A Bolt of Lightning

A bit of dramatic writing for you, my handful of followers.

I’ve been writing a lot of Dragon Age fanfiction for a while now, but not much work on Divergent PathsMeet Hallenon: A strong, reliable mage who lost most of his clan to a tragedy. He is kind but uncompromising, good at keeping secrets but not secretive.

Rating: PG for violence & magic


The Storm Coast calls to Hallenon. 

Stark and powerful by the sea, vibrant and uncompromising as it rises inland, it is a place of strength. A storm rages before him, churning the sea as he watches from a high, rocky promontory. Brown hair turns black in the rain, pulled back from his face and plastered to walnut skin. He stands alone, scouts and companions ensconced in tents or on watch beneath windswept trees. It is a Keeper’s job to see, to remember, even when he is among the last of his clan.

Mana flares within his skin as a flash snaps into existence far offshore, splitting the night with its brilliance.


In an instant, the bolt of lightning shatters a tall stone column beyond the cresting waves. Arcs of power skitter across his body in sympathy. Storms have always been as much a source of magic for him as a thinning Veil is for any mage. These are his elements, the wind and the lightning. Hallenon lets loose on his aura and the field of energy flares around him, rippling as the storm continues to rise in strength, encircling him in a veritable cyclone of power.


A deeper explosion sounds from far behind him as a bolt shatters a lone tree standing high on a cliff. Rarely has he seen so violent a storm, even along the Waking Sea. This place has earned its name well, and Hallen closes his eyes to let the rain pound on his upturned face, thoughts drifting to why he is here.

The Inquisition already has a strong foothold on the Storm Coast, conscripting mercenaries and rooting out Venatori cultists for the past several months. Far from safe however, the Inquisitor – his sister Elisara – sent himself and a small group to deal with roving bands of darkspawn that refused to be kept down. She had wisely chosen a group that would neither give him grief as a mage, nor be swept under by the vicious, deadly creatures from the bowels of Thedas. Warden Blackwall is truly the one leading them, both in close combat and in methods of keeping themselves from succumbing to the Blight. Cole’s speed and unusual nature likely make him the least vulnerable of anyone besides the warden himself, and Krem and his small group of Chargers are practical and seasoned – valuable traits for dealing with chaos.

Arms crossed, he stands as an immovable silhouette of power as the storm sweeps inland, quieting to a steady rain.

Dark forms catch his attention on the beach below, creeping out from a cavern to the south. Three are small, hunched and skittering down the stones. Genlocks, from Blackwall’s descriptions. Two are taller, broad-shouldered with larger weapons. Hurlocks, presumably. The dark night seems to hinder them no more than it does himself, and they begin moving along the shoreline.

The cyclone tightens around Hallenon as he draws in the latent power of the storm. Arcs flash across his outstretched fingers as he gathers electricity between his palms. Energy builds, and he draws his hands apart until miniature bolts flash angrily from palm to palm. Rain drips from his brow as he focuses on the largest of the hurlocks, sweeping his right hand high. Muscles tingling as the force races through him, fingers tightening into a fist as he brings it down and—


Even from this distance he sees the creature spasm and fall to its knees, its fellows scrambling from the bolt’s impact on the earth. Winds whirl abruptly in the opposite direction as he rises, left hand spread wide, fingers shedding sparks. Down again, fearless on the edge of the cliff.


The bolt sears through the sky, splitting into arcs of death and pounding the entire group into a faintly smoking ruin.

Hallenon stands, rolling his shoulders. His heavy wool coat steams slightly, drying despite the rain. No more darkspawn creep onto the stretch of shore beneath the storm mage’s gaze.

Link to this and other Dragon Age works on Archive of our Own.


Nightingale Woman

“Nightingale Woman” was a poem by Tarbolde, written in 1996 on the Canopus Planet. It was said to be one of the most passionate love sonnets of its time. An excerpt of the sonnet from page 387 is all that is known from Star Trek lore (the first two lines).

MacHuginn, Cleric of Deneir, completed the sonnet, writing it for his love, the kenku Karrakaniin.

My love has wings – slender, feathered things,
With grace in upswept curves and tapered tips.
In every beat she strikes a chord that rings
As true as cherished words from readied lips.

My love’s dark eyes are quick, and undismayed
To pierce the shadowed veil of deepening night.
Oh, smould’ring gaze of moonlit thoughts betrayed
By sable feathers limned in silver light.

