Hidden Haven

Of course, after having done Vivant and Rowan, it's only fair to move onto my first ever main character:


It's gloomy isn't it? LOL.

It was a toss up between him and Ruelli. It's kind of strange...the more I get a feel for Ruelli, the less familiar Dariayle's character is becoming to me. I was also going to put him with Pendillius for "the Lovers" but I didn't want to be accused of twincest ==;

It's hard to say anything about him without spoiling what happens to Ruelli. He and Ruelli are not alike much right now, but then, maybe that's what Dariayle would have been if he had a normal life.

He's almost the blueprint for Sigmund, but Sigmund also took cues from Vivant (yes...as you can see...I never thought I was going to write Vivant's story). He's never as cold or proud as Sigmund, and he's not a perfectionist, just a child who is really, really desperate to please. (You may have spotted that I'm suggesting Sigmund acquired the coldness and proudness from Vivant...and you would, in fact, be correct >_>;)

He was a character produced out of the teenage tendency for angst, and I think I spent three years of my teenage life pouring out all my angst on him, so afterwards all my favourite original characters are happy ones (except Sigmund). LOL.

Though it's embarrassing to read what I had once written, I guess I am rather sentimentally attached to his character (but moreso to him and his twin). It will be interesting to finally link up his story - and his meeting - with Vivant, some few hundred years from "now".

From the moment I departed Averron again, time manifested as a mist. The past, the present, the future, all inconsequential and intangible events, a fluid veil between me and an unseen destination. One day blurred into another, one year into the next; the moons crossed each other in the night sky and the constellations waltzed full circles. And I, like a blindfolded traveller, stumbled aimlessly through it, lost.

I accepted the role of a Chronicler for the Great Library at Averron, for whom the requirements were congruous with Seyarna's - non-interference with the course of history. It was a requirement enforced loosely, if at all, by either of my employers. The Averroni librarians have long accepted that bias exists even in the accounts of the most detached observer, and that any appropriate recount requires immersion in the culture that surrounded the event.

So the Averroni Chroniclers would mingle as they observed. Sometimes they became entangled in the web of history...at this, it seemed, I had a peculiar knack.

To Heshyan I went first, and lost myself in the maze of tunnels lined with glossy black stones that glittered like the stars aboveground. In its neighbourhood was Korya, a land of red soil and red rocks and, when it rained, a roaring red river. Remnants, it was said, of the blood price paid by its people in its costly victory against the Ukenth wizards.

Farther south I went, until the ground became too warm to walk on and the time between nightfall and sunrise lasted only a few hours. There, the searing white sky was infested with dragons, savage and untameable beasts that bore similarity to Ylhora only in their winged reptilian form.

When finally bored of the heat of the south, I drifted across the great ocean on a small dinghy. Though immortal, I was unfortunately not spared the discomforts of the human body, but I allowed starvation to overtake me, and thus I slept in undisturbed peace as the whimsical waves carried me away. I awoke underwater and discovered with wryness that I could not drown, that when I breathed I breathed neither air nor water, but remained alive nevertheless.

In a great storm, I was flung from my boat and drifting downwards, I was discovered by those who inhabited the deep sea, the half-human, half-fish merpeople. I might have left swiftly if not for their hostility that reminded me so achingly of the Talgrithan centaurs, and perhaps some part of me stayed, wanting to find that boy amongst the distrustful gazes, who would approach humans with open palms no matter how many times he was hurt.

I did gain their trust, and through the long years of their lives and my endless wait, we kept each other company, trading gimcracks and trinkets across the world of water. But I left them eventually, because though their smiles grew warmer, I did not see Kamaeh.

The currents bore me north, past the latitude of Isshaten, threading through the broken glaciers where, beyond the icy mountains, lay the enchanting realm of Prillon. Secluded by unscalable mountains that formed a natural fortress, these peaceful winged people were intoxicated by their flourishing arts and showed little interest in the barren world beyond a beautiful land of their own tender crafting. Everywhere one turned there were sculptures, or paintings, or buildings, or music, each more beautiful than the last, striving, it seemed, towards that elusive fulfilment of perfection.

Only one Prilloni was interested by my presence, a radiant youth whose eyes fixed upon me with foreknowledge at our first chance encounter. In years he could not have been much younger - or older - than what I must have been then. Cradling a harp in his lap, slender fingers twanging transparent strings in distraction as his eyes traced my every move until, exasperated, I confronted his gaze squarely and waited.

