Friday Update #2

Things are coming back together this week after last week’s mess. Distance learning is being worked out, but I still need to be involved a fair bit to keep him on track. I really feel for the parents of multiple school-age children right now.

I reached out to a number of people from the role-play and I would like to put together a monthly newsletter. I only got a response from a couple folks so far, so I may end up messaging people individually through other means. I don’t know if it’s quarantine or just the result of revisiting old memories, but I feel the urge to reach out even further to old RPG friends. If you would be interested in a newsletter, please let me know.


Currently, I’ve been focusing my effort on the Voyage to Ertia/Vagabonds rewrite for Camp NaNoWriMo. I’ve made a good bit of progress off and on this week, and I’m hoping I can push for more. I don’t know if I’ll hit my 20k word count goal but if I get even half-way there it’ll be a good start and a lot of good practice for daily writing. You can keep track of my progressing word count on my NaNo profile.

The Dollmaster & World Building

Progress on The Dollmaster is being paused for the rest of April so I can focus on NaNo, but I will continue with the revision of chapter 4 in May.

Worldbuilding on the wiki, likewise, is paused while I catch up on a week’s worth of missed work for NaNo.

Maybe the start of a weekly update

Maybe I can stick to something like this. We’ll see.

The last couple weeks were pretty good. I was productive, I made progress on the things I’ve been working on, it was fine. Life was good.

Then, Distance Learning arrived.

My son started his online lessons for school. The instructors themselves had individually organized their plans, but for us, it was a bit chaotic to start. In true 12 year old fashion, I got a lot of pushback and arguing. Though, by the end, I set it up for him to work with limited distractions and get used to the lay out. Maybe it’ll be ok. Holding his hand through his school work killed my time to work, so I really got nothing done Aserra-wise this week. Add in the tragedy of saying goodbye to a beloved pet and it was just a wash. But here’s the current projects:

The Dollmaster

So, I have updated with a scattering of chapters over the years, but I’m doing a final refinement of the story organization now. To clarify, this is the current progress…

  1. Prologue: Voris claims his first victim, Avaline, along with her friend Chera.
  2. Chapter 1: Naclia and Terin emerge from the Ardir and enter the village of Worrell at the border of Kosony.
  3. Chapter 2: Naclia and Terin have found themselves in a bar fight, but the merchant Laban steps in and takes them under his care.
  4. Chapter 3: The story switches to Naclia’s perspective as she reflects on a previous visit to the village and overhears some rumors before departing with Laban.
  5. Chapter 4: Currently in progress. We switch to Talen’s perspective at his family estate where he is preparing to meet his bride and dealing with old scars–physical and emotional.
  6. Chapter 5: Talen meets his bride for the first time, the day before the wedding. Forthcoming.
  7. Chapter 6: The day of the wedding begins. Pharen is introduced in the village and meets Thalia, who is to officiate the Drecloud-Kyrden wedding. Meanwhile, Talen is preparing for the ceremony. Forthcoming.

I am currently working on revising my original draft of Talen’s introduction, which may have been another number, but is now chapter four. I rewrote the role-plays for this segment entirely, but it’s also a bit to heavy on exposition and inner dialogue that I’m trying to whittle down to something easier to digest. The original draft also covered the entire day and a lot of information, so breaking it down into more manageable pieces is important too. Chapter 4 will introduce us to Talen in the present, his home and family, and end with his elder sister’s arrival and her giving him a stern lecture that snaps things into perspective for him.

The next chapter will cover Adra’s arrival and introduce her worries over Voris. After that, I hopefully won’t have to edit Pharen and Thalia’s introductory chapter because I did a big revision of that in a class. Some of my original chapters need to be split in half because they ended up way too long.


My second project is what I may spend the rest of the month primarily focused on after losing a week of working time. I started the month with about a page and decided to use it for Camp NaNiWriMo. “Vagabonds” is the beta working title for what began as the Voyage to Ertia RP. What I’ve decided to do is work on an episodic sort of series for Wattpad using this RPG’s first plot as a starting point for “Season 1.”

Wattpad is a good jumping off place to get my name out there and build a network, hopefully a fan base, in a writing community. As I want to publish The Dollmaster traditionally, I didn’t want to put that out there. My attention to detail on the Dollmaster manuscript is extremely precise, but this story will be less editing, more just getting the story out there.

The first installment of Vagabonds will jump off from our RP with Zharis, Rissya, Zaole, Gurt, Lianora, and Breagan helping a girl escape an arranged marriage in Samonight to be with an Ertian merchant’s daughter. Their ferry to Ertia will be attacked by a privateer hired by the girl’s father and betrothed, whom they must escape and fight off. It will probably also include a lot of character building to establish our main party.

The second arc will merge with the “Scourge of Thervordel” RP, where they solve that mystery, pick up one or two characters from there, then continue onto Ertia for the third arc. After that, I would like to explore Ertia with them and pursue personal plots–Zharis’ reunion with his sister, Rissya finding other Asath and uncovering her birthright, Lianora’s “quest,” etc. I don’t have an end point, but I want to explore the world, give these characters their resolutions, and just get ideas out. I may give the school RP the same treatment in the future too.


I was trying to keep this part to the weekends while I did more work during the weekday, but nothing got done last weekend. Anyway, I’ve been working on the wiki in the last couple months, putting up worldbuilding stuff I have, revising, updating, adding some more here and there. I was a little scattered, but I wanted to focus on updating the races next. The weekend before last I completed the Mariel revision. Before that, I did some work on the Nafod, and the Zaedyn article was revised a couple years ago, so I just copy and pasted and did a little editing on what I had there.

I’m making a few tweaks to certain aspects of the races from the original drafts we used during the RP–things to make the world a little more interesting and dynamic. Here’s some of the changes to races I’ve made in the last couple years while I was revising off and on.