My lover’s mind takes flight, she claims my eyes,
As wingtips brush with whispered, promised, notes.
Each silken touch, a slow caress, gives rise
To fierce, enchanted cries from joyous throats.

Her slender curves my upswept wings now trace –
Stars gasp to watch our shimmering embrace.

featured image: one of MacHuginn’s feather darts

Professors Disappear at the end of the Semester.

Well, at least I do. It’s been a very busy past 2 months, and I’ve been busy even amongst the grading and teaching too. What have I been doing? Earth Day March for Science, visiting family, cheering on spring blossoms.

Being science-y.

And being nerd-y. How? Dungeons and Dragons, of course. Can’t go wrong with the classics. My current character is a Norse skald (bard) from ~800 CE, and we somehow managed to sail from Midgard to Vanaheim – magic is much cooler there, but there are were-beasts, and two moons. I’ve been playing a lot of Dragon Age: Inquisition and Origins, especially since I turned in final grades. Solas and Blackwall are two of my favorite characters, and I’ve started writing a Solas + Inquisitor fan-fiction “A Long Hunt” to show my love for it. Later chapters of the fanfic will definitely be NSFW.

Being nerd-y

What am I up to next? I’m teaching future K-5 teachers how to “Do Science” in the course Earth and Life Science for Early Childhood Education Majors, so I’m preparing materials for starting June 5th.

Divergent Paths: Part II

20 years ago, in Silverymoon

Rated PG-13

Crossing Paths

Gwaihir felt vulnerable and confused after Alisyn disappeared, despite many attempts by his family to cheer him, and much teasing from his friends about his ‘short-lived lover’. They encouraged him to just enjoy the memories and move on with his life, and he tried. There was just always something tugging at his mind about the young woman who had seemed such a beautiful vision of Hanali Celanil.

Eventually he sought a change of scenery and went to Silverymoon to visit an elf who had many more years and much more knowledge than he a cleric of Oghma named Rúmil Aerlinn that was an old friend of the Talagan family. He counselled the heartsick young elf to focus on balancing his emotions with logic, instead of letting them run rampant.  Rúmil also encouraged him to dedicate himself to a new task for a few decades in order to make himself a stronger person. Although Gwaihir was uncertain that the intense, virile, wrestling, mostly human priests of Oghma were going to be the best companions for him, he had always loved learning new things and trusted Rúmil’s advice.

Gwaihir had been serving Oghma at the Halls of Inspiration in Silverymoon for about 5 years before Alisyn waltzed into his life again. 21 years ago, Alisyn was in Silverymoon visiting Dawndancer House the temple of Sune in this fantastic city. The public gardens were particularly beautiful in the spring, and it was here that she was walking when she noticed a familiar form resting on the branch of a tree.

She stopped beneath the tree, but he did not notice her. Gwaihir was at ease leaning back against the trunk, eyes closed, face turned up toward the sun. Save for the few dark hairs that had escaped his long braid, the elf could have been a painting himself. Alisyn’s voice was light and playful when she spoke, “This is a beautiful day to see the sun shining on a lover’s face.”

Joy, pain, and confusion all raced plainly across Gwaihir’s face as he sat, staring down at her in shock. The wind was ruffling her brilliant red hair, and she tucked it behind one rounded ear as he finally dropped out of the tree, landing lightly on his feet. There was open appreciation in her eyes as she watched him walk slowly toward her, and there was also love.

He reached out to hesitantly caress her cheek as he stopped in front of her, hope now mixing with confusion as he asked, “Ali, why did you leave?”

She almost leaned in to kiss him, but stopped when he quickly stepped back. “It was all I knew to do. I had found love, and been loved, and thought it was time to move on.” She smiled wryly as she continued, “I was young, and the world was still out there, waiting. You were my first lover, Gwaihir, you knew that. At the time I didn’t even think about the fact that my leaving might hurt you, but it is clear now that it did.”

He looked away from her then, his green eyes bright with pain and tears. It felt like it had only been weeks, not years, since she had disappeared. Since she had twisted his life around so badly that he barely knew which way to look.

“I loved you then, and I still do, Gwaihir, if you can forgive me.” Sincerity and regret filled her voice. After a moment he looked back at her, and there was more relief than grief in Gwaihir’s expression. Though the elf’s eyes still shone with unshed tears, his heart was light as he wrapped her in his arms.


