Starting a trilogy (WARNING: Not Safe for Minors.)

[Memento]

Well, um...shit.

Clive Cussler Dead at 88.

Hated his books, but...rest in peace, Mr. Cussler.

 

[RhodyRams]

Well, um...shit.

Clive Cussler Dead at 88.

Hated his books, but...rest in peace, Mr. Cussler.

Yeah. I used to read a lot of Cussler but it got to be the same shit book after book...and as for Dirk Diggler...it got to be funnier and funnier every novel on how he got out of a jam. Like he just happened to have a 7/16 wrench in his jacket pocket from working on his 1923 Cadillac that he was able to pry the lid off a shipping crate to survive some crisis

 

[RhodyRams]

@Memento ever think of self publishing?

 

[Dieter the Brock]

Well, um...shit.

Clive Cussler Dead at 88.

Hated his books, but...rest in peace, Mr. Cussler.

Memento 1
Cussler 0

 

[Memento]

Well, @LoyalRam remember the Prohibition anthropomorphic bird story I had an idea about? Well, here's the first chapter of it:

Two birds stared at each other in the dimly-lit room, each on separate perches. One was chained to their perch, clearly a prisoner. Neither blinked or spoke for quite some time. The interrogator drew out a cigarette from a pouch, offering it. A silent head shake was the response, and the interrogator placed it in his beak, lit it with a lighter, and breathed in the smoke. The light revealed a male peregrine falcon who leaned forward on his perch.


“So, take me back to the beginning,” he said, his fierce yellow eyes staring into the eyes of his prisoner. “Back to...well, you know, right?”


“Why should I?” The reply was harsh and bitter. “It won’t change anything. It won’t make things right.”


“Maybe not for others, but for you?” The falcon took another drag on his cigarette. “You still have things to answer for. You can make the judge a little more lenient, make things easier for-”


“You’re lying.” The prisoner’s eyes were cold, unyielding. “You know damn well that the judge is going to send me to the deepest, darkest hole they can find, and nothing I say is going to change that. The only reason I’m here is because you still have this fantasy of nailing every one of us to the wall, being the bigshot hero detective. Get a clue; I’m not here to indulge in fantasy, not for me, and certainly not for you.”


The detective sighed. “Look, I’m only interested in where you and the others hid your ill-gotten goods,” he said. “If you help me, I’ll help secure your release from prison in-”


“You don’t get it. If I help you, I’ll be dead. Prisons don’t tolerate rats.”


“Too fucking bad.” The falcon’s eyes had an ugly look in them. “I don’t give two shits about what’ll happen to you in prison. All I want is for the police to locate what you and the others stole. If you don’t, I’ll make sure to tell everyone that you ratted your mates out and see how long it takes for them to kill you.”


“You bastard!”


“So what if I am?! It’s better than you, you fucking bootlegger! Now tell me where the Avedamned gold bars are, or things will get really ugly, and I will fucking break you!”


The prisoner was shaking with rage. “You’ll never find them, asshole. They’re long gone.”


The falcon sighed again and drew another breath from the cigarette. Without warning, he put it out on the prisoner’s beak, ignoring the agonized scream. He breathed heavily.


“Want me to go to your eyes next?” he snarled. “Tell me where the fucking gold is or I swear I will.”


The prisoner sobbed. “I can’t tell you!” Their eyes were blinking away tears. “She’ll murder me, and it will be so much worse than anything you can do!”


“‘She?’”


“Yeah, she. You probably know her good side. You have no idea what she’s capable of, what she’s done. There’s a reason why you’ll never find them; she wanted them as well, and we hid them from her - and if she can’t find them with her resources, nobody will.”


The falcon smiled. Finally, he had gotten to the prisoner.


“I promise that we’ll kill her when we find her.” He gave the prisoner a kindly pat on the head with a wing while digging into their foot with a cruel claw. “You just have to tell me everything.”


The prisoner shuddered before taking a deep breath and narrating.


