Development Update: Never Easy

Good evening!

Hope your life’s adventures are going well. We’ll be continuing where we left off last section from Ni’ala’s POV. As I iterated in my previous post’s introduction, this chapter is one I’m still not entirely satisfied with its pace nor the emotional payoff that Ni’ala has. But the groundwork is there, and I’m eager to see what feedback can be offered by those of you who are willing to provide it.

I’ve been having to do a lot of thinking these past couple weeks. A writer’s life is never an easy one. You have to battle with many things: Time, the elements, technology, sleep, motivation, inspiration…these and many others are just an inkling of everything that battles in every creative individual’s mindset. But a writer’s work is never truly finished.

I think I might be doing a bit of a revamp over my philosophy for how I approach my writing. I can’t simply write when I’m motivated, because with the transition to the new day job I’ve been working at, a lot of my energy is taxed. I have to be mindful of what days and nights I choose to write, for if I overcommit myself I know I will burn out. It’s a surprisingly delicate balance that has to be managed.

And it works differently for everyone, but I believe I am simply overthinking a lot for this being a first draft…In the end, I believe that I just need to start…well, just writing. It sounds stupid, I know. But it’s the same philosophy many college students have when they see the dreaded “Blinking Cursor of Death” for the beginning of their essays. Getting something on the page so I have something to work with. Right now, I think that this is the only way I can make meaningful progress. It’s harder than it seems, but I think the main reason for my slowdowns have been from the constant editing and re-editing that I do to myself when in the end…I’m probably going to have to scrap half of the first draft anywho; so, like a band-aid, might as well rip it off now while it’s still fresh.

That being said, with that small little diversion out of the way, this is the second half of the previous chapter. It may not be perfect, but that’s okay. I’ve kind of learned to accept that at this point. I’ve got a decent schedule that I’ll be keeping myself on so that way at least a couple times a week I can show I’ve made meaningful progress. Next post will be taking a look at my current workings with scenes between Linnet, Trenton, and the newest cast member, Bree. Until next time, cheers!

-J.K. Denny

_{Featured image found under DeviantArt by KerriAitken}

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Ni’ala, Nerosh, and Eroval’s group of Elves arrive on the borders of Sylvania when it nears midday. A cool breeze flutters through the dense forestlands, a sign Ni’ala knew that the same storm she felt earlier would approach for the coming nightfall. Nerosh trudged by while close to Ni’ala. His emotions are palpable to her through his stiff walk and through each of the individual hair strands of his fur standing upright. She knew that he remembered all too well what it meant to be taken by unfamiliar strangers. Even as one would think that all Elves would be appreciative of Woodland creatures, both races felt foreign to the Druid and the bear alike. 

Every step that Ni’ala took, she felt a sense of unease being so close to her original heritage home. She remembered very little from here. The Druid only knew that she was born here, before being taken away at two years to her proper home in the Order. She had no recollection of any other family aside from Aelneas and Feralador, even Tyradel to an extent. Whether her mother was originally from the Woodland Realms, this was never confirmed by her father. He was always evasive on the topic, and to this day Ni’ala will probably never know the origin or fate of her mother. Ni’ala did always resonate a bit more naturally with the Wood Elves, but it seemed more reasonable to expect this was from her natural connection with the Earth Mother, akin to them. 

After a few moments, the vegetation truly coalesces into a form that engulfs their passage. Upon looking back, Ni’ala finds that the surroundings have entirely obscured what trail was left behind her. She senses Nerosh’s muscles tense upon feeling the same concern. A ward or trigger of some sort seems to have stopped them from returning down their original path—not like they have a choice in the matter based on how they’ve been treated through Wood Elven hospitality. 

As far as that hospitality is concerned, the Elven company aside from Eroval himself have their weapons still aimed at herself and Nerosh as they make their way up a wooden ramp toward a lit elevator. From this angle, the city itself seemed to expand a thousandfold across a weaving of the forestline. Cottages and houses rest into the very trees as a foundation, some even hanging by hewn vines and rope. The elegant shops and stables and farms that maintain the inner workings behind the capital city of the Woodland Realms dot the platforms. Thin twine bridges connect these structures between one another, which carried various animals, Elven civilians, soldiers, and trade goods. Even the intricate elevators that Ni’ala was about to board could be seen gliding and swinging across multiple platforms with surprising ease. Glowing insectoid Trendites and avian Caranals that carried magical light sources illuminate the entire forestry, the light seeming to bounce off the tree columns holding up the structures. In this city, the very air that carried the western wind fluttered in such a soothing presence, the Earth Mother herself seeming to grace a portion of her strength through these halls. 

