately picked up Frygg's rifle between her teeth, jaw surprisingly gentle on the narrow barrel. She tossed it in the far corner of the room, and awaited further instructions like a good war machine. Meanwhile, Wren hopped over to the open window, and shut it with a BANG. The room had dropped several degrees in only a few minutes, and the floor in front of the window was covered in a thin layer of white. Frygg was shivering, though whether from shock or cold was still unclear. It would probably be a few minutes until the lad came to his senses. Since any chance of a quiet evening had been dashed to pieces, the veteran grabbed his false leg from its spot leaning against the wall, and fitted the many straps to his bare stump, tightening them with a wince. As he adjusted, the man addressed the elephant -or, more accurately, floating vagrant- in the room. "Dan, you might want to consider coming down from there." Wren sighed. Tellus seeds were rare and valuable artifacts, and he couldn't really blame the kid for overusing it. If Dan had one, it meant he had probably been through a great deal; everyone had their story, and everyone had their demons. Wren shouldn't be so quick to judge. The older man nodded, and motioned to his dragon to come closer. "Would you mind starting a fire? Cricket can help with the spark, but she still has trouble moving logs." They had forgone the fire earlier simply because Cricket radiated so much body heat, but some added warmth and light wouldn't hurt after the window had been open for a few minutes. Cricket stepped toward the teenager with another throaty grumble, begrudgingly complicit. She was around the size of a freakishly large horse, and posed a rather imposing figure as she leaned down to sniff the strange human. Wren turned his attention back to Quick Draw, reaching a hand out to grip his shoulder in what he intended to be a reassuring way. "Frygg. Breathe. It's alright."

Wow your character is in some deep trouble there! I love that she’s not your typical fighter- so often I see characters with little reason to have combat experience absolutely dominating on the battle field. She’s fighting in her own way! Wonderful post - you are awarded 3 bolts of lightning and can keep whatever points that happen to rain down from the sky!!

"The general actually looked pretty impressed, you know. You must be a great shot." The veteran offered a humorless shrug. "Place like this? Better to shoot now and ask questions later." Wren was sincere. If Frygg had erred on the side of caution in favor of a wolf, their situation would have been much more desperate, possibly with a loss of men. Everyone knew this to be true, so why were they still picking on Frygg? Wren studied the younger man's face, trying to find something annoying or irritating to ignite his anger, but found nothing. Frygg's features were refreshingly open, flashing frustration and fear and some deep, intense pain Wren couldn't quite place- a stark contrast to the many stone-faced soldiers waiting down below. Perhaps it was because they saw some of their younger selves in those angry eyes, but, whether he deserved it or not, Frygg had been selected as the scapegoat for their collective stress. Softened by a year of living with Cosima, it was then that Wren decided to be his friend. "Wren Sheppard." The man patted his dragon's flank, soothing her eyelids into drooping once again. "This is Cricket. She's kind of an idiot." Wren was about to say more when another figure just ... appeared in the room. In spite of his years of experience, the veteran couldn't help but flinch, causing Cricket to raise her head sharply. Another throaty vocalization hailed from her slightly parted muzzle, glittering teeth visible even in the dim light: this time, it was a warning. Eventually, through Wren's quiet but insistent urging, she lowered her head and simply watched the strangers before her, eyes wary, blue tongue constantly flicking in and out of her maw. If there was one thing Cricket loved more than anything else in the world, it was her rider. She would defend him to the death, and this sense of loyalty had saved his life on more than one occasion. When the tension had cleared, the veteran straightened up and assessed the newcomer, not without some irritation. "We came up here for some quiet, actually," he said at last, with extreme difficulty. "How the hell did you do that? For Gaia's sake - why not just use the stairs?"

There’s an opportunity to try and control an extremely spooky situation at the Gaian academy! Seems like it could be a military job if anyone happens to be around campus.

