The Author's Inkwell

In case it wasn’t apparent by the subject of this blog, I like to write. Characters, stories, all that jazz… and of course that love of writing had to come from somewhere. I’ve been an avid reader since I was tiny — I’d give more details, but my memory isn’t great from back then.

The point is, I used to devour books at a staggering pace. In high school that took a dip as my schedule filled up, but I still managed to read during most of my free time. But there’s the kicker — reading takes my free time. So does writing.

It’s strange having to pick between reading/experiencing stories and creating them myself, especially because of how tied together they are. Reading inspires my writing, and writing makes me remember all the incredible stories that led me to this hobby in the first place. Truly an impossible cycle to escape from.

It can be difficult sometimes to make the two work in tandem, but it’s very rewarding when it works out. Sometimes I’ll find a book that corresponds perfectly to a project that I’m working on, and I’ll keep myself motivated and interested in continuing writing — something that any writer can attest is a challenge from time to time.

More commonly, I’ll choose reading a story (new or old) over writing, and then write in huge bursts and have major progress scattered over long periods of time. Definitely not ideal, but it’s still getting the writing done.

There’s always an interesting factor in reading and writing out of order. If I’ve read a book before, I’m very likely to search out specific scenes to reread. If I’m stuck on writing a specific scene, I’ll jump ahead to a scene I already have planned out and write that instead — while it won’t fix my issues with the current spot, it will guarantee progress instead of stagnation.

The two hobbies are so closely tied that a habit developed in one flows into the other quite quickly. For instance, I tend to read the most at night while curled up in my bed — and I’ve found that I do my best writing at the same time in the same place.

I’m rambling now, but I think the point I wanted to make was that I don’t have enough time to both read and write anymore, which is a shame because of all the fun interactions the two hobbies have with each other. I don’t know the best way to balance the both of them at present with my current limitations, and I’m very much open to suggestions.

Everybody knows the character of the Reluctant Hero, the person who didn’t want anything to do with all this hero business but ended up along for the ride due to one or another reason. We see these characters across every genre, popping up in action movies (John McClane in Die Hard), science-fiction (Ellen Ripley from Alien), fantasy (Frodo Baggins from Lord of the Rings), dystopian fiction (Katniss Everdeen from The Hunger Games), and even comedies (Deadpool from… Deadpool).

All the trope really requires is that there be a hero or heroes, and that those heroes don’t want to go out adventuring to save the world. They’d much rather stay in their existing lives and live as they had already been living, but are forced to go out into the world and fight X to find Y so they can save Z. There are some deviations to this cliché and the stories around it, but the essence remains the same. It’s a trope, and while opinions on it vary the reluctant hero usually becomes a fan favorite.

There could be any number of reasons that somebody relates to being a reluctant hero or any number of fun scenes that could make them memorable. The important thing is that the writer uses the positives of this trope, at least enough for the pros to outweigh the cons. On to those!

Pros:

– The hero is instantly relatable (who hasn’t wanted to stay home and eat chips instead of doing something harrowing?)

– Built in moments of comic relief (they really don’t want to be there, and they can’t believe they have to deal with such obvious bullshit)

– Drama! (why did they want to stay home? What finally drove them out? Is there something or someone waiting for them when they return?)

– Flexibility (when using the Reluctant Hero as a base, there are nearly endless possibilities for the rest of the character. See the above examples of reluctant heroes, and consider how different each character and story is)

Cons:

– Very common (harder to keep the character interesting when it’s such a common base)

– Might not make sense (why would somebody not want to go on an adventure in a world of swords and sorcery? It takes extra in-world convincing)

– Flexibility (the Reluctant Hero being a universal base is also a drawback; there’s very little to go off of just from there)

In conclusion, the Reluctant Hero is a fun base to use for characters, one that proves both popular and rather common. It takes some difficulty to differentiate itself, but if that can be done, the character will almost invariably become a fan favorite.