As painful as it had been when she left, he rarely thought about that while they were together in Silverymoon. Although they each still lived separate lives, serving their respective temples, each spent many nights in the others’ rooms and much time out in the gardens of the city. Though many of the Ogmanites were jealous of Gwaihir, his lover’s saucy, flirtatious manner and lovely face did much to make them look forward to seeing her instead of dreading it.

It wasn’t long before Ali was pregnant again. She also had a serious discussion with a few select others at Dawndancer House about how ineffective their normal herbal mixtures seemed to be when it came to mating with elves. At 26, she had been with many lovers since her time in Neverwinter Wood 10 years before, but never with anyone quite as special to her as Gwaihir — and never with another elf.

“Even this half-elf noble down in Waterdeep that was infatuated with me…” Alisyn said as she paced in Tannia’s rooms, one hand on her hip. “What had been his name?” she thought to herself.

“He could scarcely keep his attention on anything else, Tannia. I tell you, we lay together every day for a month and I never showed the slightest hint of being with child. Now, I’ve been back with Gwaihir for less than a month and I know that I’m pregnant.”

“Why him? Why now?”

The incessant pacing was starting to irritate the quiet, motherly priestess, and she knew that her decision to remain tight-lipped about this mess wasn’t going to last much longer. Tannia’s mouth twitched to the side as Alisyn turned about again, her dress brushing against a tall vase near the window.

“Alisyn, stop it.” She spoke sharply, gesturing with a hand to cut off the girl’s response. “You are acting like a petty child when you should be celebrating that you are twice blessed! That elf loves you more strongly than you understand, or he would not have taken you back into his arms after what you did.”

Tannia stood and walked to the frustrated priestess, who had finally stopped pacing. Taking her by the shoulders with a no-nonsense expression, she caught Ali’s confused, petulant gaze and didn’t let her look away.

“For once, take the time to love what you already have Alisyn, instead of always lusting after tomorrow.”

She hoped that Alisyn would take her words to heart.

Alisyn did love Gwaihir, and wanted to spend a few months with him again. He was so happy that she had returned to him that he practically glowed. It wasn’t the pregnancy itself that bothered her either — Sune loved children, and many half-elves revered Sune in thanks for the blessing of their parents’ union. Ali certainly loved all of the attention that she knew being with child would bring, and she remembered the joy of bringing a new life into the world. She also remembered the frustration of feeling trapped in a role she didn’t want.

It was him, and what having a child would make him want. It was the same boring family life that she had run away from as a child, always living in the same house, doing the same chores, seeing the same boring people every day. She couldn’t think of anyone she wanted to see every day for that many years in a row, ever again.

Gwaihir was overjoyed when Ali told him about the baby a few weeks later. For elves a child is a rare blessing, and his exuberance was infectious as he swung her around in circles under the spring blossoms. His love for her was clear in everything that he did, and through it all he continued serving Oghma – even if writing poetry wasn’t exactly the most productive task he could have done. Their joy seemed to make both temples lighter in heart, and the illustrations that Gwaihir created and manuscripts that he transcribed were some of the most beautiful tomes that had been produced there in many years.

Alisyn loved these months of happiness, and her laughter and shining hair were a welcome sight, even for the staid old Rúmil, who she thought was as interesting as a “ridiculously formal, antiquated, elven armchair”. Even this absurd description of his esteemed friend made her lover laugh, when she bemoaned how boring he had been during their recent dinner together. If only it had lasted.

Apparently even months of joy, with a fantastic lover, in a beautiful city wasn’t enough to keep her happy. She was two months shy of when the child was due when Gwaihir began noticing how frustrated she seemed. The only thing that seemed to make her happy was when they would talk about travelling to other places, especially ones she had never visited. He would bring travel journals, and read tales to her of bizarre cities and incredible scenery that even he had not seen. Ali still seemed melancholy though, and was increasingly bored with the city itself when they went out in the crisp winter landscape. Looking back on this time, Gwaihir would find himself wondering why she had never tried to convince him to leave Silverymoon with her.

Even the Sunite priestess that he spoke with told him that it was just normal moodiness from the pregnancy, but in truth Alisyn just wanted to be done with all of this. She still loved him, she just didn’t want to be with him every day. She wanted to be done with these temples and this city, and just be somewhere new, fresh, and exciting.