The giant race has been altered from being just big and dumb. They were an early front-runner for the dominant human race on Thiskel. They established societies and had a rich culture, but the War of the Gods devastated them. Their lifespan is an increase by a factor of three, but this doesn’t just affect how long they live, it also affects their maturation rate. Unlike the elemental races that mature at the same rate as humans and then their aging process freezes, Iengi take three times as long as humans to reach maturity. They have been gradually dying out for thousands of years and live in scattered small populations that have failed to recover what they lost.


The Kiar were originally short lived, but I’ve made them the opposite of Iengi. They age faster than humans by a factor of three, meaning they live shorter lives and mature much faster. Their origin has also been moved to Ageond (the original continent) and I’ve made them the progenitors of the Kuzo. The ancestral Kiar were corrupted during the war of the gods to make the kuzo a fast-breeding, fast-maturing, and easily replenished army of footsoldiers for the followers of the dark gods. Kiar who survived the pogrom in Ageond escaped to Kalesten where they established new isolated colonies.


As mentioned above, the kuzo originated from Kiar corrupted by the dark gods and their followers. Their intelligence was decreased, but there may be occasional throwbacks, like Gurt. As they were essentially canon fodder, their handlers did not often care about them, so when survivors of the war retreated, kuzo were abandoned throughout the world and quickly went feral.


Increased the amount of time spent on land to five years, as one year is not enough time to significantly travel in a pre-industrial world.


I will be adding another (I know) Idayn off-shoot. I’m not entirely sure what I will call them, but they will be East Asian in appearance, as they are descended of Idayn and western Thiskel humans. The Idayn, being as uptight as they are, were unwilling to accept mix-blood children after the war, and with their long lifespans, these children would never fully integrate into human society. Instead, they took up residence in forests to the west of the Chasm where they have intermingled with Nafod and humans, eventually homogenizing into an Idaynian race with the phenotypical features of the humans of the region. I’m not certain if they will have any inherent magic, but I think they may have a magic system of their own devising.


The progenitor race of the Ochae’nafod, Dra’nafod, and Marfod did not have a fixed form of shape-shifting, but within a few generations after their creation, the Nafod split into the three current races, then further into distinct tribes bound to a single species in the case of Ochae’ and Dra’nafod. Crossing the different Nafod races will lead to a throw-back with more shape-shifting freedom, though descendants of this individual will be likely to return to a fix form of shape-shifting.


I haven’t done this entry yet, but I want to mark this idea out. Marfod will be predominantly an all-female race, but each individual is capable of transforming into a male for reproductive purposes (like some fish). I’m not sure how it will work (one time period of their lives? Triggered by some dynamic?).

So there’s the summary. I may end up doing some catch-up work on Vagabonds this weekend for NaNo. Fingers crossed!

RIP Popcorn

Photo of Popcorn
Popcorn James Jr., August 2nd, 2012-April 14th, 2020.

Today, I had to put one of my rabbits down. When I moved, I left the warren together with my mom as they had all finally bonded. Popcorn and Blaze were my boys that I had always wanted to take with me when I moved, but that never happened. I can’t focus on anything else today, so I just want to pay tribute to him and revisit my old memories.

Popcorn James Jr. passed at seven years of age today. After we took him to the vet for what we thought was an injured leg, we learned that his problem was neurological, likely caused by a flare of EC. Though given a treatment of Panacur and pain killers, his condition quickly worsened from a limp and poor balance to a complete loss motor control and seizures. There was no more we could do for him, and we made the heartbreaking choice to have him put to rest.

Popcorn Jr. was born to Jackie, accidentally fathered by Popcorn Sr., son of Eva. His seven surviving litter mates found their forever homes thanks to Rabbit Advocates of Portland, OR. He was the bonded partner of Sweetsnuffle, the peacemaker between Sweetsnuffle and Frederika, and best friend/nephew to Blaze. He is survived by the last of his warren, Blaze and Frederika.

Popcorn was a beautiful rex with a brown and white coat. He was friendly, sweet, and sometimes a little dumb. A real himbo. He insisted on eating laurel leaves, even though they weren’t good for him. He didn’t have sense enough to come in out of the rain, even though he had a soft, thin rex coat. His full name became Popcorn James Jr. after he got into mischief that made me feel the need to give him a full name to yell at him when he caused trouble.

But he was also a social rabbit who bonded deeply to others. When we matched him with Sweetsnuffle, she finally found someone who could tolerate her moodiness. When Frederika joined the family, Popcorn was the olive branch that invited her in. I remember when Sweetsnuffle was beginning to become tolerant of her in the same room, but still not fully accepting of her, Frederika went to join her and Popcorn while they were resting. Sweetsnuffle rose to lunge at Freddy, but Popcorn got in between them and convinced them both to settle in together with a few gestures. After Sweetsnuffle passed, I finally managed to bond our entire warren: Popcorn, Blaze, Jet, Frederika, Banana, and Leilo.

Stressbonding in the tub (without Leilo). Banana at the left, Jet upper center, Blaze lower center, Popcorn, and Frederika on the right.

Popcorn became everyone’s friend after bonding, but none as closely as with Blaze. Though technically his uncle (as Blaze is the son of Eva, Popcorn’s grandmother, and half-brother to his father), I can confidently say these two were the bestest bros. They were practically inseparable.

Popcorn showing his bff some love.

Likely all of our rabbits carry Encephalitozoon cuniculi (usually shorted to E. cuniculi or EC) a protozoan parasite endemic to rabbits. This is a common infection, but most healthy rabbits’ immune system keeps this parasite in check. I think the original infection came from the rabbits that originated with our former neighbors’ rabbits, one of which being Popcorn’s mother Jackie. EC is transmitted through spores that pass through urine from an infected host. It can also be passed from the mother during pregnancy. Infected kits usually do not show symptoms as long as they’re receiving antibodies from their mother’s milk. Popcorn was nearly eight years old, and we do not know for sure what triggered his EC to flare up. It could have been a little stress, a minor injury we didn’t see, or it could have simply been the fact that he was getting older.