Who exactly is the Joker? Obviously he’s the clown prince of Gotham, Batman’s arch-nemesis, and one of, if not the, most famous supervillains of all time. But the question still stands, who in the world is he?

The versions (not to mention origins) of the Joker are many, as is inevitable for comic book characters. Among fans, there are constant debates and quibbles about which is the ‘definitive’ version, which is the best interpretation, and there are always several frontrunners for the position — Mark Hamill’s portrayal of the Joker in “Batman: The Animated Series(1992-1995)”, Heath Ledger’s portrayal in “The Dark Knight(2008)”, Jack Nicholson’s portrayal in “Batman(1989)” and more recently Joaquin Phoenix’s portrayal in “Joker(2019)”.

All of these characters have interesting distinctions, but I think one stands well above the others. In Christopher Nolan’s “The Dark Knight”, the Joker is a thoroughly evil anarchist, someone who doesn’t play by anybody’s rules, especially not his own. His presence adds both horror and comedy to every scene, and his bizarre crime streak and ruthless ingenuity is… unsettling, to say the least.

The movie opens on a bank robbery, where the robbers turn on and kill each other one by one, until the last man standing reveals himself as the Joker. This intro to insanity is the perfect way to demonstrate the entire rest of the movie — the Joker starts to spread his chaotic influence into every scene, and he stays directly involved in each subplot until the end of the movie. He even gets a lot of good guy blood on his hands, something that never happens in these kinds of movies. This type of villain creates an aura of fear and loathing, yet is so uniquely intriguing that one has to wonder why he has such a draw.

Of course, Heath Ledger himself is responsible for much of this Joker’s success. This actor is still the only person in history to receive a posthumous Oscar for a supporting role, one that was well deserved for this performance. His manic energy and unique tone, not to mention his terrifying laugh, all build up an incredible character, fully mired in mystery.

In the end, as incredible as his writing, character, and acting are, the strongest element that this Joker has to offer is his mystery. He is exclusively a man that wants to watch the world burn, someone whose past doesn’t matter, someone who exists as a perfect, one-dimensional villain. He exists only to be chaos, and exemplifies it perfectly.

Charles here. So, I’ve basically just been throwing characters and stories on this blog so far, and so I thought I’d do something different for the Halloween season — I’m gonna make an extra post on Halloween, decided by y’all. Just seemed like it might be a fun way to reach out and be interactive and less static than I’ve been.

Here’s the options I’ve thought of so far:

1. Write an original horror movie villain as a Character Profile
2. Write a short story (way shorter than the last one, though) about a small town and the supernatural secrets about
3. Write an analysis of Alien (1979) and the impact it had on both the Sci-Fi and Horror genres
4. Create some kind of original monster for the Fantasy genre (Kinda similar to option 1, but hey)

Anyways, that’s what I have so far. If you like any of these, please vote in the comments down below, and if you have anything specific that you’d want to see me write instead, just let me know. Also, if you have any questions or specifics, feel free to ask or let me know — it’s a small classroom.

DISCLAIMER: This short story is a much longer post than you’ve signed up for, so please feel free to look at last week’s post instead — since there’s been no other opportunity to see that one. If, however, you want to read this whole thing, I salute you.

Genre: Horror Fiction

Length: 2,053 words

Dusk had begun in Mycenaean Greece, in a time when the Bronze Age was still underway. The mortals Andrea and Erasmus were lovers in lands that would later be named Athens, and despite their lack of religious devotion, they found themselves intrigued by the Cult of Dionysus. Living past the fringes of society, the cult practised esoteric rituals for their God involving the Dionysian aspects of rebirth, madness, and wine. Often it was the wine that attracted the most followers, Andrea and Erasmus being no exceptions.

It was a cold night when a tall, bearded man came to their door. They had met him before, having shared an amiable dinner together. For their pleasant conversation, the man had promised to lead the couple to the next ceremony of the Dionysian Cult.