As the group step onto the massive elevator in close quarters, the Elven patrol guards in one fluid motion simultaneously nock their bows, stow the arrows in their quivers, and draw their longswords all primed toward Ni’ala and Nerosh. She could feel the very metal tinge against her skin. Their distrust of her was quite perplexing, but not entirely unjustified since she has never been inside the city recently. She might as well be an outsider even when she shared similar racial features. But Elven memory even overshadows Dwarven memory in many aspects, and community is not easily forgotten. Seeing another of your own race, but not recognizing them as one from your own area, sets of many alarms, especially due to the civil war ensuring that even one of your own kin could not be entirely trusted. 

The elevator thrusts itself from the ground in one fluid yet unnatural motion. Its ropes strained from the number of bodies, but did not seem to buckle even in the slightest pinch. Ni’ala grabs the wooden railing while the rest of the soldiers adjusted to accommodate her movement and ensure she is still equal length away from every swordarm. Nerosh, completely uncomfortable from the lack of support, had his forepaws clenched onto the edge as the elevator swung wildly. Meanwhile, the rest of the Elven patrol guards had steady footing with the motion. Eroval is unphased, even compared to the rest of his compatriots, his body completely motionless to the elevator’s movement. As the elevator swung higher, Ni’ala nearly lost footing from the sudden movements until one of the guards grabbed her cloak with an unarmed but heavy chainmail gauntlet and hoisted her in one instantaneous act back on. The guard very quickly thereafter let go, being very clear on intent to not handle her with any sensitivity. She took one hand to caress the bruised bicep while still having a very firm grasp on the railing to ensure she did not fall again. It would be much easier if she had her staff with her, or being able to change shape into a Glendhawk, but obviously this would lead to her identity being revealed and most likely her demise. Elven aim is not to be underestimated even in these dense woods.

The elevator after a massive motion finally moves to a platform that connects to a massive central, illuminated trunk that dominates the stature and size of the rest of the settlement. By Ni’ala’s guess, this is most likely the settlement proper for the capital. Decorations and even the guards themselves answered this even more clearly, as the lighting here was so bright and vibrant that this portion itself seemed to illuminate the entire forest. Wreaths and vines hung to and fro above a paved wooden trail led straight into the trunk itself. Along the trail, hundreds of royal guards stand stoic with heavily plated golden armor, halberds, and oaken shields. Ni’ala could even see Rangers along the higher vines and treetops lying in wait with silvered bows aimed at them. As far as protection goes, even a Horde of Trolgron would hardly be able to penetrate these defenses with even this few number of guards on the trail. 

The distrust of the Elven people is much more evident when she begins passing some of the civilians. While the rest of the guards on both sides of the path were motionless, the civilians actively would turn away, stare in disgust, or even turn children’s eyes from an outsider. To them she seemed so foreign, despite being an Elf at origin. And she couldn’t blame them, for the idea of community is different for Elves as time is needed to set a proper foundation…she just never had the chance to establish that relationship with them. Perhaps she never will, given her chances that she probably has against trespassing. 

The Druid finally reaches an ornate opening into the trunk which expands much further inside than what would appear looking from any other angle. The throne room itself is quite beautiful in design, with a serene waterfall trickling on one end pettered with leaf petals touching the water’s surface, and a marble sculpture of what appears to be corpses of Goblins and Trolgron piled on one another, with a statue of an Elven Ranger atop the mass. Both striking in their own rights, but the most important feature would be the throne room itself with its Glade Lord astride a throne of brambles and thorns. His age still does not show—even in Elven years, he could be anywhere from six hundred to seven hundred years of age. The Glade Lord’s crown shared the same material and appearance as the very throne he sat on. His hair had impeccable length and tone to its crimson sheen, and his body is still as lean as if he were in his hundreds. Verdant markings streaked across his narrow eyes and nose, with every stroke signifying evidence of warpaint in its savage portrayal. Even as the highest among the members of the Wood Elves, very little in his appearance signified royalty or reverence. The only true thing to revere about this Elf was his devotion embracing everything wild about the Wood Elven people. 

