Original Fiction, The Tiered Tower

New Beginnings

Summary: A young kobold who has followed his wife to a distant Imperial posting brings his egg to the clan and discovers that he doesn’t understand as much about his new society as he thought he did.

A/N: Rated general audiences, no particular warnings.

Pale morning light caressed the creamy yellow shell of the egg, speckled with blue like Morning Daughter’s eyes. Third Son rearranged the little puffs of cotton warming their egg for the fourth or fifth time. “It’ll be all right,” he’d told Morning Daughter before he left their rooms at the far end of the compound, and she’d nodded bravely. It was the egg—it was harder than they’d thought it would be.

The rest of their move from the violet tier to the black had been difficult, but it was a good opportunity, and it hadn’t been more difficult than expected. There was the journey, which, thanks to some complications during the crossings, had taken nearly two weeks, and there was the tier itself—although this had made up for its cave-like qualities by turning out to be startlingly beautiful. Third Son had heard that the seasons on the lower tiers had more to do with location than with time, but he hadn’t really understood what that had meant until they had arrived in the middle of a raging snowstorm that gave way within a half hour’s walk to a warm, quiet spring-like day. There was also getting settled, half their furniture being lost somewhere on the green tier, and finding out just exactly how different a shared language could be.

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Tolkien Meta

In Defense of Celebrimbor

A/N: Hello, friends, I am apparently starting to post my fandom meta on this blog! Cross-posted on the Silmarillion Writers’ Guild and AO3.

Celebrimbor is quite a beloved character in fandom these days. The Lord of Eregion (according to the Appendix of the Lord of the Rings), who worked with Sauron in the Second Age to forge the Rings of Power and was later most unfortunately used as a banner by his erstwhile companion of the smithy. Unsurprisingly, as with almost any character in Tolkien who does not figure in the main text of The Hobbit or The Lord of the Rings, he has spawned numerous characterizations, some of which I personally enjoy more than others. Such is the life of a fan.

It is not my purpose in this essay to make any arguments about Celebrimbor’s characterization—all fanworks are equally valid and equally beautiful, and I cherish anyone writing about characters that I like. Keep up the excellent work, friends! But I am going to present an argument about Celebrimbor’s role to combat what I see as a very omnipresent assumption in the fandom that I do not think deserves to be omnipresent.

I will freely confess that it is entirely possible I am arguing against a strawman, or a perception of a particular fandom direction that only exists in my own head, but arguing against this line of reasoning has been quite helpful in solidifying some of my own understanding and takes on Celebrimbor, so please bear with me.

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City of Storms, Original Fiction

The Ghost-Queller

Rating: Teen

Warnings: Blood and violence, dark themes, mild internalized homophobia

Summary: When Feithlyn moves from her tiny village to the big city to study veterinary medicine, she’s expecting some things to change. She is not expecting to become embroiled in a ghostly murder mystery, at the center of which stands an enigmatic figure known only as the ghost-queller. As Feithlyn’s world expands, she fights to keep her footing–and her life.

The bird cocked its head and tapped on the glass.

“Stop that! Shoo!” It wasn’t that Feithlyn didn’t like crows, it was just that the last few times she had turned her back, this one had managed to open the window and sneak inside, dropping feathers everywhere for her to clean up. Crows did not belong in a café, and if the owner found out, Feithlyn feared for her employment, which meant fearing for her tiny one-room apartment, which meant fearing she would have to complete her veterinary degree while homeless. Which sounded difficult.

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Original Fiction, Post-apocalyptic New Mexico

A Love Like Water

Summary: Sheriff Solshemshesh and his sheriff-in-training Lekni try to stop a rash of violent deaths in the little desert town of Saplapelanka.

Rating: Teen and up

Warnings: Some violence

Notes: Genders: male, female, trine (third gender), quine (genderfluid).

Kimah was setting and the sun rising as Lekni set off at an exasperated trot southwards of Saplapelanka.  Someday, she thought, people would stop being idiots.  And someday, she would stop being the sheriff’s errand-runner and instead be able to delegate someone else to go lead those idiots back to the town.

She spotted the group before she’d gone three miles, squatting embarrassedly half-naked around a large campfire in the lee of a sand dune.  Lekni waved tiredly as she arrived.  “I did warn you,” she said irritably to the first of their group, a merchant named Peltlin, if she was remembering correctly. 

They scowled at her.  “The woman sounded like she knew what she was talkin’ about,” they muttered sulkily.

“Well, I’ve brought you shoes, blankets, and horses.  Courtesy of Sheriff Solshemshesh.  So you’ll be able to get back to town easily.”  She received a highly ungracious grunt that might have been a thanks and rolled her eyes.  “Do you need me to lead you back?”

“We’ll be fine,” Peltlin muttered.  A young woman patted their arm gently and gave Lekni a sudden smile.  “Don’t bother about my parent,” she said.  “They’re just frustrated at getting fooled.  Thank you for helpin’ us.”

Lekni felt her cheeks warm, like a fool.  “Let me know if there’s anythin’ else,” she mumbled, turning her horse back towards Saplapelanka.

She had plenty of time on the way back to curse the person who kept running this stupid con.  She could, she supposed, also have cursed Shem for constantly making her deal with it, but that seemed less fair.  After all, he was trying to train her to take his place someday, so she should be the one dealing with the routine annoyances.  And it wasn’t like he knew this was going to be happening.

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