“Is it tonight?” Andrea asked concernedly. “Aren’t you afraid you’ll all freeze with such poor weather?”

“Of course tonight, when wine and dance will keep us warm,” replied the bearded man, his voice rich. He extended a hand for them to take, which Erasmus did immediately. Andrea hesitated—what was this man’s name again?—but followed suit. With a smile, the bearded man pulled them along.

In far too little time, the three were walking on a dirt path through a dense forest. The fog of the night seemed to follow them, never blocking their way but quickly filling in their footsteps. Andrea took notice of this and tried to stop to tell Erasmus, only to find her hand held fast by the bearded man.

“We should stop.” Andrea said. “Something doesn’t feel right.”

When Erasmus and the bearded man ignored her, she tried again to get out of the vice-like grip that held her.

“Let go of me, we have to stop! Something’s wrong!” Andrea cried out. The bearded man increased the pace that he led them by.

“No time to stop, or we’ll miss the ceremony—and we’ve come too far to turn back now,” he said with a hint of what could have been either excitement or anger. Andrea was still nervous and looked to Erasmus, who seemed mute. More than that, something seemed wrong with his eyes. Andrea struggled, but couldn’t get a closer look before the three emerged on a hilltop that looked down on a clearing ringed by tall trees and unnaturally free of fog.

“We’re here,” the bearded man said, pointing to the center of the clearing. There danced near a hundred people, each moving erratically and ignoring the sourceless music. Andrea tried to escape the unnerving scene, but when she struggled against the bearded man she was thrown down the hill with incredible force.

Erasmus stayed silently at the bearded man’s side, descending the hill with him. A big smile was on his face, and his odd eyes fell past Andrea, looking to the dancers. His partner ran to him.

“Why aren’t you terrified?” Andrea cried to him. “What’s going -”

Erasmus turned quickly to his partner and looked her directly in the eye. Andrea stepped back in shock as she realized what she had seen before. Deep purple had seeped into the corners of Erasmus’ eyes, and his irises had dulled from baby blue to grey.

“Join me, dear,” Erasmus said, starting to run down the hill. “Let’s dance together, like when we first met.”

Andrea stepped back, realizing that the bearded man had disappeared. Looking around herself, she was terrified to discover that the fog in the forests had thickened to the point that it seemed solid, as if it was impassable. Andrea felt her jaw drop, and the light seemed dim around her as her pupils dilated from fear. She wanted to run away from everything, but couldn’t bring herself to move.

“Andrea! Join me!” Erasmus yelled as he entered the dancing throng. He tried to leap and move in rhythm with those around him, but was knocked around by the other bodies. The group twisted and spun, and as nimble as Erasmus was he could not hope to keep up with them, to understand what insane pattern they followed.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” The bearded man asked him. He had appeared out of thin air, and watched the struggling Erasmus as more and more people crashed into him, keeping him hurt and off-balance.

“It is…” Erasmus began as a strange sadness seemed to overcome him. “But why can’t I follow them?”

“You cannot follow them until you understand the truth of the Gods,” the bearded man said. His arms outstretched and his hands gently rested on Erasmus’ cheeks. Erasmus looked up at the bearded man in wonder, realizing that the dancers had parted around them both.

Andrea was running now, running towards Erasmus with tears in her eyes. She had no idea what was going on, but felt like she had to stop the bearded man from doing to Erasmus what had been done to the dancers.

The bearded man glanced dismissively at Andrea and flicked his head in the woman’s direction. The dancers immediately shuddered, and started to gather around their bearded master. Their movements became aggressive, and Andrea found herself shoved to the ground, kicked about and spirited away from her lover.

“Let me show you the truth,” the bearded man said. Erasmus smiled again and nodded eagerly.

Andrea turned her eyes up to her attackers, none of whom had stopped dancing and none of whom seemed to pay him any attention. It was a terrible moment when she noticed that each of their necks sported a dark purple bruise, and it was with utter dread that she turned her eyes back to her lover.