Resting beside him, a massive gray-coated Wulf sat at the foot of the throne, his watchful eyes never leaving their gaze upon Nerosh. The patrol brings the Druid before the Glade Lord’s feet and forms a semicircle around her, with the exception of Eroval who steps forth ahead of Ni’ala and Nerosh and kneels before the Elven Glade Lord. 

“Father,” Eroval says, “we were patrolling the eastern borders of the Realm when we came across these two trespassers. They claim to have only been passing by, but were traveling in a northerly direction near the capital itself. The bonded animal companion was particularly aggressive, but otherwise they did not have hostile intent, as far as I could glean. The woman wears garbs that are similar to that our Ranger initiates would wear, but this one has not been seen or recognized at all by any of our citizens. I leave it to you, Your Grace, on their fate.”

With a simple motion of the hand, Glade Lord Torand gestures for Eroval to stand. The Wood Elven Glade Keeper promptly does so, standing aside at the foot of the throne. With an intense call that Eroval echoes to the rest of the patrol guards, “Hala män!”, they sheath their swords simultaneously and remain in their positions. The Glade Lord, still having said nothing across this entire stretch of time, stands from his seat and steps down. His Wulf as well immediately rises into a low crouch and growls at the bear. Nerosh is seemingly unphased by the creature, and Ni’ala could even swear that he heard the bear hide a chuckle. Glade Lord Torand approaches Ni’ala, in a fashion that could only closely resemble selfish and haughty. He spoke, with a brisk and sharp tongue.

“See…we do not take kindly to strangers. Even those that look like us…which you do to a surprising degree, and yet, something is telling me that you are not from here. What makes you think…that you can simply come through Elianis unannounced? This is sacred land that you tread upon!” He now stands inches from her face, towering over even her height. “You look like us, yet I do not even know your face. Do you not know the troubles we face as a people?”

“Yes,” Ni’ala replies, her voice refusing to be intimidated, “I know the pain that has come between Elvenkind. So much loss you all have endured for little gain—”

“And yet you speak so foreign as if you belong to neither us nor the Chi’talmachi! Who are you?”

The Glade Lord’s agitation is apparent, no voice nor sound stirs. The very air itself stilled before them. Ni’ala let the silence settle before saying more.

“I am known as Ni’ala. I was…born here once, a long while ago, when both Wood Elf and High Elf were banded as one. I was taken away long before even my own memory serves. I do not even remember my own mother’s face. But I am not here for remembrance, and I do wish that I could help solve what disputes you have with your High Elven brethren, but my current mission is that of great dire need. The longer I delay, the sooner that our time will run short before we can make use of the knowledge we own. It is vital that we make haste toward Breiner, the Halfling lands, before the next tenday.”

The Glade Lord backs two steps before drawing his own blade. The curvature in its design is unlike any other weapon Ni’ala has ever seen, with bends and slits that give the sword both dimension and precision unrivaled. She can feel the very tinges of magic float about the blade, filling the very room about them with both peace and dread. Her neck flinches just a bit as the blade comes into contact right below her jaw.

“And…” Glade Lord Torand relishes, “why shouldn’t I just gut you where you stand for infringement and denial of true intent?”

Before Glade Lord Torand can allow the chance for his own question to be answered, they are interrupted by the sound of frantic footsteps blundering through the hall behind her. The Glade Lord lowers his blade, giving Ni’ala both a chance to breathe and a look at what thankfully spared her. Another smaller Elf riding an elk exaggerates his voice to be overheard through the entire room.

“Chi’talmachi, Your Grace! They have sent patrols around the western border past Fadra. Numbering at least four hundred!”

“Those are not patrols.” Glade Lord Torand grinds. “Those are messages. Messages sent through a war party. I will deal with this myself, to send a message of our own.” He raises another hand toward the side of the room near the waterfall, where another Elf guard grabs his bow and shoots an arrow into the open chamber above. It whistles across the entire room, so loud that it seemed to cut through the very air itself. After a short *thunk,* a horn outdoors bellows across the capital in response. The Glade Lord continues. “Hedaphar, contact the Ranger General and have her meet me with two hundred Rangers into contact with this force. Glamdrun, take the Lancers and circumvent them from Fadra to take the rear. Eroval, stay here and ensure that no other forces or *trespassers* enter the city boundaries on your watch. We ride!” 