“It all started with two ravens…”

 

[Loyal]

Well, @LoyalRam remember the Prohibition anthropomorphic bird story I had an idea about? Well, here's the first chapter of it:

I think the dialogue is solid. I assume that you will create this depression era avian world before this scene? Do the birds wear clothing? Is this an American depression era time, except populated with birds as the alpha predator instead of humans? Maybe describe how the detective falcon smokes?How does he light the cigarette? They are sitting on perches, facing one another. As the reader I'd like a little more scene building.

I think it's a good, creative idea for a story!

btw...If there is a big boss, it could be a flying dinosaur, since dino's are related to birds!

 

[Memento]

I think the dialogue is solid. I assume that you will create this depression era avian world before this scene? Do the birds wear clothing? Is this an American depression era time, except populated with birds as the alpha predator instead of humans? Maybe describe how the detective falcon smokes?How does he light the cigarette? They are sitting on perches, facing one another. As the reader I'd like a little more scene building.

I think it's a good, creative idea for a story!

btw...If there is a big boss, it could be a flying dinosaur, since dino's are related to birds!

Thank you for the advice, Loyal! Much appreciated.

This is an American Prohibition/Depression era with birds as the alpha species instead of humans, so there's that.

They don't wear clothing, but they do carry light pouches that contain guns, knives, cigarettes, lighters, valuables, and stuff like that. The guns have been modified so that they're more hollow than our guns, which don't hinder flight. Bigger the bird, the bigger the gun. And the guns are used in talons, so...yeah.

The cigarettes and lighters work the same as with us; just lit in the talons of the birds instead of with our hands.

I know I can explain better, but hey, that's why it's the first chapter, right? Thank you so much for the advice, Loyal. I appreciate it beyond anything I can say.

EDIT: Also, there probably won't be any dinos, but extinct birds like the Haast's eagle (which basically was big and strong enough to carry off a human child) are always on the table.

 

[Memento]

Okay, I've written down plots - or at least skeletons of plots, as I like to say - for a lot of my stories:

Ziz Hunting (I've had the plot finished for a while, but I'm very much excited to get going on it.)

Upsilon (Also one I've had the plot finished for a while, and another one that I'm excited for.)

The Demon Invasion pentalogy (Warrior/Sage/Cleric.net, How to Survive a Demonic Invasion, The Devil Came Back to Earth, As We March Into Hell, and The Hell of Demonkind - the lattermost which has a lot of characters from a lot of different works, including Upsilon and Ziz Hunting. I've had the whole storyline filled, and I'm ecstatic to get going! Yes, I managed to find titles for the )

Revenant (This is an old/new former Pokemon/Dead Space fanfic that I've really edited to make it my own. It got so dark at the end that I stopped writing for my sanity. Well, I'm in a good place now, and I'm eager to get going on this.)

The Starbright series (A story about anthropomorphic animals as a sort-of-homage to Brian Jacques' Redwall series...except darker because of course. I have three books planned - two of them being part of the MC fox's ancestral family: one being a famous knight who eventually becomes the king and a famed pirate queen whose swashbuckling tale of yore is considered a fantasy by most.)

Touch of a Feather (the anthropomorphic birds series that I posted here; I finally managed to make the plot skeleton of it, and I'm really excited for it.)

Blood of the Desert (think a Dubai setting with a young, but really lazy detective who happens to be one of the only characters to have a tamed monster - he has two.)

Into the Machine (demonic A.I. traps twelve young people looking for a higher-paid job. The plot grew...very fucking dark from the time I spent at a psych ward in January of this year, probably even darker than any of my stories not named Revenant.)

Mind Over Magic (A fun little story where a guy who goes to find people who can kill demons, thus relating to the Demon Invasion pentalogy...finds them. Except it's in a world where only the XX chromosome exists. Which means fun genderbending shenanigans.)

Confessions of the Damned (I've admittedly had the title for quite a while, but now I've finally found something to put it in: a world where humans have animal characteristics - i.e., rattlesnake tails, bird wings, etc. - where a demon lords over it with a serial killer pitted against the demon is considered a protagonist. Naturally, it's dark as hell.)