Family Names

“I want to name her Ali, Gwaihir.” Alisyn’s voice was somehow sultry and petulant at the same time, which normally worked to convince men of just about anything. It wasn’t working on the elf standing in front of her, though.

“That doesn’t make any sense – I call you Ali, I can’t call our daughter Ali too.” Gwaihir gently scooped the sleeping child from his lover’s arms, walking toward the window as he admired the delicate little girl. Looking back at Alisyn, he smiled. “Look at her Ali, she will look more like an elf than a human. Someone so different from you shouldn’t have the same name either.”

Ali sighed and lay back on the divan in her rooms. She enjoyed how happy he looked, standing there at her window, but by the Lady he was so particular sometimes! Why couldn’t he agree just  to make her happy? “She is only a few weeks old, so we have time to decide on a name still.” The priestess just wanted him to agree with her on something.

“Mmmmm…perhaps we should give her an elven name, something from my family. We should go visit them in the spring, you never had the chance to meet them when you were in Sharandar before.”

He didn’t see the exasperated look on her face, and she hid her annoyance well when she spoke. “Of course, it will be even more lovely than the gardens here, as your people have surely done wonders in reclaiming the tree-cities.”

“I think you will get on well with my elder sister, Malthenniel. She serves Hanali Celanil, but was gone for the entire year when we first met. She actually has reddish hair, auburn really, and not so brilliant as yours. Her eyes are what always draws everyone’s attention – a rich gold, like a hawk or one of the great hunting cats…” He continued talking about his family, and the Talagan estate, but Alisyn wasn’t really listening.

“Oh dear,” she thought. “This is worse than usual. I’ve avoided talking to him about family for this long, but now he isn’t going to stop. I don’t even want to think about my family.”  She stared off into the distance, unhappy memories of scrubbing tables and washing dishes surfacing despite the long years since she had run away. “They are probably still in the same musty tavern on the same dusty street in Neverwinter, gods help them.”

“…don’t you think?” Gwaihir was looking at Ali, expectantly waiting for a response.

“…Of course, I don’t see why not,” she said with a bit too much false cheer.

“I’m getting sloppy,” she thought. “I wasn’t paying a bit of attention to what he was saying…this might not end well. She smiled at him as though everything was normal, but the puzzled look on his face clearly said otherwise.

He paused for a second or two more, and then cautiously said, “Because you’ve always avoided any mention of your family. I didn’t expect you to cheerfully agree that we should go visit them and invite them to the celebration in person.”

She sat up abruptly, staring at him. “The what? Who? Oh no, no, no.” Apparently her mind had been wandering for longer than she thought.

Gwaihir’s face was awash with confusion and frustration. “How long were you not listening to me? Do you not care about planning for our future? A celebration of our union?”

She must have looked shocked, because he continued. “Do you even care about having a family? You love this beautiful child, yes, but have you thought about how she will grow up? Who she will be?”

It was as though all of the fear and worry that he normally hid was tumbling out at once, question upon insistent question.

He strode back to where she sat, seeing the denial on her face turn into irritation with every new thing he asked.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand.

“We can’t know any of that now, anyway.” He wasn’t yelling, she thought. That was probably a good sign.

He sat down next to her, still cradling their unnamed child in his arms. His voice was quiet and full of worry when he spoke. “Ali, what is wrong? No, we cannot know her future, but it is our responsibility. That is what family is for – caring for one another.”

She looked exasperated and felt exhausted, but she tried to keep it from her voice. She knew having a child with him would bring trouble.

“No. All family does is tie you down to one place, and keep you from living your own life. I don’t want that, and I never have. You would both be just fine without me, admit it.”

When she met his eyes, she knew she must have said something terrible.

If she had stabbed him, it probably would have hurt less than those words, and disbelief was written plainly on his dark face. The words came out slowly. “I cannot believe that is true, Ali.”

The baby woke and started crying as he sat there, still as a statue. It broke the tense silence, as Gwaihir passed Ali the child and she stood, walking to calm her down.

“It’s alright little one, it’s okay.” Ali sighed… it was hard to comfort someone else when you were unhappy too.