Popcorn was beautiful, soft, loving, and kind. He will be missed by human and rabbit alike.

Binky free, beautiful boy.

Hymn 233

This is a short story written for a class, and set in Aserra. I did a number of short stories for Dollmaster characters in an effort to further cement their identities. This one is one of the most complete, and though originally written for Thalia’s backstory, it also ties her to three of her peers who are important characters; Lianora, Nshara, and Ialin.

Lianora stumbled along the back alleyways of Ingusto’s Holy Quarter, leading a handsome young man she barely knew by the hand. The great white moon, Nirya, waxed high in the clear night sky, accompanied by the smaller, blue-hued Marebi that was just rising over the mountains to the south and offering a faint blue cast to Nirya’s illumination. Torchlight was sparse along the service alleys, so Lianora had to rely solely on the moonlight to make her way.

The man trailing behind her was unfamiliar with the back alleys in this part of the city, but Lianora had become quite familiar with them in the months since being raised from initiate to acolyte. With the freedom granted by that progression through the training ranks, Lianora was allowed to leave the temple grounds, a privilege she took full advantage of and pushed the limits of the few rules that she and the other girls had been required to adhere to. The curfew was one of those rules, but that time had long since passed this evening. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to stay in the temple, she simply felt… itchy after being cooped up for the last two years as an initiate.

Another rule she was flouting tonight was the requirement to remain chaste from the time she was sworn in as an initiate until graduating to a priestess. While priestesses had the freedom to take lovers and even marry, initiates and acolytes were to focus on their education and remain apart from the distractions of the heart until they had mastery of it—or something like that. When had sex ever had anything to do with her heart?

The man she was bringing with her—what was his name? Rolas? Rolland? Rollen?—she couldn’t remember except that it had sounded like “roll,” to which she added, “in the hay,” and in her stupor, that was hilarious—was tall, square-jawed with a roguish scruff of a beard, with thick honey-brown hair and sharp blue eyes who recognized her robes and the holy icon of Erada nestled between her breasts and immediately brought her a drink as soon as she entered the tavern. He was handsome, though marginally older than her seventeen years. He was old enough to be married, at least, but she never asked and he probably wouldn’t have told her. She had no interest in marrying him, or any other man, herself. It was clear that a shared bed for the night was their mutual goal and after several ales, he confessed that he could think of nothing he wanted more than to have sex with one of the priestesses on the temple grounds. At first, Lianora had resisted, suggesting that they take it up to a room in the tavern, or his home, or anywhere else. Yet, after another ale down and a covert hand up her skirt, Lianora was convinced to give him the thrill he was seeking.

Lianora’s blurred vision made finding the rear entrances to the Temple of Love challenging amongst the other temples that neighbored it. The walls that hemmed in their campuses were all so similar, aside from the icons carved into the stone above the doors. She had almost made the mistake of trying to break him into the Courts of Acoassa, but quickly realized her mistake when she saw the scales above the doors in the moonlight. Giggling at her mistake, Lianora pulled her lover onward around the curving walls until they reached another pair of solid wood doors, this time marked with the crescent icon of Erada above them. Lianora spun to face him, nearly losing her balance in the process. In response, he wrapped an arm around her narrow waist and pulled her body close to his. Lianora laid her hand on his firm chest, partially bared by the unlaced opening of his tunic.

“Mmm…” she intoned, savoring the sensation of his warm skin and solid muscle beneath her palm. “Jusss wait here, I’ll lesshu in.”

“Can’t wait, my little Priestess of Love,” he purred him response and placed his fingers under her chin, trying to pull her face in, closer to his. Lianora leaned in, then playfully nipped at his lower lip just before they would have kissed. She pulled away, and with a drunken sashay, she made her away around the wall to the west door, leaving Roll-whatever-his-name-was to wait for her return.

* * *

Nshara leaned out of the doorframe of the small room that she shared with Lianora to look into the main room of the cottage. Her housemates sat at either end of the table in the center of the room where they studied and took their meals. All three of them had dressed for bed in the same plain, white nightgowns that the temple had provided them with, but Thalia and Ialin had chosen to distract themselves with their readings while Nshara had abandoned her studies in the fruitless pursuit of sleep.

“She hasn’t come back yet?” Nshara asked, in the vain hope that she had missed Lianora’s return.

Thalia raised her head, waves of her golden hair falling away from her serene, diamond-shaped face. The candle-light danced across her pretty features, creating shadows and highlights while obscuring the freckles across her cheeks that evidenced her rural upbringing. Even after the three months they had lived together, Nshara was often struck by how much Thalia resembled the sculptures and paintings of Erada that adorned the temple. Thalia’s original intention had been to serve the Goddesses of the Seasons, but she believed that her resemblance to Erada was a sign that the Temple of Love was where she belonged. Yet, as Nshara had observed Thalia’s discomfort with being a goddess’s doppelgänger, she wondered if perhaps it had just been an accident of birth, rather than any sort of divine intervention.

“No, nothing yet,” Thalia answered softly. Her gaze drifted to the candlesticks at the center of the table. To track the time, they marked the tallows in increments that were roughly an hour’s length. The candles were melted almost down to the base, now.

“We can’t wait up for her all night,” Ialin declared and flipped shut the tome she had been trying to read. The Marital Practices of the Women of Ertia, Nshara noted the title on the leather-bound cover. A personal study, she realized. Ialin must not have been able focus on the assigned texts, so she had returned to the book that truly intrigued her; a treatise on a culture where women marrying each other was common-place.

The frustration with Lianora’s absence was evident on Ialin’s rounded face. Her thick brows were knitted together, and her shapely lips pursed. She stared toward the door, as though Lianora would walk through it and right into whatever words were occupying Ialin’s thoughts.

In resignation, Thalia nodded and gently closed her own book, Hymns to Erada, KCY 100-350. “I’m sure she’ll be back in the morning,” Thalia said. She sighed heavily and turned her gaze to the front windows of their cottage. With the candle light, it was nearly impossible to see out, but she still seemed to be looking for a sign of Lianora.