Obliteration (This is a newer story: humans have moved up into sky-cities - now called Skybound - to escape pollution, create new exosuits, and fight wars for control over the skies, leaving the unfortunate people in land cities - Dwellers - trapped. One Dweller dares to hope for something different for her, not knowing how close it'll be.)

Stacked Deck (Another story where I had a title but needed a plot. It's yet another dystopian future where sick and disabled people are left without help or medicine. Some of those people plan on doing a heist. It's exciting to me, as a lot of good characters in fanfiction have made their way here.)

Zero Virtues (A recent story idea. Basically, a small fictional Texan town on the border hides all sorts of dirty secrets about the populace, and a demon who creates a bunch of soulless machines by sucking the humanity out of human bodies - therefore forming ICHABoDs: Intelligent Camouflaged Humanlike Armored Bots of Destruction. More than anything, this story focuses on what dark secrets we all have, which is definitely something I'm interested in.)

Soldier of Fortune (Since the last irl story idea never got off the ground, I figured I'd try this one: a teenaged boy gets thrown into the past - the Revolutionary War, to be precise - with a cursed teenaged girl who was turned into a Clydesdale - and yes, I did research; Clydesdales existed in the 1700s - when she found out that a demon (yes, yet another demon) in the present was going to alter the course of the Revolutionary War for reasons I have not come up with yet. But I have a fair bit of the skeleton mapped out, character-wise, at least.)

Goddesses of Eternity (Six goddesses - Athena, Artemis (two of my all-time favorite deities, even though they could both be jerks at times), Venus (yes, there is quite a difference between Venus and Aphrodite), Sekhmet (Egyptian goddess of war and healing), Amaterasu (Japanese sun deity), and Freyja (Norse goddess of the Vanir) all get reincarnated into teenagers with a shadow organization pursuing them for reasons I have not figured out quite yet. Still, I'm having fun going with the flow; it's what worked for my last few stories.)

Death to Kings (I have the title, have the characters, but I don't have the entire plot...yet.)

I'm still trying to figure out some other stories (fourteen titles), and I still have twelve pages of unused character names alone, but I'm just having fun rolling with what I have. Oh, and I'm still doing fanfiction for fun.

 

[Memento]

Like I mentioned in the other thread, I have a new idea from a dream called Specter of the Past! It's about an entire world where everyone's deceased, and the famous dead people control everything and keep the normal dead people in a sort-of-slave labor.

Then Cassandra "Cassie" Plumlee discovers the answer to the space-time continuum. Naturally, nobody in her work believes her, and she's kicked out of the science group she's in. Unfortunately for her, many other people believe what she's saying - and they aren't the people who like her; they will hollow her (basically destroy the very essence of her spirit - think Dementors from Harry Potter) without hesitation.

Then comes a would-be devil-may-care guy named Philip Bloodsworth (except he's not really a looker; he's thickly-built, looks quite fat, except most of it is muscle). True to his last name, he got into a lot of fights when he was young, and beat all comers. He joins Cassie because he's flat-out bored (He wants a fight to be his lasting legacy and hasn't found one worth it yet.), but also eventually becomes attracted to her, not because of her own looks (Cassie looks quite plain.), but because of her mind.

Cassie is extremely smart, is caustically-sarcastic because she's tired of being treated lower than dirt, very much self-sustaining (one of her inventions was a nondescript box that could open up into a giant ballroom, filled with all of the necessities to live for a month inside - hence breaking the space-time continuum, and yes, that was a part of my dream), and has a love for classical music. And when she does go to a bar, she orders a vegan burger, onion rings, and a Mudslide cocktail with ice cream.

Philip is a slacker, not really knowing or caring about his life, but he's strangely driven towards certain goals, and is a lot more athletic than his frame suggests. He drives like an absolute maniac on the roads, is an excellent shot, and is an underworld disguise expert. His favorite music is rock-and-roll (because why not?), and when he goes to a bar, he orders sliders, French fries with mustard (his staple; he must have mustard on his fries or things go bad.), and two zombie cocktails.

 

[1maGoh]

Nice. I like the idea of the dead world being run by people and regular jobs and stuff. Kind of a different, more adult take on the afterlife seen in Coco. Cool stuff. Keep it up.