The handsome elf still sat there, 20 minutes later, when Ali finished nursing the little girl and wrapped a blanket around her in the rocker where she slept. Gwaihir had woven it out of willow that he cut from near the River Rauvin as it ran through the city, and she thought it was silly but sweet. It was apparently traditional among wood elves to do so, and some would go to great lengths to seek out willow before a child’s birth if none grew nearby. It was said that long ago Corellan Larethian had blessed the peaceful, swaying branches of the tree, and the river and the wind would keep the child safe by sweeping evil spirits and troublesome fey away.

She looked tired and melancholy when he stepped up beside her, the two of them watching the child rest. “Help me choose a name for her.” Gwaihir’s words were soft and determined. She nodded, but there wasn’t much heart in it.

He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, leading her to bed. She looked as though she needed the rest. In truth, she was more emotionally exhausted than anything. “I don’t know how much more of this I can deal with…” Ali thought, as Gwaihir undid the buttons running down the back of her dress. She sighed as she slipped out of the garment and tugged her shift over her head. Catching sight of her curvy silhouette on the wall, her hands self-consciously went to her less-than-smooth stomach as she climbed into bed. “Constant reminders that I’m supposed to be bound to someone else… it never ends.” Ali’s thoughts were bitter, and she shivered. The silk sheets weren’t exactly warm, despite the fire burning in the hearth.

Gwaihir leaned over and kissed her softly, pulling the blanket over her bare shoulders and tucking it around her. Ali was already half asleep as he sat on the edge of the bed and unbraided her hair, gently running his fingers through it as he had done so many times before. “Gods above,” he thought, “why is she so unhappy? We have so many blessings, and I would gladly do almost anything to bring her joy. With so much ahead of us, what is holding her back from committing to being part of our lives?”

Gwaihir watched them sleep for a little while, alternating between the red-haired woman and the dark-haired little girl, still dwarfed by the willow rocker where she would sleep for many months to come. He needed time to sort through all of the thoughts whirling through his mind, and was soon putting his boots on in the parlor of Dawndancer House and jogging lightly out into the dark. For him the snow was refreshing, a cold dusting of clarity on top of the turmoil. Anyone passing through the northern gardens that night heard an elven voice singing, hopeful and haunting in the wintry night air.


They chose a name the next afternoon, a compromise between what they each wanted. ‘Ali’ apparently meant ‘sublime’ in someone’s ancient version of the common language, which Gwaihir decided translated into a respectable name for an elven girl – Tauredhiel. Alisyn thought that it sounded lovely, but complicated.

“How old will she be before she can manage to say her own name?”

Oddly, Gwaihir seemed happy when she said this, as it apparently indicated that she was thinking about the child’s future. “Well, I suppose that is true,” she thought.

He stayed there with them that night, and it was nice to fall asleep in his arms again. Gwaihir spent the hours watching the flickering firelight that caressed the curves of Alisyn’s body while she slept. He tried to imagine what their daughter would look like as a young woman, and he honestly thought that she would look more like him – a lean, dark, wood-elf. Ali was lying stretched out across him, her hair strewn across his shoulder in a fiery tangle after their lovemaking. He trailed his fingers down her side, ivory skin a familiar contrast to his own brown body. “I wonder if we will have a child that looks more like her someday? A spirited little boy perhaps, his red hair constantly letting us pick him out from a crowd of youngsters.” Gwaihir gently rolled the two of them onto their sides as he mused, and Ali wrapped one leg over his hip as she settled in again. The elf held her close against his chest as he reached for the blanket, keeping the two of them warm as the hearth fire slowly died down.

When Ali woke in the morning Gwaihir was already gone, which was not unusual. She wrote him a simple note, and packed her belongings. All of the baby’s things – Tauredhiel’s things – went into a bag together. She carried the girl with her when she went to speak with Tannia, as she was still one of the priestesses she was closest to, despite their differences.

That afternoon a familiar face showed up at Gwaihir’s rooms at the Halls of Inspiration, but it wasn’t Alisyn. Tannia was carrying Tauredhiel, and a younger priestess behind her was carrying the willow rocker and a bag. The priestess of Sune’s words were sincere and compassionate, but not helpful.