“This has to stop,” Ialin added, shaking her head of short, black hair. “She’s taken it too far this time.” As soon as they moved into the cottage together, Lianora had taken full advantage of the privileges of acolytes. It had reached the point to where she was more often off the temple grounds than on them.

“She has never been out this late,” Thalia agreed. Lianora had pushed her excursions just to the point of breaking curfew, but now she was hours overdue.

Nshara had done her best to keep the knot of anxiety in her stomach from overwhelming her, but her housemates’ conversation had just brought the fear to the forefront of her mind again. What if Lianora had been kidnapped? Raped? Murdered? Ingusto was a far safer city than Gites, but Lianora had a bad habit of finding trouble. Nshara steadied herself by gripping the doorframe and took a deep breath to suppress the fear for her roommate’s life. Lianora wasn’t the easiest woman to live with, but Nshara couldn’t bear the thought of losing another person in her life.

Ialin seemed to pick up on the surge of anxiety from Nshara. She rose from her seat and bustled over to Nshara, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Come now, let’s get some sleep,” she kindly murmured to Nshara, motherly, in her way. Behind her, Nshara was aware of Thalia rising as well. Two successive puffs from the other acolyte diminished the lighting of the room to the moonlight pouring in through the east windows.

Nshara couldn’t help but smile as she shuffled back to her bed with Ialin’s hand on her back. Though the plump Agenomian girl was shorter than the rest of them—and the same age—her presence felt larger and mature. Nshara allowed Ialin’s kindness to do its work of soothing her nerves as she settled back into her bed. “Don’t worry about Lia, she always comes back, just like a cat. You are safe here, with Thalia and me,” Ialin assured her.

Nshara drew her blanket over her body and allowed Ialin space to sit beside her. The other girl seemed to know what she needed to hear. Nshara had long since forgotten how to find peace in sleeping alone. Even if Lianora was a frustrating and thoughtless roommate, knowing that another person who would do her no harm was sleeping across the room from her brought Nshara comfort. Ialin rubbed Nshara’s shoulder and smoothed her hand over her kerchief-covered hair. With this comforting touch, Nshara breathed deep, trying to exhale her worries.

Ialin and Thalia sleep only a room away.

As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she saw Thalia’s willowy robed form leaning against the doorframe, silhouetted by the moonlight.

Only a thin wall separates us, nothing more. I am not alone.

Nshara exhaled one more breath and let her eyelids fall. Ialin remained beside her for a little longer, gently rubbing her shoulder and head. Thalia’s voice whispered a prayer of peace and Ialin began to hum along to the cadence. Soon, with the kindness of her sisters enveloping her, Nshara found sleep.

* * *

            Lianora staggered to the back entrance of the temple grounds alone. The west entrance had city guardsmen stationed there at all times, as the door was intended for those in the service of the temple and women seeking shelter, either after service hours in the main chapel, or for their safety. No men were allowed entrance without approval of the high priestess. The two men standing watch wore matching breastplates and helmets that obscured their identities in the darkness, but as she approached, one recognized her.

“Sister Lianora, not again,” groaned a familiar voice. “It’s damn near two in the morning this time!”

“Jusss lemme in, Oren,” Lianora replied, rubbing her head. She didn’t realize it had gotten to be so late.

Oren shook his helmeted head, the moonlight gleaming on the polished steel as he turned to unlock the door. “You can’t keep doing this if you want to be a priestess. It’s what you want right?”

Lianora’s anger was quick to rise. “Izsss not your problem,” she snapped, her head wobbling on her shoulders in an attempt to appear assertive.

Oren only sighed as she swayed through the door. There was nothing he could do, he was only a gatekeeper. As the door shut behind her and the lock clicked, a distant thought echoed through her mind, You’ve gone too far this time. Lianora sighed and turned her blurred vision to the temple grounds. She saw no glowing windows in either of the seven cottages that were scattered throughout the manicured gardens of the temple, and very few lights in the lay house across the campus to the west, or in the priestesses’ apartments in the east corner. The rear entrance of the main temple was illuminated with torches all night, but there were never guards within the walls. Who was foolish enough to bring in someone they would need to protect against?

Lianora turned back toward the rear-east corner where her guest awaited on the other side of the stable doors. Her trek along the back wall was a treacherous one—she staggered and stumbled over the pea gravel paths, nearly falling several times, until she was able to enter the stable’s frame and steady herself on the posts. Finally, she reached the service door and fumbled over the latches until she could open one just enough to admit Roll…whatever. As the door creaked open, the charming face of her lover broke into a mischievous grin. He slipped in and quietly pushed the door shut behind him, at which point Lianora threw herself into his arms, pressing him against the door momentarily.

“Hey, Rollar,” she slurred, then jerked her head to the left, toward a stack of loosely bundled hay bales and scattered hay intended for the horses and other livestock kept on the temple grounds. “Izss hay… eh?”

“It’s Rollan,” he corrected her, but he seemed to have no interest in her humor. His arms draped around the slender girl, but his eyes were searching for something beyond the stable windows and doors. “And let’s take it somewhere more private, eh? You got a room?”

Lianora’s narrow brows furrowed. Even in her current state, she knew that taking him back to her lodgings was a bad idea. The stables were more private than the grounds. Who would the horses and goats tell?

“No no no… there’s no privacy,” she said. She shook her head empathetically. “Thizis still the temple! C’mon Rollan,” Lianora plied, tugging at the lacing of his breeches.

He snatched Lianora’s slender wrists and held them close to his chest, pulling her in. “Look, fuckin’ in the barnyard of a temple isn’t my idea of a good time,” he said. “Where can we find a bed?”

“I’unno…” Lianora murmured. The sudden violence of his grip baffled her. Her gaze diverted to the ground, terrified of meeting his eyes now. Second thoughts were flitting through Lianora’s inebriated mind. Maybe this was a mistake. She had gone too far. 