 

[Memento]

Nice. I like the idea of the dead world being run by people and regular jobs and stuff. Kind of a different, more adult take on the afterlife seen in Coco. Cool stuff. Keep it up.

Coco and Corpse Bride were definitely two inspirations for this story (in that the land of the dead is more colorful and alive than the world of the living). And most of the famous people in this story run the world and all of the famous people are really shitty people (I got that inspiration from Stephen King's You Know They Got a Hell of a Band.)

Just a lot of inspiration that can come from something as innocent as a dream.

 

[Memento]

I'll post the prologue of a story I just finished writing: Death to Kings.

Spoiler: Death to Kings Prologue

The prisoner walked through the judgment hall, his dirty, fiery-red hair covering his icy-blue eyes and running down past his shoulders, his face gaunt and sickened. Despite the starvation punishment sapping his strength, he still had power in his elderly frame. Still, such power could do nothing against the iron shackles on his hands and legs. He walked to the seat where the jeers echoed before the judge banged his gavel for silence.

Duke Ruiseart O’Leary knew that this was a kangaroo court; he had arranged it himself, finding the lackeys and toadies to “discover evidence” that would “prove” the prisoner guilty. The verdict had come swiftly from the judge, as he read out his ruling.

“The people have found the former King Dayton MacEachern to be guilty of treason,” the bribed judge said as if he were talking about having a picnic. “The sentence is death.”

Cheers echoed throughout the hall. Lord O’Leary looked around the courtroom, giving a vapid frown to the former king. MacEachern looked horrified, seeing the people turn against him.

Of course, Dayton MacEachern didn’t deserve this power, Ruiseart thought. He did; he who was next in line to the throne after the King’s children. It was he who should have the power over all of the subjects of Regomnian, he who would wipe King MacEachern from the records, he who would slay all of MacEachern’s (many) bastard children to keep the power, as even a bastard could claim legitimacy in the eyes of the people. No, they all had to die, and he would be the one to do it.

He turned to his personal knight and close friend, Sir Iomhair MacNamara. “Make sure none of MacEachern’s bastards survive before the night is over,” he whispered, making sure nobody could hear him.

Sir Iomhair gave Ruiseart a small, cruel smile. “It shall be done, my King,” he whispered back, leaving the courtroom.

MacEachern was no fool; he knew that the Duke was responsible for this, that the Duke would have his mad dog, Sir Iomhair, murder his illegitimate children, children who did nothing wrong. But he couldn’t fight back; he was too old, too sick, too weak, and the people had been thoroughly turned against him. All he could do was maybe the word he could get out…that was it!

He gave an almost imperceptible nod to a very young woman in court, what was her name, Ermendrud? Yes, Ermendrud Dutcher, who nodded back and left the court.

Then he felt rough hands drag him outside to the courtyard where his former subjects were cheering for blood. The bastards even had the chopping block ready, ready for his head, which he knew would be impaled on a spike for all to see, taunting the people who were willing to stand up against Duke O’Leary.

A fury like none he ever knew gripped him and he bellowed in a clear tone, hoping to reach as many people possible, “There won’t be a god or mortal man or woman remaining who will stand by you, and your time will come sooner than you think, O’Leary!”

“The poor old man has lost his senses!” the Duke said pityingly. “See how he rambles against people who tried to help him!”

“You-” MacEachern tried to speak further, but he felt the darkness of the bag come over his head, felt his head forced onto the block, and he knew that in a few short moments, it would all be over.

It would not be so. He heard O’Leary monologue, discussing all of the trumped up “charges” against him, saying how he would be a better king. Well, he was a hell of a thespian, that could not be denied.

The old man closed his eyes, trying and failing to keep the tears from pouring. He hoped that Ermendrud would get at least a few of his children away. He hop-

Then a sudden agonizing pain exploded in his neck, and he knew no more.

-

Ermendrud could only find one of King Dayton MacEachern’s children in time (Sir Iomhair and his thugs had been ruthlessly swift with his slaughter.): a newborn girl whose mother abandoned her at birth.

