I started it when I was reading some blog posts about world-building. I began to create my own fantasy world, and a story was born! I didn’t really outline, besides the world-building, so I don’t know if it will happen. But I’m in that euphoria-feeling when you first start a story, y’know?
Starlight is a warlock. In my world, warlocks are the offspring of a dragon [usually the father] and a pureblood human [usually the mother]. So the dragon in the background of the third image is her father, Deadwood. Starlight’s full name is Starlight Xena Aquarine. She has RED hair, blue eyes, and skin so pale that you can see her veins. She can change the color of her skin tone as she pleases; sometimes it changes with her emotions, if they’re really strong.
So now, my world-building, which inspired my story. I created a government, military, social class system, a bit of religion [still developing], the creatures that live in this world, and a map!
GOVERNMENT: It is a matriarchy, which means women are in dominance. I thought this would be a cool twist. [And just to let you know, I am a feminist, however I don’t think women are above men. We are equal.] And in the government, there are three sections: queen, priests, and the Council. There is one queen. The queen cannot become married or have any children. They vote on women to be queen. There are two priests, who advise the queen and are her second-in-commands. The High Priest os above the other one, generally bossing her around. :P Lastly, the Council is made up of fifteen women. They also help to advise and stuff. Mostly the Council and the priests make the queen’s decisions, while she takes teh credit. Most people think the government is corrupt and untrustworthy.
MILITARY: I wasn’t sure whether to mention this or not, but whatever. All people/creatures [excluding sirens, merfolk, and dragons and other wild animals] have to fight in the military for two years once they are eighteen, unless tehy are injured. They have archers, people on horses [unless they’re centaurs or satyrs], a frontline with swords, and cannons. The queen fights. In fact, she leads the charge.
RELIGION: Their religion is still developing, but I will tell you what I know. They worship Mother Nature, or Mater Natura. Their religion is called Bellatorum de Natura, more commonly reffered to as Bellatorum. This means “Warriors of Nature.”
The priest, Roselle, sighed and placed the parchment onto the mahogany table in front of her. She hated warlock trials.
She eyed her colleagues. High Priest Ingrid sat in her chair with her back perfectly straight, her mouth set in a grim line that matched her stormy gray-eyed expression. Ingrid’s hands were clasped tightly on the table. Her graying blonde hair was in a braid down her back. She wore the white High Priest robes and a necklace of delicate beadwork was draped over her shoulders and around her neck, gracing her bosom.
The fifteen women of the Council sat, expressions taught, simple gray dresses as their clothing. All their hair, ranging from the palest blonde to the deepest brown, was in a bun. They seemed to be copies of each other.
That was what Roselle could not stand. The sameness of it all, the identical robes and hair and faces. She reveled in seeing creatures other than humans; they were beautiful, all different, none of them clones. None of the merfolk had the same color scales; the elves all wore different eyes and lips and noses; the centaurs sported all shades of coats.
Sometimes, secretly, Roselle envied the hated creatures.
High Priest Ingrid coughed. The Council rose and bowed, as was the custom. Roselle stood and nodded at Ingrid to begin the trial.
“Guards, bring in the warlock,” Ingrid ordered.
The two women standing at the doorway, swords and shields in hand, nodded quickly. Their armor made soft clinking noises as they walked down the noiseless hall of the Cubiculum. There was a room at the end of the hall, Roselle knew, made of diamond and iron. The diamond prevented magic to be used, and iron was the best metal to use. Especially for a prison.
Just as soon as they’d left, the two guards returned, the warlock in between them. Roselle’s heart melted as soon as she saw the girl. Her wild red–literally, red, not auburn or orange–hair was knotted in a wild mane. Her eyes were brilliantly blue, electrifying and piercing. She wore a shirt and pants, now dirtied and torn. Her exposed arms and face were pale, her veins sticking out.
“Starlight Aquarine,” Ingrid began, “we are here to prove whether or not you are guilty of hoarding magic and assaulting an innocent, unarmed, pureblood human. This crime is of the gravest significance, and the penalty is death.”
Roselle saw Starlight’s skin shudder and turn green. So this girl could change, she thought. I wish I could– She cut herself off. No. You are a pureblood human. You do not wish such fantastical wishes.
“We will bring in a series of four witnesses,” the High Priest continued. “But, first, I need to ask you a few questions. Do I have your utmost attention and the pledge of honesty?”
The question was rhetorical. You were forced to give your “utmost attention” and agree to the “pledge of honesty.”
“Yes, madame,” the warlock confirmed in a small voice. She was shaking in between the guards.
“Who is your mother?” Ingrid asked first. “Roselle, write this down.”
Roselle obeyed and dipped her quill in the indigo ink: dragon blood. She felt cruel to use it while a warlock was in the room–for all they knew, it could be the blood of her parent. But she began to transcribe what the young warlock said in careful handwriting.
“I never knew my mother,” Starlight said plainly. “She when when I was eight rotations old. I don’t remember much of her.”
“How curious,” Ingrid mused, playing with the girl. “Usually the females raise the children, since they are human. Who raised you, then?”
“My father,” she responded, not elaborating.
“And where is your father now?”
“He left when I was fourteen,” Starlight said. “The others in Mystica Silva said he crossed to Terram Nox through Pedum Ingressu, but I am not sure.”
“So you lived in Silva,” Ingrid said. “Interesting. What is your father’s name?”
Starlight fiddled with her hair. “Deadwood.”
The questions continued, the answers becoming curiouser and curiouser. Roselle began to become fond of the warlock girl, and was sad that she would be killed. But that was the way it was in the kingdom; it was the way it always had been, and Roselle was sure it would always be this way.
Finally, the questions came to a close and the first witness was brought in: a grown man, gaunt and dark-haired. His clothes were a bit used but respectable. He looked like a Bourgeois.
“Tristan Fawn,” Ingrid said. She then turned to Roselle and added in a whisper, “He has some elf blood a few generations back, but he’s mostly pure. I trust him.”
Roselle nodded mutely and Ingrid turned back to the Council and witness.
“Will you answer all of my questions honestly?” she asked. “Do you swear yourself to the queen and her kingdom?”
“Yes, madame,” Tristan murmured.
“Good. Let us commence.” Ingrid glanced down at a piece of parchment. “Did you see this warlock attack a human?”
“Yes, madame.”
“Please describe the event. Roselle–write this down.”
Tristan proceeded to explain what he saw. “I was in the market, madame, buying food for my family, when all of a sudden this warlock burst out from behind a tent and shot some fire out of her hands and at this woman. The woman screamed and ran.”
“Thank you, Tristan,” Ingrid said, looking pointedly at Roselle. “You are dismissed.”
Two more witnesses entered and left, each one with the same story. Roselle soon became bored and studied her fingernails. They were pale and rounded, smooth and perfect. When she was younger she used to bite them, but soon grew out of the habit once she entered the Academia. They didn’t permit bad habits; if they caught you biting your nails or some other nasty habit, they’d whip you with a stick.
“Roselle!” Ingrid exclaimed sharply.
“High Priest,” Roselle managed to get out.
Her face flushed crimson. Roselle ducked her head in shame. Priests were not supposed to daydream or study their nails. They had to be alert at all times. And Roselle had failed.
“The last witness will be entering,” Ingrid announced. “She is not just a witness, though, she is the victim.”
Free As a Girl With Wings 