Rollan released her wrists and he gently slipped his fingers under her chin to lift her face again. A grin touched his lips as he leaned in to hers. “I can be quiet… if you can,” he purred against her lips. “Find a place that isn’t full of animal filth.”

Warily, Lianora nodded, then gave him the sweetest, most naïve smile she could muster to cover up her concerns so that she could assure him; “I can find somewhere.”

* * *

Thalia’s mind remained burdened with concerns for her roommates, which was why she resisted sleep. She and Ialin had managed to soothe Nshara to sleep, knowing that the girl’s anxiety was a heavy burden. She had come from a troubled background that still haunted her, a past so traumatic that Thalia couldn’t comprehend how Nshara could move forward at all. Thalia, Ialin, and even Lianora had chosen religious devotion over traditional marriage, but Nshara chose it because it was the only option that was available to her. A continent away from her culture, a family murdered, and an adolescence filled with making sacrifices to survive, Nshara had no other means to live a fulfilling life here in Kalesten other than taking the fortuitous opportunity the Temple of Love had offered her. The more Thalia pondered Nshara’s troubles, the more irritated she became with Lianora’s wantonness. Did Lianora even care about the effect she had on Nshara?

Thalia’s line of thought had only forestalled her attempts to sleep. So, when the front door of the cottage began to creak open, she was still awake. Though momentarily startled, Thalia breathed a sigh of relief. Within the secure confines of the temple, the only person she expected to be entering their home was Lianora.

A snort came from the bed beside her. Ialin jerked awake. “Huh?” she grunted. “Is it Lia?” Ialin asked into the darkness.

“It must be,” Thalia replied.

“Finally.” Ialin collapsed back onto her pillow.

The sound of Lianora’s uneven footfalls followed the sound of the door shutting. There was no grace to her step. So, she was out drinking. Considering the other rules that Lianora had skirted and broke, being out past curfew for no other reason than slumming around the local taverns was the line for Thalia. In the morning, she would report this transgression, and she was sure that Ialin and Nshara would support her.

A voice murmured. A deep voice. A man’s voice: “Is this it?”

“Ya, thissis where I live,” Lianora’s voice responded, a few octaves louder than the other.

Thalia and Ialin shot up in bed and exchanged a glance through the darkened room. Thalia and Ialin sprung out of bed and ran for their bedroom door. Ialin, being closer to the door, flung it open into the main room of the cottage. There stood Lianora, her robes falling off her narrow shoulders, in the arms of a strange man. He was kissing her fiercely, his hand on the back of her head with a fistful of her dark curls.

“Lianora!” Thalia gasped incredulously.

“What in the Seven Infernal Chambers of Malbolge is going on?” Ialin spat.

Whether it was Lianora who pushed him away, or he that pushed her, the couple parted, but the man kept a grip on her head. “What is this? I thought this would be private!” he growled at Lianora.

Lianora said nothing, but her pale eyes darted between Thalia and Ialin, then to Nshara’s still-closed door, In the faint light, Thalia could see the terror on her housemate’s face—not of being caught, but of something more sinister.

“Damned little trickster,” he cursed, then his hand released her hair only to snake down around her arms, holding them behind her back. Metal glinted in his other hand and flashed in the moonlight as a knife found Lianora’s throat.

Thalia gasped sharply and threw her hands over her mouth while Ialin cried, “No, stop!” and reached toward Lianora.

Her captor held the blade to her neck, pressing into her soft skin. “I should have just left you in the stable,” he hissed in her ear, then looked up to regard the other two girls. His gaze darted to the closed door. “Is that all of you?”

“Yes, it’s all of us,” Ialin replied. If they could keep Nshara out of this, she could get help for them.

Unconvinced, he pressed the knife into Lianora’s neck just a little harder, eliciting a whimper from the girl. “Open the door.”

Reluctantly, Thalia side-stepped to Nshara and Lianora’s bedroom door, keeping her attention fixed on the intruder. Hopefully Nshara had hidden herself enough for him to be satisfied that it was only the three of them. Unfortunately, before she could turn the handle, Nshara herself opened the door, a candle-stick in hand for self-defense. Sweat gleaned across her dark brow, but her jaw was set and ready to fight.

“Drop it,” he demanded, pressing Lianora’s throat again. The candlestick hit the floor, but the fury did not fade from Nshara’s face. “Alright girls, if you want your friend’s blood to stay inside her pretty little throat, you’ll take me to where the lay women are kept.”

Without thinking, Thalia shot back, “We don’t ‘keep’ people.”

“I don’t care,” he replied, thoroughly unimpressed with Thalia’s semantics. “Just take me to the lay women.”

Thalia bit her tongue, fearing that her brazen defiance could cost Lianora her life.

Ialin placed herself between Thalia and the stranger. “Fine! Fine! Please, don’t hurt her!” Ialin pleaded. The man’s blade moved back perceptibly. “Is there someone that you’re looking for?” Ialin edged closer to Lianora and her captor slowly.

“No questions, just take me to them.”

“Well, sir, if I know who you’re looking for it would make it easier for everyone.”

That gave the man pause. “I’m looking for my wife, Rina. She’s pregnant. I just want her to come home,” he replied. He was obviously obscuring facts, though. Women were taken into the laity for protection, and considering how he had behaved thus far, his wife was behind the walls for good reason.

Ialin nodded, giving the impression of understanding his predicament. “I see. And what’s your name, sir?”


“Well, Rollan, let’s let Lianora go and we’ll go over to the lay housing,” Ialin replied with a smile. Lianora was drunk, but this man seemed sober. He had used her inebriation to gain access to the temple grounds to get to his wife, and perhaps to take further advantage of Lianora’s foolishness as well. For now, Ialin had ensured Lianora’s safety, even though she had brought him into the grounds in the first place.

“No, I keep her until I have my wife,” he declined.