It had been a simple matter to pay the midwife and wetnurse to stay silent; the mother had not spread the word that her daughter was one of King Dayton’s to anyone but the king (and Ermendrud, by default, as she was his secret confidant). What would be less simple was getting the girl out of the city, and the longer she stayed, the more risk would be to both of their lives.

The girl fussed, and Ermendrud looked at her. She was going to be as much a redhead as her father was, if not more. The infant’s tiny hands grabbed at her breasts, the innocent blue eyes staring at her as if she was her mother.

She shook her head to get the thoughts out of her mind; she was not the mother to this child, even if the child deserved a better mother than her birth mother. But what was more important was getting out of Emerald City.

Ermendrud covered the baby with a cloak, ignoring the infant girl latching on to her breast. No guards stopped her as she walked down the streets of the city, her long dress tickling the cobblestones. It was her best quality, she figured. She wasn’t especially pretty, nor particularly ugly. Smaller than normal height, maybe, a bit pudgy, decent figure, dirty-blonde hair. The only oddity were her eyes - deep sage-green pools that held calculating intelligence in them. It was easy for her to disappear in a crowd, even with an infant - especially since said infant was small, hidden, and, most importantly, silent.

A final checkpoint was up ahead with more of MacNamara’s thugs; a distraction was not only a choice, but necessary. She unclipped a tiny needle from within the folds of her dress sleeves. One prick was all it needed, and the less of Sir Iomhair’s men alive in the world, the better. One of them, a very large man, was shouting at a bunch of peasants. The poison would work quickly, but not overly so.

A perfect target.

She walked over to him, the infant girl now suckling on her other breast, and nicked his exposed finger with the needle. He slapped her in the face, but she ignored it, somehow managing to stand upright and not drop the baby. Only seconds later, he dropped his sword, holding his head in pain, as foam began to pool around his mouth, black blood trickling from his nose, ears, eyes, and mouth, and the other goons circled around him, shouting for a healer.

And then, she was out of Emerald City, and the baby girl was whining.

“I am not your mother,” she said in annoyance, realizing that the girl was too young to understand her. She let out a sigh of regret. “Sorry, I just…I’d be a terrible mother. I’m giving you to the Hashiyan monks, far, far away from this awful city. You’ll be safe there, I promise you.”

Yes, because talking to an infant is going to make her understand.

A small boat was waiting for them - the lone operator, being a close friend of hers, would never talk - as she stepped onto the wooden beam, the infant girl beginning to fuss.

“Shush,” she said, harsher than her intent. “I’m your best chance of getting out of this alive.”

“Yer talkin’ to a newborn, Erm,” Captain Meginrat Hinxstone said, his false teeth smiling as his black eyes twinkled beneath a huge black beard. “She don’t unnerstan’ what yer sayin’.”

“You can be quiet, Rat,” Ermendrud said with an eye roll. “I just want to get her to the Hashiyan monks before that asshole, O’Leary, can get to her.”

Captain Hinxstone’s brow furrowed as he rubbed his balding head. “King Dayton’s really dead, then?” Ermendrud’s silence was the only answer he needed. “I’m so sorry, Erm.”

“Just get us to safety, Rat.” Her eyes were focused, but the grief in them was clear.

“Aye aye, marm.”

The boat drifted on its lonely path, as the three occupants fled from O’Leary’s rampage.

-

Brother Widogast Eymer was busy watching the river when the boat that changed his life forever appeared.

The Hashiyan monk always liked to look at the swirling eddies of water, the occasional ferry to gather cargo to the northern realm, the sparkling scales of the fish in the river, the forest outside where the wildlings - men and women who forsook the laws of the king and lived off the forest lands and beyond - roamed, occasionally seeing one or two of the younger wildling children playing. It was a peaceful sight, and it always calmed his turbulent thoughts.

But was a life of staring at the river and completing his duties enough for him, truly? Was there something outside of the Hashiyan Abbey walls that would still his boredom?

When he saw the small boat, a boat lashed by the storms of the southern realm appear, he was naturally curious. It wasn’t a ferry, that was for sure. Small, definitely a smuggler.