The bearded man placed the palm of his hand flat against Erasmus’ neck. He smiled and nodded to the enchanted man before jerking his arms in opposite directions. Erasmus watched the bearded man in front of him and curiously noted the ethereal horns curving behind his new friend’s head. Then all feeling stopped past the snap of his own neck.

Andrea screamed in horror as Erasmus fell limp in the arms of the bearded man, who caught the corpse carefully. Laying the body down, the bearded man pressed his forehead against that of the late Erasmus.

Andrea tried again to reach her partner, and this time found her way unobstructed by the dancers. They had slowed their dance to a crawl, and were all staring at Erasmus’ body. Had Andrea checked their gazes, she would have seen that the entirety of their eyes were dark purple.

Just as he reached the bearded man, Erasmus jerked back to life. The revived man gave an unnatural cry of despair. He writhed in the bearded man’s arms, who rocked him and soothed him.

“Now you know the truth,” cooed the bearded man, who turned his head to regard Andrea. The dancers returned to their frenzied pace, though now a rotation of them circled Andrea, closing her off and pushing her away from the two men in the center of the clearing.

Erasmus shook with hopeless sobs, and the bearded man nodded in a dreadful understanding. “Would you like to forget it now?”

“Yes!” Erasmus whispered, his tone desperate. The bearded man smiled terribly and raised his hand, where a cup of wine appeared.

“Then drink deeply, child,” the bearded man said as he cradled Erasmus and brought the cup to the undead man’s lips.

“Don’t! Get away from him!” Andrea cried out. She was being battered by the mad dance, and could feel every muscle in her body shrieking for her to run off.

Erasmus turned his head towards Andrea. His eyes seemed to pulse with dark purple veins and contained a pain beyond reckoning.

“You can’t understand,” Erasmus said before taking the offered wine and draining it. Andrea watched her lover’s eyes flood with a deep purple. Then the rest of Erasmus’s body rose and seamlessly joined the dance.

The bearded man walked towards Andrea, and again the dancers parted for him. Andrea tried to find Erasmus’ face, but it was lost in the tide of bodies. Then her eyes found those of the bearded man, and saw something new and terrible. In a shuddering moment, Andrea realized that she did not look into mortal eyes.

“I am saddened by your reluctance,” Dionysus said disapprovingly. “I will let you leave here – but first, let me show you the truth.”

Andrea tried to scramble and crawl away, but was thrown back towards the god, repelled by the dancers. She felt Dionysus’ hand on her neck before a jolt of pain made everything dark.

There was darkness for some matter of time. Then Andrea saw a single pinprick of light. She felt that she could walk towards it, and did so. It slowly got bigger.

This can’t be death. Andrea thought to herself, panicked. There is no River Styx to bear me to the underworld…

The light was soon taking definition. A pair of arms and legs sprouted from the image, as well as a head.

This can’t be death. Andrea attempted to reassure herself, her pulse hard enough to hurt. There are no other souls around me.

If it had been human, the light would have started to show features at this size. It remained perfectly smooth, with no hair, no face, hands that had no fingers…

This can’t be death. Andrea cried internally, her voice not coming forward. Her heart was more than in her ears, it seemed to shake her entire body. Where are the judges to bear me to the afterlife?

The light now reached its deformed hands to Andrea, who couldn’t stop approaching it. Silently fingers sprouted from the stumps, and the light seemed ready to embrace her. As Andrea came within a few steps of the light, she became aware of a burning pain from where she faced it. She wanted to stop walking towards the thing, whatever it was, and the unbearable heat that it radiated.

This can’t be death. Andrea whimpered. I don’t want to die.

She felt a strong hand on her shoulder and was pulled backwards. The light faded and became distant again, before it disappeared.

Andrea gasped in shock as she was suddenly placed back in her mortal body. Her neck ached with pain, but she was alive. Dionysus was looking down at her, the god’s hair wilder than before and with horns curled across his ears.

