Hello! My name's Obsidian; I do things with words sometimes.
I write short pieces and long pieces, as well as some poetry, in any tense and with any POV ("I speak" / "You speak" / "<name> speaks"); I'm also an English major, concentration in creative writing, so I have formal education in fiction writing as well. Examples of dragon bios can be found here and here in my lair, and excerpts of other pieces are below. If you want more examples, please feel free to PM me.
Poetry
Fiction
- - -
I write short pieces and long pieces, as well as some poetry, in any tense and with any POV ("I speak" / "You speak" / "<name> speaks"); I'm also an English major, concentration in creative writing, so I have formal education in fiction writing as well. Examples of dragon bios can be found here and here in my lair, and excerpts of other pieces are below. If you want more examples, please feel free to PM me.
Poetry
To call it a match made in heaven, or a match made in hell –
It would be inaccurate, for I am that great, endless void above
and she the vast expanse below –
but, oh, whatever may have drawn my gaze
to her, and hers to mine –
such a blessed curse.
I would not trade it for anything, and yet I long.
It would be inaccurate, for I am that great, endless void above
and she the vast expanse below –
but, oh, whatever may have drawn my gaze
to her, and hers to mine –
such a blessed curse.
I would not trade it for anything, and yet I long.
Fiction
It wasn’t quite like home, carpet and wood instead of smooth stone and tile, the air humming with magic, and no hunting trophies and weapons mounted on the walls, but it was enough like home to make them feel strangely nostalgic.
Home was not home, not quite; home had maybe been in quiet conversations with Zira, and home was maybe something like the camaraderie between this ragtag group they had found themselves traveling along with. But home, their father’s house, in their old city-state… it was where they had grown up. It was not a pleasant place, and yet-- and yet.
Rhire found themself wandering the estate, dressed in clothes far nicer than anything they had worn in the past several years, sometimes brushing fingers reverently against the smooth wood of a banister or pausing to admire the view from out the polished glass windows. They were frowning, though they weren’t much aware of it, their brow furrowed, their mind awhirl with thought.
Why was it that they missed the place they had done their best to leave behind them with such longing?
Home was not home, not quite; home had maybe been in quiet conversations with Zira, and home was maybe something like the camaraderie between this ragtag group they had found themselves traveling along with. But home, their father’s house, in their old city-state… it was where they had grown up. It was not a pleasant place, and yet-- and yet.
Rhire found themself wandering the estate, dressed in clothes far nicer than anything they had worn in the past several years, sometimes brushing fingers reverently against the smooth wood of a banister or pausing to admire the view from out the polished glass windows. They were frowning, though they weren’t much aware of it, their brow furrowed, their mind awhirl with thought.
Why was it that they missed the place they had done their best to leave behind them with such longing?
- - -
The night air is cold, far colder than you ever thought it could be.
You had snow back in your hometown, of course, a little village in a rural portion of your country. Snowstorms came sweeping in during the night, and all the roads and fields and buildings would be covered in white every winter without fail, and you loved it. Playing in the snow was one of your favorite things as a child (though what are you now but a child in uniform?), and your older brother loved to wake you up in the mornings by shoving a handful of the cold slush down the back of your shirt, shrieking gleefully.
You stopped complaining as much to your parents about it when you saw how much it made your little sister laugh, choosing instead to plot out revenge in a slower form and throw snowballs at your older brother while he wasn't looking.
You had snow back in your hometown, of course, a little village in a rural portion of your country. Snowstorms came sweeping in during the night, and all the roads and fields and buildings would be covered in white every winter without fail, and you loved it. Playing in the snow was one of your favorite things as a child (though what are you now but a child in uniform?), and your older brother loved to wake you up in the mornings by shoving a handful of the cold slush down the back of your shirt, shrieking gleefully.
You stopped complaining as much to your parents about it when you saw how much it made your little sister laugh, choosing instead to plot out revenge in a slower form and throw snowballs at your older brother while he wasn't looking.