“I don’t know, Gwaihir, that is just how she is, I suppose. Some people just do better with constantly seeing new things, and they wilt when you try to hold them to one place.” Tannia passed Tauredhiel to him as she spoke, and it almost made her cry to see such raw pain and bewilderment in the eyes of someone so kind and caring. “I wish she had appreciated just how much love she had here with you, instead of always searching for more.” She gave the two of them a gentle hug, handing him the note Alisyn had given her earlier that morning.

He was still trying to convince himself that he was imagining everything as he watched the two priestesses walk away. Looking from the little girl in his arms to the note, Gwaihir sat down at his desk before unfolding the paper.

“Gwaihir, I do know that you and Tauredhiel will be fine without me, and I cannot stay. It is the same it was in the forest all those years ago – this just isn’t who I am. I wish you both the best, but I must say farewell.

With love, Alisyn”

Small comfort to those she left behind.

Looking for more information on Gwaihir, Alisyn, and Tauredhiel? Check out the main page for Divergent Paths.

featured image: Forest in CO (July 2016)

Divergent Paths: Part I

28 years ago, in Sharandar and Luskan

Rated pg-13

Gwaihir’s Path

Gwaihir first met the young priestess of Sune one fateful day at the Temple of Hanali Celanil, Sune’s counterpart among the elves. He approached her with a compliment, “Such a beautiful, flame-haired lady must be a vision of Hanali herself…” His easy smile widened, and surprise flashed across his tanned face as he realized that she was human. “Or perhaps her sister Sune, as I see you are a visitor to this realm.”

Alisyn blushed and laughed, “For one as charming as you, I’ll be either!” They spoke for a while, walking through the gardens at the temple, and she seemed fascinated by his beautiful artwork, and he by her cheerful innocence and remarkable beauty. This was the young priestess’s first time traveling away from home, and she nearly glowed with excitement at so many new sights. Alisyn was nearly of a height with Gwaihir, and had lived for several years in relative luxury at the temple of Sune in Neverwinter. She took good care of herself, and was more shapely than most elves, so it was certainly easy to see why she served the Lady of Love.

Alisyn spent much of her time with Gwaihir over the next few weeks, as well as with the elves who served Hanali Celanil. He quickly ‘convinced’ her to let him draw her, and though she typically behaved modestly she clearly enjoyed the hours of attention. While she was indeed young, only 16, her feigned innocence quickly turned to coy flirtation with the kind, handsome elf, as she was there with a task of her own.

“…Ali darling, you really do need to learn more about physical love, or you will never see all of the reasons why people worship Sune. Go out and explore a bit. See others’ views on love, beauty, and passion, and be one with them…” Her mentor was not one to mince words, and had taught them all well.

There wasn’t much debate in her mind as she thought about Gwaihir one evening, soon after they met. “Oh yes, he will be a very good choice as a first lover.”

As Midsummer approached, she invited him to meet her for another drawing in one of the temple rooms – where she waited with a bottle of wine and clad in only a fine silk robe. Her sultry sprawl on the divan was anything but shy, the emerald robe barely covering anything at all. Gwaihir had no compunctions about appreciating the view that the lovely priestess was presenting, but he simply drew her as she asked.

The color was high in her cheeks from drinking the wine, and he tasted it on her lips when he kissed her.

“Thank you for the beautiful evening, Ali.” There was something different in his eyes that night, and she knew she had chosen well… both in matching her robe to those incredible eyes, and in her choice to pursue him as a lover.


Her eyes followed him out.

Alisyn’s pursuit of Gwaihir became progressively more insistent during the week of celebrations surrounding the midsummer holiday. She danced with him often, and deliberately caught his gaze when she flirted with anyone else. How many times did she coyly slip into the circle of his arm to drink from his glass of wine?

Alcoves casually filled with cushions or piles of moss surrounded most of the festivities, so the observant elf’s love of watching his people did not deter her advances. It made it easier to pretend she was simply supposed to be sitting in his lap. Alisyn enjoyed toying with his long, braided hair, casually trailing it across her lips as she leaned back against his shoulder.

“It would be a strange person – man or woman – who would find her unattractive,” Gwaihir thought as he slowly ran his fingers through the waves of her thick red hair. He had already come to care for her, and admired her fiery personality as well. “She certainly has not been shy in drawing my attention, though that is not surprising for a priestess of Sune.” His eyes roamed slowly over her body, taking in the soft curve of her breasts, enjoying the feel of her hip resting against the inside of his thigh. Gwaihir saw no harm in being with her if it was what she wanted.