“Now you know the truth,” Dionysus said, and he was right. Deep in Andrea’s mind, she had realized something; that she really had been dead, and that what she had seen was the afterlife that awaited her. A wave of fresh, existential agony wracked through her as she realized that nothing she thought she knew of death was true. The confidence that her faith had given her was shattered, and tears rolled from her eyes for the dream she had lost.

“Would you like to forget it now?” Dionysus asked her, cup of wine in hand. Andrea scrambled to her feet, desperate to get away from whatever approached her.

“What are you?” Andrea asked, traumatized by the experience and furious at the thing which had sparked it.

“You must know that I am Dionysus,” came the reply. “Though I am not something you could truly call a god.”

“How do I get out of here?!” Andrea shouted back. She was too scattered to think, too broken by the lifted ignorance.

“If you so desire, just walk away,” Dionysus said. “But you won’t forget what you saw here. The truth will be with you in every step. The truth will haunt you until you age and die, and perhaps it will follow you longer.”

He was right, of course. Andrea closed her eyes and despaired. The thing of light was burned behind her eyelids, bright as ever.

“Can you live like that?” Dionysus asked cruelly. “Or will you join me?”

“Please…” Andrea muttered, collapsing. “Let me forget.”

Dionysus smiled and appeared next to Andrea. He propped the cup of wine to the broken woman’s lips. Andrea hesitated again, looking into the maelstrom of dancers. There she saw no dread, no terror… she saw a fearless, painless eternity promised in the deep purple of the Meanid’s gaze. She took the cup and drank deeply, eager to close her mortal eyes.

Genre: Superhero / Dramatic Comedy Species: Mutant Humans Alignments: Various Good

Members: Shard, Martyr, Vetala, and Kineticist 

Group Backstory: In every piece of Superhero media, there exists an A-Team of incredibly strong heroes, all possessing amazing superpowers or godlike abilities. This includes the Justice League, the Avengers, e.t.c… 

There are also usually a few B-Teams, teams with powerful heroes that have useful abilities but lack the ability to fight extinction-level threats. B-Teams would be the X-Men, the Defenders, the Teen Titans, so on and so forth, and they specialize in threats to entire cities and (rarely) entire states.

However, there’s another side of superhero societies that rarely gets the spotlight. These are the C-Teams. For every hero that’s born with Superman’s infinite power, there are a hundred other people born with an ability that’s worth next to nothing without proper training. Should they choose to become heroes, those less-fortunate mutants must join a C-Team, each sponsored by a member of a superhero A-Team. This is the 24th such team to exist.

Each C-Team hero fills a role in the party. They each have a distinct power with a distinct drawback, and all of them have been given gadgets to help diminish the detrimental effects of their drawbacks.

Martyr (Assigned Leader)

Name/Role: Jeremiah Peck is ‘Martyr’, the veteran member of C-Team #24 and the person that the A-Team assigned to be #24’s team leader. Despite this, he mostly just does what the group recommends, preferring to take the roles of ‘The Big Guy’ and ‘The Heart’.

Power: Martyr is able to create barriers in a wide range, each capable of stopping bullets and quite impenetrable.

Drawback: He feels all the pain of each attack that he blocks, regardless of distance. This means that he’s incredible in hand-to-hand combat, but if he has to block bullets he’s going to faint from shock.

Countermeasure: Martyr has adrenaline shots built into his suit that he can activate at a moment’s notice, enabling him to stay in the fight for longer.

Vetala (Actual Leader)

Name/Role: Aditi Laghara is ‘Vetala’, the actual ‘Leader’ and strategist of C-Team #24. She mostly avoids combat, preferring to handle the administrative sides of superheroing — the C-Team doesn’t get the same pass that the A and B Teams do, and have far more bureaucracy to deal with.

Power: Vetala has wings and incredibly precise eyesight.