Ialin sighed. She hadn’t expected him to make that concession. “Fine, Lianora and myself will accompany you to the lay house. We can get Rina and send you two home, is that acceptable?”

Rollan was debating Ialin’s offer. His eyes flitted from her, to Thalia, to Nshara, all the while keeping his knife at Lianora’s throat. Lianora’s breaths came heavy, trembling through her chest. Her other hand was gripping Rollan’s knife-arm, trying to pull it away, but she couldn’t wrestle against his strength. His forearm muscles were tense, veins popping out beneath the skin.

 He nodded in agreement. “But all three of you come with, or else—” He flicked his gaze down at Lianora. “Can’t have one of you running off to tell your superiors.”

Ialin nodded and exchanged a glance between her two sisters. Thalia’s dark blue eyes were steely and spoke of a silent agreement with Ialin’s plan. Nshara’s gaze projected confidence as well. Ialin had hoped that he was foolish enough to let Thalia and Nshara stay behind, but they could still end this before he hurt Lianora or his wife. Ialin was focused on placating Rollan, so she would have to rely on Thalia or Nshara to act. She could certainly count on them more than she could on Lianora.

* * *

            The three girls led Rollan and Lianora out of the cottage and into the gardens. Nshara cast a glance to the eastern horizon as they stepped outside, but there was no hint of dawn yet. As the temple grounds were considered safe, there was no one patrolling or watching inside the walls, unless another acolyte or priestess happened to be suffering from insomnia. Lianora’s survival was entirely in their hands. Nshara knew that Ialin was counting on herself and Thalia, but how would they communicate without him getting suspicious? Nshara turned her gaze to the tall, slender acolyte beside her. Thalia glanced down at her, as if to say, ‘I know, and I’m thinking.’

            Rollan insisted on walking behind them, holding Lianora at his side with the point of his knife pressing into the soft, olive-toned skin of her throat. Nshara cast a glance back at her. The normally arrogant acolyte was terrified. Tears were pouring out of her eyes and a trail of blood trickled down her neck to her collarbone. Nshara’s initial response to this sight was satisfaction, but she was ashamed to admit that to herself. Lianora had no small amount of responsibility for this violation, but there could yet be hope for her. Nshara knew that Lianora had come to the temple by choice, leaving behind a home village where her bastard birthright locked her out of a fulfilling future that she may have otherwise been entitled to. She had learned to use sex as a tool in a place where no one saw any other value in her. Nshara had to reluctantly accept that it was probably a hard habit to for Lianora to break. Nshara harnessed that sympathy to and convey confidence to her roommate through her gaze for the moment when their eyes locked.

Ialin was leading them along a winding garden path toward the two-level brick building that housed women and children who had come to the temple for protection. The place where Nshara had first found a bed and safety when she was brought to the temple.

“Hymn two-thirty-three,” Thalia breathed into the air beside Nshara. She glanced up at her, but Thalia’s gaze remained fixed on their destination.

If only I studied as well as she does… Nshara thought. What was Hymn 233? She wracked her brain, trying to skim through memories of the critical texts. She couldn’t risk asking for more clues. Oh Erada, please, help me.

As if heard by her goddess, or perhaps triggered by the words floating through her conscious mind, Nshara recalled the book that Thalia had been involved in earlier in the evening. Thalia had begun whispering under her breath, hiding behind a lank of blonde hair. A hymn recorded in KCY 233. A subdual spell.

“Oh Erada, please bring your peace and love upon troubled souls,” Nshara whispered. “Through me, let your power flow,
Lend me strength to silence fury and wrath,
To turn this threat from the warpath.”

As did Thalia, Nshara chanted this spell under her breath over and over, bidding their goddess to work through them.

Distantly, Nshara heard Ialin speaking, trying to cover up the quiet chanting by asking Rollan about his wife. Nshara continued to walk, her conscious awareness of her steps dropped away, and they became a mechanical process of her body. Meanwhile, her thoughts withdrew from the world around her and dove inward, welling up her strength in the core of her being. She knew Thalia was doing the same. She could feel that they were sharing this power, as though a tether had tied them together. Nshara could not hear Thalia’s voice, but she knew that they were chanting in unison.

“Wait…” Rollan’s voice filtered through her mind. He was onto them, but Nshara was ready.

The acolyte turned on him and cast her hand up in the air. Thalia mirrored her. “Turn this threat from the warpath!” they cried at once.

Both dropped their hands, directed at Rollan, and a brilliant light coalesced in an orb from just above his head, illuminating the garden for a brief moment as it washed over him. Nshara watched Rollan’s eyes roll back in his head. The knife slipped from his hand and thumped on the ground, soon followed by Rollan himself.

The intruder had crumpled awkwardly in the footpath and Lianora knelt on the ground beside him, panting and trembling. Again, the garden was dark, aside from the cold blue cast of Nirya and Marebi, and serenely silent. A chorus of crickets returned and Rollan snored gently. In seeing the result of their joined power, Thalia and Nshara looked at each other in wonder.


            He’s looking for a new car. Not really new per say, but the one he wanted to buy after graduating college and landing his first tech job. Honda S2000, a rare, sporty little convertible that he had test driven once and desired ever since.

Instead of his dream car, with his first weighty check in Kansas City he bought an Acura RSX Type-S in blue. A few years later, he drove back home to the west coast with all his meager bachelor belongings packed into it. It was the car he took me out to the movies in on our first date. I grew to recognize the deep thrum of that engine coming down the road, the downshift as he approached the driveway.

            We had our first kiss standing behind that car. Our third date, after dinner in the parking lot, before he went to his door, I grabbed his hand.

            “Sung, wait,” I said.

            He turned, unsure of what I was asking. I pulled myself closer to him and laid my hand on his cheek, staring into his eyes as he caught his breath, realizing the moment I had suddenly arranged.

            I leaned in for the kiss, my hand sliding from his warm, broad cheek to the back of his head, the thick black hair between my fingers. His arms wrapped around me, pulling me closer. He gave into the kiss, and for a moment, seemed to forget we were standing in a parking lot.