Then it moved to dock near the Abbey, and Brother Widogast was stunned for a moment. No smuggler docked at the Abbey, and someone had already sounded the alarm, but…this didn’t seem like a normal smuggling mission.

Then he saw a woman…and a baby?

What is going on?

“Wait!” he heard himself say aloud, the words ripped from his throat to warn his fellow Brothers, this was no mere smuggling operation, mothers with babies didn’t come to this Abbey unless…

They’re looking for sanctuary!

“Sanctuary!” Brother Widogast shouted. “Let them in!”

He felt a cuff against his head, as he looked at an older man and long-time rival, Brother Eadwig Tumbrell, glaring at him.

“You’re still a novice, and they don’t go in without permission from the Fathers,” he growled.

“It’s a woman and a baby, for the gods’ sake!” Widogast snapped, earning another smack from Eadwig.

“We - don’t - allow - strangers - in - our - Abbey!” Eadwig said slowly, as if Widogast was a child. “Gods, did you not pay attention when Father Gerulf taught the basics of our Order in class?”

“At least I was taught humanity!” Widogast spat, as he rushed down to the Faith Defenders, the Brothers allowed to wield weapons, as they trained their bows on the bedraggled group.

“Do not shoot them! I will grant sanctuary, on my blood of the gods!” Widogast shouted.

It was a huge gamble and a bigger oath on his part; if the ones granted sanctuary harmed anyone within the walls, he would be executed without any defense, by being sent to the bitter cold of the north without any supplies. But he had a feeling in his gut that wasn’t just the lunch he ate.

The Faith Defenders stood by as the Brother wrapped a blanket around the shivering woman and squalling infant. They even stood by as he led them into the Abbey. The man with them, obviously a smuggler, didn’t move.

“What about you, good sir?” Widogast asked.

“Me place is with me boat,” the man said with a shrug. “Anyways, Erm has to speak wit’ yer Fathers; it’s of the utmost importance, an’ it involves the baby.”

The young Brother nodded, leading the woman to the Judgment Tables, as the baby continued to wail.

“Thank you for your kindness,” the woman whispered to Widogast, trying to calm the baby. “I won’t forget it.”

“Just make sure to be careful,” he said calmly. “I cannot disobey the Fathers, but I will not turn away someone who needs help.”

“Of course. May I have your name? I want to record it for the ones who helped us when we needed it.” Her sage-green eyes burned into his own, and he knew she was an important person.

“Brother Widogast Eymer.”

“Well, Brother Widogast, I’ll be sure to put in a very good word for you, whatever may happen.”

The two walked in silence. The baby wasn’t silent, and the Brothers, almost as if Eadwig told them (because of course he told them) all glared at Widogast as if he was a leper, like the woman and infant deserved to be left out in the cold.

He didn’t care what they thought.

The Judgment Tables were pretty much a dining room with a lot of tables surrounding where the Three Fathers sat in hard angelic-shaped chairs, a weighted set of scales to judge yes-or-no questions brought to them in the middle of the room. Widogast had no idea why the chairs were so hard. Possibly because of piety to make them suffer more than the rest? Hells if he knew. All of the Brothers could fit in this room, which was necessary: their coins counted in the Judgment Tables for every major decision. The Three Fathers’ coins counted for three votes, as they were three times heavier than the normal coins.

Two of the chairs were already filled. Father Gerulf Rambeau and Father Giltbert Bargy.

Father Giltbert was the eldest, the traditionalist, the one who only judged on merits of the questions. If anyone was confused about the rules, he’d be quick to remind them with his sharp tongue. He had a large white beard that spilled all the way to his stomach, and he needed every bit of it, for he had none on the top of his head. His eyes were still sharper than keenly-honed swords.

Father Gerulf…hated Widogast. If he was honest with himself, Father Gerulf probably hated all of the younger Brothers, but he took a particular tone with Widogast. He was the second to Father Giltbert, but he was as bigoted as it got. Wildlings, women, witchcraft, wedlock, all “w” words that he got inflamed against, spewing venom like a drake. He had a full head of hair, white as the driven snow, and constantly annoyed eyes, like certain people existing was enough to set him off.