Amidst all of the joy and high spirits, she finally lay with him under the stars on midsummer’s eve. The dancing had faded away for the night, and Gwaihir had drawn her away to an open field with a clear view of the sky. He swept her up and spun the two of them around once before falling backward into the grass. She laughed as she landed on top of the elf, feeling the muscles of his arms beneath her hands. “Finally…this is going to be fantastic,” she thought.

The summer breeze was warm, and strands of her brilliant red hair brushed across his cheek as he leaned forward to kiss her neck, pale and smooth in the moonlight. There was no hesitation as he slid his hands down, riding over the curve of her hips…

Ali’s moment of triumph didn’t end there, as they saw each other frequently over the next few weeks and he fell in love with her…though he never expected to.

Gwaihir was on the verge of talking to her about spending more time at his family’s estate when one day she was simply gone. No one at Hanali’s temple would tell him where she had gone, just that she had said her farewells, thanked the elves for the hospitality that they had shown her, and then left. He brooded, and barely drew or painted anything for months, spending his time roaming the gardens and forest instead.

“Why did she leave?”

He had no idea how many times that thought passed through his mind…It seemed as though he had been the innocent one, in thinking that she would stay, or at least care enough to tell him that she no longer wanted to.

Alisyn’s Path

Meanwhile, Alisyn continued on her travels but soon realized that she was carrying the physical proof of their love with her – she was pregnant. By the time she reached the temple of Sune in Luskan, she had been basking in the somewhat uncertain glow of being a young mother for nearly 8 months. The baby Gwyn was born there, a lovely little girl with red hair like her mother, and the Sunite priestesses loved her. “She is a gift from our Lady Firehair, especially with those eyes!”

However, Ali quickly grew tired of the restrictions that caring for a baby placed upon her. She feared that she would remain tied down even if she tried to find someone at the temple to take care of Gwyn. She had seen it plenty of times before with other sisters, although many of them seemed to be happy mothers. “I can’t imagine staying in Luskan for years…but I can’t take her with me.”

Ali’s parents had been tavern keepers, and they had always seemed to love her and her siblings very much, even if it was a boring life. So, the decision was made. Ali put little Gwyn in a basket, wrapped in a warm woolen blanket. She did love that her child had such beautiful red hair, and those green eyes…those brought back some very good memories from the year before.

She wrote “Her name is Gwyn” on a small piece of paper, and pinned it to the blanket with a swirled silver hairpin that had a green stone – Gwaihir had given it to her. Soft red curls poked out from under the blanket, and Gwyn woke and started blinking sleepily at her. “Easy, little one, no need to wake just yet.” Ali rocked the basket gently back and forth as she tugged the blanket closer around the baby’s head. Gwyn’s eyes slowly closed, leaving the emerald pin the only shining glimmer of green. She left the basket sitting on the steps of the Silver Pitcher in the early morning fog…the tavern would be opening soon, and it seemed fairly nice. She’d never been there before, as other areas of town usually held the people who attracted her attention the most. The family who owned it would surely love having such a beautiful child as their own. Minutes later, Ali rode out of the South Gate in Luskan, headed off in search of love, yet again.

The innkeeper of the Silver Pitcher didn’t have a cheery, smiling wife and happy, hard-working children. He wasn’t even married. What he did have were ties to the thieves guild known as the Coin Spinners, and Mistress Anna always had room for another pretty face.

Looking for more information on Gwaihir, Alisyn, and Gwyn? Check out the main page for Divergent Paths.

featured image: Forest in CO (July 2016)

The Rambler

The story of Divergent Paths.

I’ve always loved reading, with high fantasy frequently receiving top marks in my opinion. My high school librarians knew me by name, and I often hung out there during lunch. One time I tried to check out too many books at once – I wanted to read C. S. Lewis’ The Chronicles of Narnia over the weekend. Needless to say, Mrs. Hale was entertained but thought that 4/7 was enough for one weekend. On top of simply enjoying the stories themselves, I also have an academic interest in writing, finding linguistics both fascinating and entertaining. Not only did I read Tolkien’s The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings, I was the sort that read The Silmarillion (and loved it) and some of the History of Middle Earth books that Christopher Tolkien published as well.