            As we parted, his cheeks glowed with a barely contained smile. “Thank you,” he breathed, as if I had taken a burden of responsibility off his shoulders and given him an affirmation that he desperately needed.

            The Acura is in his favorite shade of blue, and no other blues will do. After a dinner, both of us mildly drunk on cocktails and collapsed into a hotel lobby’s couch, we held hands and he examined my painted nails.

            “You should paint them blue, to match my car,” he suggested with an amused smile, his cheeks flushed with color. I laughed, but I later found a shade in my collection close to that deep cobalt blue with a light shimmer and painted my nails as he suggested.

            That beautiful blue Acura with all the labor and time and money he poured into making it what he wanted it to be was a portal to a better life for me. To building a relationship. To recovering from abuse. To escaping poverty. It took us to the places and experiences we shared, that loud, high-strung beast contained in a sleek blue shell. I loved the way the vibrations traveled through my core as he revved the engine.

I get sentimental about these things. The ritual of doing my make-up, my hair, dressing up, and slipping on high heels to see him, even if all we had planned was some takeout and watching Netflix on his couch. When I moved in and we settled into domesticity, I missed these things. I even miss his one-bedroom apartment where we first made love.

It isn’t that we lack love or peace, but the raging fires of passion have settled into the smoldering embers that warm a hearth. He bought me a Toyota RAV4 Hybrid, a practical car for commuting, for getting groceries, and for dirt roads to adventures he wouldn’t risk his beautiful blue Acura on. A practical car to load a car seat into and protect our future family.

And now, he thinks it’s time to get himself that dream car too. Maybe he’ll sell the Acura, it would be the practical choice. I want him to be happy, to get this car he’s dreamed of since college that he can now afford to buy. But selfishly, I don’t want him to sell the Acura. It hurts my heart to think of letting this thing go where we made so many memories. It’s only an object and the memories are in my head. We can make new memories in a new car, as we have in our home and our practical family car and everything else we’ve done. But perhaps, I fear letting go of the things that encapsulate these memories, because without something tangible to hold on to, something to anchor them too, they will fade into the aether of memory and I will never feel them again as I felt them when they were new.

The original version was written as an exercise for a non-fiction writing class. A little something between the concrete details of objects and the abstract of memories. I get sentimental over objects and the memories attached to them.

When I wrote this, Sung was debating purchasing the S2000 he wanted and found a seller in Alabama, of all places. We took a weekend trip down to Birmingham, checked out the car, and he decided to buy it. It was shipped home, and a few weeks later, we drove it home from the place it had been delivered. We still have the Acura! Sung still dithers on his choice to get the S2000, and if we sell one, it may actually be that one, once he fixes it up a bit more. Maybe dream cars aren’t all they’re cracked up to be.


When I fell in love
I looked at your stars
The year 1982
9 Fire in Feng Shui
I realized that you are like fire
You came into my heart
A slow burn, an ember
And throughout the four chambers
You grew to an inferno
You burned away all traces of those who came before
Those who haunted those rooms
Like cobwebs that hung in the rafters
I was renewed
I was free
And in the ashes of former loves
Only you remained

This poem was written for my partner. It was an idea I had held onto for awhile. Before him, I was carrying torches for a number of people but when I fell in love with him, I felt such a warmth in my heart and it was like a purifying process. None of the others mattered anymore, I was free from all those old ties to start fresh.

Life’s Jester

At seventeen, you called yourself "Life's Jester,"
Saying that you were "playing the part of the fool for the gods."
As though some archaic deities
would deign the mundanity of your life
worthy of their interest.
At fifteen, I was the fool.
Your delusions of grandeur
convinced me, in my naïve adoration,
that you spoke deep, irrevocable truths;
that you alone were a font of wisdom
I could never aspire to compare to.
I spent thirteen years under your spell,
my own wisdom suppressed,
denigrating myself to you,
never daring to eclipse you,
but if I ever did slip,
you were quick to subjugate me again
beneath your ego.
I never played the part of the fool for any gods.
I was only my own life’s jester.

Another poem for class, this one written as a response to one my ex wrote a long time ago.


              The farmer’s eldest son paused from his work to wipe the sweat from his brow and appreciate the rising hum of crickets in the mid-spring dusk. Another song was brought to his ears, however, carried on the wind from the woods across his family’s fields. It drew him to a golden-haired maiden, clad in white, who, against all better judgement, was entering that dangerous wilderness. And so, the young man pursued with the purest of intentions.

              As the maiden glided across the forest floor, her gown and hair fluttered behind her on a nonexistent breeze. The young man struggled to keep pace with her and pleaded with her to return to the safety of the hamlet, but the maiden only smiled and beckoned wordlessly to follow.

              A glowing bonfire invited them to a space filled with laughter and music. The young man only had eyes for the entrancing maiden and was oblivious to the strange beings celebrating around them. The maiden offered him a silvered chalice and without hesitation, he imbibed of the ambrosic wine she offered. Suddenly, the maiden was in his arms. They laughed and danced together and the night faded into a delirium of pleasure.

* * *

              “It is a boy, I am certain,” the wife confided in her husband.

              “A son,” her young husband breathed softly.

              She wore a gentle smile on her lips. “What shall we name him?”

              He laid his hand on the rounded rise of her belly. The child within stirred, pressing against his palm. “Ewen. For my brother.”

              “The one who disappeared?” the wife asked. Her husband nodded solemnly. “Very well, he shall be Ewen.”

* * *

              As the child was brought forth into the arms of the midwife, the exchange of baby boy to otherworldly girl was unseen to human eyes.

              The midwife laid the baby in the farm wife’s arms. “A healthy girl,” she declared.