He was not shy as I had first guessed. He lifted his head smiled, and that characteristic silver blonde hair of his people blazed alight in the sun like a burning halo. He asked me something in his tongue, and not understanding him, I braced myself, but he lowered his head and played an ordinary little tune I did not recognise.

I stayed Prillon for a long time. Few Averroni Chroniclers have visited it because of its isolation, so I stayed, absorbing first its language, then its culture, then its legends and history and myths and faiths. The Prilloni youth befriended me, and though my initial indifference to him thawed to affection, I did not allow my mistrust to fade.

To him, I delegated the task of compiling scripts of well-known Prilloni music for Averron's library. Myself, in between exhaustively detailing Prillon's history, set about sketching its many wondrous constructions. Ice bell-towers built near the highest peaks, where even in full sun the snow would never melt; though only evergreens grew in such coldness, Prillon was filled with flowers that never wilted - metal twirled into gleaming vines, crystal chiselled into glistening petals, dyed glass blown into glimmering leaves, spilling fractured colour onto the snowy ground below.

When I left Prillon, it was many years later. I returned there frequently, probably the first outsider to do so, but never again for long.

It was like steeping in balmy water, the gentle warmth loosened those overstrained muscles, but before one could doze away, wounds unclotted and bled, tendrils of stinging ache flowing stubbornly below the surface.

It was then I wondered if I sought healing and could only find rest.

And in rest, those memories did not fade but grew more vivid with each replay, deepening wounds that never scabbed enough to be forgotten.

And I could rest no more.

Wow...I just realised that the last time I posted was more than a year ago.

I've decided to make this my writing brood. Or brooding write...er..ing..thing.

A place to bounce ideas off the figurative brick wall, and hopefully break it down before it blocks me.

ANYHOO, stupid analogies aside.

For some bizarre reason, I've gotten a bit nerve-wracked about racial portrayal in Vivant's story. Vivant's white...the Isshateni were always meant to be white. Well, okay, it's because Arianna was always meant to be white. I don't want this to be read with any racial connotations. People are people, regardless of race.

Shela was set up ages ago for what she will do, and it had nothing to do with her skin colour. It's to do with her desperation to complete her quest and get to her dreams. Get what she deserves, in my opinion, but to do so she is ruthless and a little underhanded. Her being aggressive about what she believes in and what she wants to achieve has nothing to do with her race or her colour, but I'm worried that it will be misinterpreted that way, especially of her clashes with Vivant.

And the other thing, the Chuulinese. Well, fantasy's always been a genre starved of interesting coloured people. HP's Cho practically did nothing, although happily she wasn't stereotyped.

I've gone to great pains to put the Chuulinese back into the mentality of the ancient Orient. Obviously, I am the most familiar with Chinese mentality, so this is how it will come across. I've managed to name 2 important characters, and hopefully settled on them: 荀斌嫻 (Shun Hinkan), also known as 安武姬 (Anwu-ji), and 白舒矜 (Bai Shujin). The transliteration is a mix of Japanese and Chinese.

Because names mean things, and because I forget them, here is what they mean:
- Xun2 is a last name derived from descendents of the emperor.
- Bin1Xian2 is meant to be a classy sounding name that makes her sound like a princess and makes her well-treasured. She is well-educated because whoever named her valued education as part of good breeding, even in a girl, and so it explains her capability.
- An1wu3 is an un-subtle reference to her role as peacemaker. She won't always be a peacemaker, child that she is, but she sees it as her role.

- Shu1 means to extend, to reveal.
- Qin2 means a kind of spear and is the standard reading for his name, but the other reading, "jin1" has negative connotations of chaos.

The other thing I don't want to skirt on is sinocentricism. The Chinese are just as bad, if not worse, when it comes to cultural and racial superiority complexes. While it's not going to be a main feature of the stories, it will appear intermittently.

And I don't think I am very good at it, but I want to portray the complexity of Chinese thinking as well, the fore-planning, the lust for power, the disregard for human life, the ruthlessness that a country that hasn't had warfare simply can't measure up.

Yes, so the one truly "corrupted" person will be Chuulinese. Oh yes, Cheltis is still the reigning antagonist, but he's not interested in selfish gains...he just wants destruction.