Many other activities occupied my time, but occasionally I’d end up with an insatiable urge to write. From oceanic poetry to circular-time museums hosted by Merlin, it was always something fun. Nowadays Facebook, Twitter, and “read more” encourage readers and writers alike to think in terms of tiny sound-bytes of information, failing to truly engage with the written word. It isn’t just the topics of conversation that are often simplistic and banal, it is the writing itself. I’d rather dedicate more time to a work and be proud to share it, even if the topic is fictional. In truth, fiction can often make you reflect and consider your choices more thoroughly than non-fiction writing does because the scope of possibilities is so much greater.

Working on the story of Divergent Paths, which is based on characters in a Dungeons and Dragons campaign, has certainly engaged me in a way that I appreciate as a result of having read many excellent works of fiction over the years. Some of the questions I’ve recently had to consider include the simple but engrossing:

How does he dress?
Does she walk gracefully or saunter?
Would he care if it was snowing out?
Is his hair long, or short? Beard? Moustache?
What would her bedroom look like?
How would he drink hot tea with a beak?

Other questions can be unsettling, provocative, or simply unexpected:

Why did they make this choice?
Does he oppose necromancy because of tradition? Church doctrine? Personal beliefs? Fear?
Did he actually care about her, or was it just infatuation?
Would she be bitter that her father was rarely there?
Should I actually write about how ill-used she was by the brothel that raised her?
Is is really alright to write about rape, murder, torture, abuse, suicide, erotica…?
Would he betray his lover to serve the will of his god?

On top of those add in fate, inter-racial relationships, and war…you see what a fascinating morass I’ve ended up diving into for a story that began as simply fleshing out the backstory for my Dungeons & Dragons character. Oh? Who is my character, you ask? MacHuginn is a 13 year old kenku who serves the god Denier as a powerful cleric. Kenku are the result of a strange wizard’s experiments thousands of years ago, which created a half-raven, half-human creature. He’s pictured below, and there is a link to the drawing as well. [Yes, he has wings. The 5e Monster Manual doesn’t rule in my world.]


MacHuginn, Cleric of Deneir

Most kenku aren’t talkative wielders of magic that are trying to save the entire realm, however. They are typically roguish sorts, or fighters, speaking in a strange avian language and mimicking the phrases of other beings in short bursts. They’re quite good at this mimicry, but MacHuginn’s unusual upbringing and intelligence resulted in this kenku speaking (and writing) 7 or 8 languages quite well right now.


Divergent Paths was created to look backward in time and find out what brought our valiant suite of heroes to the current time of the campaign, when they are all impressive members of the Order of the Silver Dragon with heavy burdens on their varied shoulders. The characters and their companions all have histories that are not entirely known to any member of the group, and some of the heroes’ paths are darker than others. Where do those paths cross, and how convoluted are their trajectories? That, my friend, is the tale that you are about to begin.

Divergent Paths


Gwaihir wasn’t actually short, for an elf.  His long braid and tailored clothing somehow seemed to accentuate the fey part of his elven heritage, though. It had never truly bothered him, as one look from his intense green eyes usually left everyone either unsettled or fascinated. Perhaps it was the way his gaze swept you up, confidently and unabashedly taking you in and saving you for later. He certainly used this talent to great effect in his work, and the wood elves of Sharandar were even more forgiving of artists’ quirks than many other societies. For decades Gwaihir had been known for creating beautiful, realistic portraits of the people and creatures at the heart of Neverwinter Wood, bringing much joy to the reclaimed elven settlement and much honor to the Talagan family.

This isn’t actually the story of Gwaihir Talagan, the painter from a family of musicians, however fascinating that might be to tell. This is the story of how his life’s path took a turn that would change the fate of many, although no one would piece together the truth of the matter until nearly 3 decades later.

Looking for more? Check out the main page for Divergent Paths to see information about each character and easily find all of the posts for each path in the story.

featured image: MacHuginn, Kenku cleric of Denier

First blog post…

Well, all I have to say is that this should be interesting.
I am pulled in many different directions and find that I spend a lot of time in self-reflection and exploration, in addition to pressing forward in my professional career as a scientist. Sometimes it’s a challenge, but I think that the internal conflict ultimately makes me a stronger person. Who knows if anyone will ever read these, but if it helps me think then it’s worth the effort.


featured image: near the bridge at Sweetwater Creek State Park, Lithia Springs, GA (November 2016)