Drawback: Vetala can only fly because her bones are hollow like a bird’s, and her eyesight is greatly impaired by the brightness of the sun.

Countermeasures: Sunglasses and heavy padding on her superhero tracksuit (also, trying real hard not to get punched).

Shard (Upstart)

Name/Role: Maggie Walters is ‘Shard’, the ‘Lancer’ of the group. She has the strongest combat capabilities in the group, but lacks the experience and temperament to be the leader.

Power: Shard can shoot (get this) shards from her palms. She also has a powerful healing factor.

Drawback: The healing factor only works while she’s asleep, meaning a quick nap will fix her up, but she won’t recover while fighting. This is problematic, as the shards she can fire are made from her literal blood, sweat, and tears, meaning she becomes dehydrated and exhausted very quickly if she overuses her power.

Countermeasure: Gatorade, lots of it. Also an armband that can intravenously rejuvenate her so that she doesn’t die of blood loss.

Kineticist (Doesn’t Really Want to Be Here)

Name/Role: Nick Russo is the ‘Kineticist’. A high achieving engineering student at a prestigious city college, he was talked into joining C-Team #24 to fulfill several Gen-Ed requirements. The De Facto ‘Smart Guy’ of the group, he designs all of C-Team #24’s countermeasures and assorted gear.

Power: Kineticist (just call him ‘Nick’) unconsciously stockpiles energy every time he moves, thinks, talks… anything that expends energy. He can release this stockpiled energy at any time through concentrated beams.

Drawback: Nick has to use all of the stockpiled power whenever he chooses to expend it, he can’t use little bits followed by large bursts, it’s all-or-nothing.

Countermeasure: As the team’s designer, Nick has spent most of his time focusing on the other members of the team, and only thought to invest in a 5-Hour Energy for himself.

Genre: Adventure / Fantasy Species: Human Alignment: Chaotic Neutral

Physical Description: A somewhat short woman, her stocky build displays her incredible athleticism. By looks, her age could reasonably be anywhere from twenty to fifty. Her coarse black hair is braided and dreaded close to her head, and her skin is a very dark brown, nearing jet black. Her eyes are incredibly intelligent, but also somewhat unsettling. There are many scars across her body, but all have faded to be almost imperceptible.

Attire: A mercenary by trade, she wears a dull grey chainmail hauberk over simple cloth. Her arms and legs are covered by hide bracers, and she wears a short-brimmed bronze helmet. A wooden bow is strapped to her back, engraved in all manner of odd magic runes — it’s enchanted to fire illusory arrows should she run out of (or need to conserve) ammunition, as a way to keep hostiles at a distance. A bronze khopesh sword swings at her left side, and a studded leather shield is on her right.

Backstory: Karda was born in the territory of lands that would later be known as the Ghabudai Empire. Growing up with a mastery of the magic all humans are born with, she became a powerful shamaness inside her own community before expanding her reach beyond it. It was sometime after she turned fifty that she realized her own mortality — after all, in such times people barely expected to make it past thirty.

Terrified of death, Karda assembled her most devout acolytes and began a harrowing ritual, intending to become immortal. Nothing could have stopped her, not even the innocent lives that she took in the process of accomplishing her goal. Heroes assembled, trying to stop the ascension of an evil Empress. They all fell before her, but not without crippling the spell she had been weaving for her immortality.

A burst of energy went forward, wiping out any nearby life, and Karda fell unconscious. She woke far younger than she had been, and used her new youth to found the Ghabudai’s Empire. Soon after, she noticed that she was aging normally…

When she found herself becoming infirm again, she spent a year experimenting with magic that could reactivate the spell and return her youth — and she did. Using this method every thirty years or so, Karda was able to rule the Ghabudai Empire for over two centuries. Unfortunately for her, a human mind is not meant to hold two centuries of knowledge, it simply can’t. Slowly her madness overtook her, until a coup was organized against her reign and she was ousted from her own Empire. 