Glade Lord Torand’s Wulf howls in response, and he mounts the massive creature as he rides out of the hall. The shuffle of hundreds of feet can be heard echoing along the wooden floor. Before long, Ni’ala and Nerosh are now left to the silence of the trickling waterfall, Eroval, and a dozen patrol guards. She presses her fingers up to her neck and feels a trickle of blood as the blade grazes a bit too close to her skin. Before she could even react, Eroval was already moving to her, holding a cloth forward.

As he uses the gauze on the wound, Eroval reluctantly says, “I apologize for my Father. I do not believe you deserve death for being in the wrong place. He can be brazen for his cause, but for many years now he has certainly become…blind…to the true threats. This city is never truly safe. And if what you say is true, then I fear that we have already delayed you far enough.”

With a click from his tongue, one of the patrol guards tosses Ni’ala’s staff over to him. Another guard steps forward, the same vocal thin Elf, and cries out against this.

“You cannot be serious, milord! She still has yet to be tried against the Glade Lord’s Court! Her and this beast have yet to prove anything?!”

By this point, he had begun to draw his sword once more, but Nerosh already had enough. He had turned to the Elf and his enormous paw smacked his weapon aside while biting down on the Elf’s thighs. The guard screamed in pain as the teeth sank deeper into the skin and growled a fierce but muffled roar. The rest of the guards immediately strung their bows, but Eroval called for them to settle their weapons. 

Eroval asks Ni’ala. “Do you mind?”

She did not even wait to respond to the Glade Keeper, as she calls out to the mighty bear, “Vulu phram!” and he instantly lets go of the guard’s leg. The Elf frantically crawls away from the bear as Nerosh lowers himself back to sitting on his rear end once more, never breaking eye contact. 

“That—tha—that THING—!”

“—is one you should not offend, nor retort against his friends.” Ni’ala finishes. She could even even hear Eroval chuckle a bit behind her. As she turns back to the Glade Keeper, she sees him holding out her staff in return. She gratefully takes it out of his hand and bows her head in respect. 

“The one thing,” the Glade Keeper says, “that I do know is that you are a special Elf. I also know that,” he turns over to the guard keeled over in a fetal position holding onto his leg, “as acting leader in the absence of the Glade Lord, I have the authority to say that she can leave. In this case, I am the acting Glade Lord’s Court, and you would do well to listen to those above you when they make decisions.” Finally turning back to Ni’ala, he takes a breath before continuing. “Go now, before my Father returns to know of your fate. Your only punishment is that you should not return near here under any circumstances. He will surely not hesitate to kill you if he finds you a second time, for it will be the last.”

Ni’ala thanked Glade Keeper Eroval once more before scratching Nerosh behind his ear. That time, she definitely heard the bear chuckle as they walk past the guards that hesitantly allow her passage out of the throne room. As they step out, Ni’ala turns to her companion and kneels down to him at face level.

“I cannot believe you, Nerosh. You could have gotten yourself killed, or far worse! You are far more reserved than that; even if it was justified, why attack him?”

“Hmph!” The bear gives a gruffly stifled moan. “He would’ve attacked you. Yes, I am reserved, but I am also protective of those I care for. And those that I truly care for are few and far between. My trust is not easily earned, dearest Ni’ala, but of any mortal on this Realm, you are the most deserving of it. You’ve saved my life, and it is only fair that I return the favor.”

Ni’ala grins at the thought of it all. The feeling of love…that is what Nerosh is trying to communicate. It has been too long since she has ever felt that kind of relationship impact, and it truly warmed Ni’ala’s heart when hearing those words. 

Nerosh speaks up. “Come now. We should take our leave before they change their minds on setting us free.”

“Agreed. We will circumvent west, then head north once more toward Breiner. We should be able to make it there before the next tenday despite having to take an alternate route.”

Amid the chaos of the settlement mobilizing for the instant war effort taking place, Ni’ala and Nerosh are able to surprisingly easily escape the city with no resistance. Sticking with not drawing attention, the Druid guides them toward a smaller unguarded elevator that could be lowered to the ground floor. Once down, she shuffles a ration from her pack into her hand, and nuzzles Nerosh’s chin before setting off once more.