I don’t currently have any relevant characters, but this is extremely cool. I love the detail you put into creating Novaculi’s bits and pieces even if I am thoroughly terrified EDIT: holy CANNOLI your writing is amazing! I read your thread and it sent shivers down my spine! Who in their right mind would attempt to kill that thing?? WOW

THIS WEEK'S CHALLENGE: FLASH ME Specifically, flashback! I want to see your character remember something relevant to their present circumstances. This is a very common device that many of us use regularly, but THIS TIME I want your character to come out of their reverie with a realization or tool that will help them progress in their current situation. What's the point of looking back if you don't use the past to move forward? Bonus points will be rewarded for: departure from your current tense/person for the flashback some kind of sensory remembrance happens (it's especially common for humans to tie memories to strong smells) feature of a now-dead loved one the memory happens in sepia tones (this is a joke, please clap) This is a super easy "challenge" so I'm hoping for some more participation this week! Of course I will still cherish reading @jaistlyn's inevitably flawless post! 😂

I, a Certified Bitch, endorse both things,

The cold of the Imperial South was not so bitter when one had a dragon companion. Though Wren Sheppard and his friendly beast Cricket were alone in the attic, the small space radiated with a warmth equal to the main floor in all of its bustle, if not greater. The soldier reflected on this as he methodically rubbed his dragon down, taking care to polish the small, circular scales free of dirt and debris. The Terran military's rider dragon program had still been young when Wren had been recruited, and it had ended shortly after he left. To his knowledge, there were no articles or research papers that explored the effects of extended, extreme cold on a young dragon like Cricket. Their tenure in the Imperial South was sending the wyrm to an early grave for all he knew, but Cricket didn't seem to mind. During their travels through Genesaris in the past year and a half, Cricket had taken every opportunity to roll, play, and dig in the snow, and had even discovered a charming game: picking up snow and ice with her massive tail and flinging it toward her rider with childish delight. Wren couldn't help but wince a little as he remembered this very fun game, but continued to clean Cricket's flanks with careful, gentle strokes. Some mischief was to be expected from a teenaged dragon. The former soldier leaned on his dragon's hide as he limped a few feet to the right, hopping on his good leg. Wren had lost his right leg below the knee during the Terran civil war, and relied on prosthetics to walk -and, when highly motivated, run. For this trip, he had chosen a metallic false leg that ended in a wide sole. While the large, flat bottom hindered his agility, it was a godsend in traversing the deep snow, even if he looked a bit odd with one leg ending in a snow shoe. Until Cricket was able to carry an adult rider over long distances, he was stuck trudging through the wilderness like everyone else, and he needed to be able to keep up in his crippled state. The prosthetic was currently leaning against a wall to dry, letting his very sore right leg rest and recover. Wren was a product of war, with all of the heavy scarring and PTSD and deep, sorrowful guilt that accompanied a veteran. His face, freckled and marred by knotting, silver scars, conveyed a look of perpetual exhaustion. His hair, once a light tawny brown, was now peppered with streaks of grey, beard untrimmed, cheeks gaunt. Even his soft brown eyes had lost some of their kindness; he had left it behind with Princess Cosima in Shrine City, and was not expecting to recover. Like many of his companions in the room below, Wren's humanity had been eroded by life's constant pummeling, and, perhaps more significantly, by his own weighted decisions. It was difficult not to think of Cosima when everything reminded him of her. The young princess loved her homeland, and took delight in every snowflake that fell from the sky. She had adored his dragon as if Cricket were her own (and Cricket, the fiend, had hidden behind Cosima's kindness after every impish deed). Cosima had looked past his scars, his past, his weariness, and, against all odds, she had found something to admire. She had brought the light back into his life ... and he had abandoned her. He had resigned from his position as imperial bodyguard a little over two months ago, unable to perform his duties with objective precision. Being with her had been agony at the very end- every smile was a stab in the chest, every kind glance was a bullet, every soft word spoken was another cruel reminder of the social heights between them. After a lifetime of service to country, and, later, service to the Melisende family, Wren had made a decision for his own well-being. Somehow, this had resulted in him sitting in the ruins of Cobran with wolves hiding in the shadows. Clearly he wasn't very good at this whole "self-care" thing. The sound of creaking stairs snapped Wren back to reality, and his circular polishing motions slowed with anticipation. A young face popped up in the stairwell: it was the soldier who had shot the general! Judging by the frustrated expression on his face, Frygg was paying the price for his mistake. Wren's own features softened. "Hey," he offered, voice a little raspy after a full day of walking. Clearing his throat, he continued. "Frygg, right?" Cricket gave a deep, throaty rumble beneath his hands, acknowledging the newcomer through a haze of sleepiness. Although the vocalization was not unfriendly, Wren gave her hide a little whack with his polishing cloth. "You doing alright?"