              The mother put the baby to her breast and it quickly found the teat with practiced skill. “A… girl? I was certain it would be a boy,” she breathed. As she looked down at the child, the suckling baby’s eyes opened and looked into hers. The golden down on the baby’s head darkened to match the mother’s brown hair, her facial features changed ever so slightly, pointed ears became round, but the shimmer on her skin remained. The mother, though she watched, was oblivious to the shift. “A girl,” she cooed, now in love with her new child.

* * *

              “The child is strange,” the elder woman argued in a harsh whisper.

              “Mother!” gasped the younger woman. “She is my daughter and I will not hear this.”

              “This is the work of the fair-folk. Her skin—”

              “Enough!” the younger woman hissed.

              The child overheard this exchange and looked at her arm, shifting it so that her skin shimmered in the sunlight that came in through the window.

* * *

              “Cambria, use the poker to break up the logs, like I showed you,” the farm wife told her daughter as they hovered over the hearth. The mother’s belly was round with child again.

              The girl reached for the cast iron rod beside the fire. As she wrapped her hand around the metal, she shrieked in pain. The rod clattered to the floor. “Mama, it burns!” she cried, clutching her hand to her chest with tears rolling down her shimmery cheeks. Her flesh was as red and blistered as if the rod had been red-hot where she grasped it.

              The mother squatted on the floor to test the rod with her finger tips. It was cold.

* * *

              The other children would not play with the eldest daughter of the farmer. Whispers of the meddling of fairies passed between neighbors and filtered down to their children. Eventually, not even the girl’s siblings would play with her. At the edge of the family’s fields she found new playmates. When the girl’s family heard her speaking to her new friends, which they could not see, she was punished severely. She stopped speaking to her friends in the forest afterward.

* * *

              At the age of fifteen, the girl ceased to grow. The family did not notice, at first, but as the years passed her younger sisters grew taller and their comely figures took shape. When suitors came to call, the eldest daughter was passed over.

* * *

              At the age of twenty-five, the eldest daughter finally grew a single inch in height. Her hips rounded, her bosom began to blossom. Then, her growth ceased again. The girl’s once-adoring parents instead grew suspicious.

* * *

              The girl abandoned her home in the dead of night. Knowing she would find no peace with other people, she wandered. A disused hunter’s cabin in the foothills outside of the hamlet became her home. Her old friends returned and taught her many of their secrets. The girl learned to cultivate plants with special properties and brew potions from her friends. They taught her tricks and charms and illusions. With this knowledge, the girl survived. Time did not touch her, though decades passed.

* * *

              The young man awoke on the forest floor. There was no sign of the bonfire or the maiden or her strange companions. He began his shameful walk home but he found his surroundings both familiar and unfamiliar. Trees seemed larger than he recalled. As he came to the edge of the forest, the sloping farmland was familiar as the land he had worked his whole life. Yet, the fields had expanded and a stone wall now divided the farmland from the wilderness. He saw the barn his father built, but the house beside it was larger, as though rooms had been added overnight. The backdoor was the same as he remembered. It was home. It had to be.

              He startled the family within as he entered. Several unfamiliar women were working in his family’s kitchen. One was old, the others were adults and maidens. Some of the women looked as though they could have been his sisters or cousins, but he knew none of them. Children played about their feet. When the women spotted the interloper, they shouted at him to leave, which led to an elderly man charging into the kitchen, wielding a broom like a club, intent on defending his family.

“Father?” the young man spoke.

The broom clattered to the floor. Silence fell over those gathered in the kitchen.

              “Ewen?” the elder man finally spoke.

              “Yes, father, it’s me! Who are these women? Where is mother?” the young man answered.

“Ewen, you look the same as I remember. It’s been… what, forty years?” the old man responded.  “How is this possible?”

              The young man fell to his knees as the truth became clear. This old man was his brother, who had been a mere sixteen years old the night before. The women were his wife, his daughters, and daughters-in-law, and their children. The young man’s father and mother were long dead and three generations had come up overnight.

* * *

              The young man found no peace in the only home he had ever known. He left his family home and his wanderings brought him to a cabin in the foothills where a brown-haired maiden with shimmering skin tended a garden. She welcomed him graciously, as she rarely had visitors.

              “My name is Cambria. You are welcome to share my roof for I live alone.”

              “I am Ewen. I am grateful for your hospitality, as the world has become strange and unknown to me.”

              “The world has always been strange and unknown to me.”

              What was to be a place of momentary respite for the young man became a place of peace. Who was to be a simple visitor to her life became a companion to the maiden. The spring passed, then summer, and as autumn came the maiden of nearly forty who appeared no younger than twenty and the man of twenty who lost forty years had fallen in love, unaware of the sins their shared misfortune had led them to commit.

This short story was an idea based around the changeling mythology. I thought of basing it in Aserra, but I never specified. Just a little experiment, and getting an idea down.


I am intoxicated by the taste of his desire         
Legs pulled up in a chair, clutched to his chest
I feel my wings like never before and he feels them too
Truths laid bare and secrets shared
He bares his vulnerability to me and trusts me not to strike
Teasing kisses, my lip in his teeth
A cluttered car that smells of incense
His tongue out like Kali
My rose oil on his wrists
A casual touch on my thigh sets off a cascade of pleasure through my nervous system.
How do you consume me so?
Empty promises
Never enough time, too much time, the wrong time
My power is waning, his is waxing.
A stolen moment in the summertime
Mosquitos and cicadas
Golden light illuminates the pollen in the air, streaming through tree trunks
I lay in the grass on my sweater while he worships my breasts
Moments are not enough
Never satisfied, always wanting more.
An ocean apart
Sporadic messages, empty promises
Truth becomes clear
I will never be satisfied.

I wrote this for a poetry course I took as a requirement for my degree. I have rarely written poetry and it’s a written medium I struggle with. Most of what I have written is free-form. I had a handful of poem ideas that were floating around in my head for a long time that I was finally able to string together. This piece specifically was based on a short relationship I had that left me frustrated. I had written a piece of flash fiction in another class very similar to this poem, and I retooled it into this poem that I prefer.