Karda spent a full century wandering the world in madness, until she learned of a spell component that could restore her sanity — though it also stole the majority of her memories. Now sane, Karda returned to her home, only to find her Empire razed and replaced by the Hamenatoan Theocracy, worshippers of a god she had never even heard of before.

Now four-hundred years old and without a home, Karda uses the countless talents and abilities she gained over the years to be a perfect mercenary, known by many monikers — though “The Moth” has always been her favorite. Though she is currently content to remain as a sword-for-hire, her old aspirations of true immortality never fully died out. As she lives, and grows, and learns, and forgets, Karda continues to amass power and wealth. One day the ruler will return, but whether she will be the Evil Empress of past times or a new Paragon Queen is still for the world to see.

Genre: Science-Fiction Species: Cyborg (Human) Alignment: Lawful Good

Physical Description: A tall, older man, likely in his 50’s — though his gray head of thinning hair might easily cause overestimations. His face is thin and his frame is skinny, though his long white coat stretches unnaturally around his midsection. This visual disparity is caused by the blocky mechanical organs that replace the front of his chest and stomach, as well as everything once contained within. Dearly’s left leg is also mechanical, a crude patchwork of parts painted bronze, and both of his eye sockets are occupied by simple cybernetics that resemble camera shutters. 

Attire: Aside from his lab coat, the doctor wears a heeled black boot on his right leg (to compensate for the added length of the left), one of a wide collection of polo shirts, and long khaki pants. He has a very complicated and highly technical bracelet on his left arm — a multi-purpose medical apparatus.

Backstory: 

Doctor Hibbs Dearly isn’t an actual doctor, at least not in the literal sense. He never went to medical school, and he never had a formal education. Instead of spending his childhood studying, Dr. Dearly spent his time pulling bullets out of gangsters and stitching up anarchists on the streets of the Duat slums.

Duat was similar to most other planets that bordered the civilized universe — smaller than Earth and mostly uninhabitable. There was only one continent that could support a colony, with a landmass just cresting over three million square miles. If you were one of the privileged few on Duat, you lived a life of power and luxury among the Cult of Osiris, the theocratic government of the planet. If you were anything lower than that, you lived on the streets.

Pockets of civilization formed in the anarchism, bubbles created by great people who were always replaced by warlords and khans. Hibbs was born into one of these pockets and sold to a warlord — there he was apprenticed to the other untrained medical staff that were trying their hardest to combat the rampant disease, madness, and carnage that washed through their doors, all with no idea how.

Dr. Dearly was a prodigy among them, learning quickly and rising through the ranks even faster. After turning thirty, he had treated hundreds of Khan Torley’s subjects and lost only eighteen of them. He was at the height of his career then, eking out a better living than he could have ever hoped for. It was when his khan’s son had a motor accident that his life would take a sharp turn.

The khan’s son was an impossible case, but Dr. Dearly worked diligently anyways, trying everything he could. After all, he had worked miracles before, anything was possible…

When the khan’s son inevitably died, Dearly was dismissed from service — but not before Khan Torley took reparations from the good doctor. Nineteen parts for nineteen patients, his eyes, his leg, and most things inside. Wandering the streets of Duat with a mutilated body and crude cybernetics, Dearly began to hope to die.

Before that wish could be fulfilled, he was picked up by a refugee ship, the NJS (No Jurisdiction Ship) Notre Dame, where he currently serves as the head medical officer — a valuable, if unlikely addition to the crew.

Greetings and salutations! I’m Charles Cote, an aspiring fiction writer. While I considered writing short stories for this blog, I realized that my standard length for those stories is about 4 times the expected submission. As a result, instead of writing whole short stories, I’ll be flexing my author muscles in a different way — I’ll be creating a new original character for each post, complete with a physical description, a quick (no promises) backstory, and the types of stories that they might appear in. Here’s hoping that it works out and y’all enjoy it!