“Ah, so the idiot graces us with his presence,” Father Gerulf said in a caustic tone.

“Father, I gave-”

“We know your oath, Widogast,” Father Gerulf said sharply, the lack of the title “Brother” towards the young monk an obvious slight against him. “We’ll hold you to it, mark my words.” He gave a disgusted shake of his head. “Let’s get this over with.”

Father Giltbert glared at his equal. “We do not proceed without Father Veremund, wherever he may be,” he said in a calm tone. “It is tradition. Perhaps you need to learn manners from young Brother Widogast here?”

“I need not learn anything from that young fool,” Father Gerulf growled. “And Father Veremund is never around.”

“I arrive when I wish,” a boisterous voice boomed from the hall.

Father Veremund had arrived. He was a very short and portly man; Widogast guessed that he was even shorter than the woman next to him. He had a huge black mustache that drooped down past his double chins, and slicked-back hair the same color. His eyes had a mischievous twinkle in them, showing that unlike the other Fathers, he didn’t take things too seriously.

Father Veremund was probably Widogast’s favorite.

Widogast bowed towards the Fathers and took his seat next to the scales, as was tradition; he was on trial, as was the woman and the infant.

“We’re here today to discuss the matter of this most importance,” Father Giltbert pronounced. “Young Brother Widogast has sworn an oath on his blood of the gods to protect this young mother and her infant.”

“I’m not her mother,” the woman said calmly, eliciting murmurs of shock and confusion. “I am Ermendrud Dutcher, of His Majesty Dayton MacEachern’s Royal Court. The infant girl I have in my hands is his daughter.”

“A bastard, then,” Father Gerulf said, snorting in contempt. “We received a message of a new king via pigeon: King Ruiseart O’Leary, as King Dayton was executed for treason. Tell me, why should we support the claim of the daughter of a whore?”

“Her mother was not a whore!” Ermendrud snapped. “And the Duke - I will never call him ‘King’ - took the throne through blackmail, bribery, lies, and falsehoods.”

“I don’t care,” Father Gerulf growled. “This is still a bastard child, an evil child, and-”

“You forget yourself, Father Gerulf.” Father Giltbert’s words were harsh, cold, even for him. “We are all loyal to the King. The King we swore the oath towards, and that King is dead. We can verify young Ermendrud’s claim; I’ve met her before, and this is her. If she speaks truly and this is truly King Dayton’s daughter, she is the rightful heir - yes, even as a bastard.”

“We’re letting the bastard of a King and his whore take a throne that’s rightfully King Ruiseart’s?” Eadwig had spoken up; as senior to all of the Brothers, it was his right, although his words made Widogast’s blood bubble with wrath. “King Dayton was charged with treason, convicted of treason, executed for treason. As loyal servants of the King, we will not take the evil bastard of this whore-”

“I am NOT her mother, and her mother was NOT a whore!” Ermendrud spat.

“And hold your tongue and don’t interrupt me, bitch, lest you and the bastard be cast out!” Eadwig shouted.

“You go too far, Brother Eadwig!” Father Giltbert snapped, his eyes blazing with anger, so much that Eadwig was instantly cowed. “We never elected Ruiseart as King. He was second to the throne only because Dayton’s wife died in childbirth, only because there was nobody else. You have no right to challenge the laws of the gods, the gods we at the Abbey serve, for that is the law of the gods: that children of the King are the only heirs to the throne, whether they be trueborn or bastard!”

Eadwig glowered at the Father, but stayed silent, thoroughly chastised, to Widogast’s secret delight.

“Father Giltbert, while we all follow the faith, Ruiseart was the second in line to the throne,” Father Gerulf said in a respectful tone. “If we can verify the bastard’s parentage, we will see.”

“Just look at her hair,” Ermendrud said simply.

Widogast noted the hair of the infant girl, who was crying from the loud noises: red like fire. Only King Dayton MacEachern had hair like that. Only King Dayton MacEachern could be her father. Despite himself, he gently rubbed the infant’s head to calm her down, and - to his surprise - she seemed to enjoy it, letting out a soft burble.

“Aww, is Widogast a monk or a wetnurse?” Eadwig sneered under his breath, loud enough for Widogast and the fellow Brothers to hear, but not loud enough to capture the attention of the Fathers. A couple of muted snickers followed, but the young monk was determined not to take the bait.

“It is proof we cannot deny,” Father Giltbert said with a sigh.

“Fathers, if I may?” Eadwig asked politely.

“You may,” Father Gerulf said, nodding his head at Eadwig in taciturn approval; it was obvious that he was the only Brother Gerulf liked.

“I was wrong to challenge the will of the gods, but harboring this infant girl in the Abbey could bring us all to ruin. King Ruiseart - for the people have crowned him King - will not stop until all of MacEachern’s family line is buried. Can we honestly risk the lives of our Brothers to save this one child?”

Widogast almost spoke out in anger, before realizing he was still on trial. He knew Eadwig’s game: he would appeal to the safety of the Abbey even if it was against everything the gods ever stood for - and the other Brothers would lap it up.

“Then we shall give the infant a new name, a name she’ll grow with, a name that shall stay with her for the rest of her life.” All heads turned to Father Veremund as he spoke. “We cannot crown this infant Queen yet, but it is our solemn duty to keep her safe from all harm until she is grown. Still, she can never be a MacEachern. According to ancient laws, as a bastard child, we cannot give her the names of her father or mother. Lady Ermendrud Dutcher, as protector of this babe, will you name her?”

“Moibeal,” Ermendrud said softly, patting the infant girl on the head; Widogast knew she had thought of this name, although why, he wasn’t sure. “Moibeal MacTaggert.”

“Moibeal MacTaggert she shall be, in the eyes of the gods,” Father Veremund said.

“In the eyes of the gods,” the commune echoed as one.

“Now to decide whether or not to keep her at this Abbey, until she is grown, and whether Brother Widogast shall be verified in his oath of his blood of the gods,” Veremund said. “Remember, the gods see our every decision. They watch us, protect us, keep us whole. And so they shall watch our decision here as well.”

Father Gerulf and Eadwig were the first ones to move to the scales, as they placed their coins on the gargoyle caricature side, the side that signaled disapproval. To Widogast’s surprise, Father Giltbert gingerly moved off his chair to place his token on the seraph caricature side that signaled approval.

The rest of the monks moved toward the scales, placing their coins, until the gargoyle side was tipped slightly. Father Veremund still hadn’t placed his coin yet, but he played with it with a smile on his face, as he moved his heavyset bulk off of his chair and placed his coin on the seraph side.

Widogast smirked at Eadwig as the seraph side tipped just a slight bit further than the gargoyle, while his elder Brother gave him a horrible glare.

“It is known and seen by the gods, then,” Father Giltbert said. “We shall keep Moibeal safe until she is grown, and Widogast is verified in his decision to keep them safe. We are seen in the eyes of the gods!”

“In the eyes of the gods!” Widogast had never felt so proud to chant those words.

He saw Ermendrud slip out of the room, towards the boat, and followed her out of curiosity.

“Where are you bound?” he asked loudly, as she turned around to see him.

“I’m bound to all corners of Tirnandeithe to raise an army,” the young woman said. “Duke Ruiseart O’Leary cannot be allowed to win over the populace; it will lead to nought but ruin.”

“I wish you would stay,” Widogast said. “Who else will protect young Moibeal?”

“You do not trust your Brothers.” A statement rather than a question.

“Eadwig is next in line to be verified as a Father when one of ours dies, and Giltbert is old,” Widogast admitted. “I am worried about then.”

“You will protect Moibeal from all potential harm at the Hashiyan Abbey, won’t you, Brother Widogast?” Another statement.

He bit his lip. “Yes, I will,” he said.

“Swear it. By the gods.”

“I swear by the gods.” Words he hoped he could live by.

“Thank you, Brother Widogast, for everything you’ve done. You are pure-hearted, a good man, a true servant of the gods. I will not forget your kindness.”

And then she, the captain of the boat, and the boat were gone.

I swear, young Moibeal, you shall be safe here until you’re full-grown.

He had no idea how horribly-wrong his thoughts would be.