Greetings {{firstname_title | Valthakai}}…

I am very excited for today’s edition because it allows me to lean into my comedic writing and just shit on someone’s fav.

I hope you know that a lot of thought went into the three men we will be roasting today, and by the end of it, your passionate dislike towards them burns as brightly as mine.

Enjoy!

Love,

Daniel and the Crone

A House of Earth and Blood

Ithan Holstrom is to Midgard what frat boys are to Earth. However, beneath this thin veneer of useless jock lies the strength, skills, and talent of an equally useless wolf.

His story mainly revolves around Bryce, the central character in A House of Earth and Blood.

His brother and pack are brutally murdered, sending Bryce into a spiral and forcing the male to grow up rather quickly. This distances the two characters for some time, but grief and resolve eventually reunite them.

As the events of his series transpire— most notably the revelation that the Asteri, the nigh-omnipotent rulers of his planet, feed on the peoples of Midgard like cattle— he works alongside Bryce and her other allies to bring their reign to an end.

Along the way, he discovers ancient Fae heritage that grants him access to ice magic to complement his natural werewolf physiology.

Now, for the part you all actually care about.

I give Ithan Holstrom a lot of grief for his flaws, but that’s only because he was supposed to have something that makes up for it.

On paper, he is the ideal supporting protagonist.

As a werewolf, he is supernaturally fast, strong, capable in combat, loyal, and has a solid moral code.

At first, he leads his pack to defend the city’s humans when Lunathion comes under assault from the demons of Hel.

It is all downhill after that. To the point that I have to assume Sarah named this idiot after some asshole she knew in high school.

To reiterate, he is powerful, damn near impossible to kill, and had the loyalty of a pack of giant wolves… and he still just sucks.

There are two major plot points in the story. In the first, he discovers a female wolf who had been sold to a sorcerer in childhood. When he realizes that this female—Sigrid—is an Alpha who could become Prime of the Valbaran Wolves, he does everything in his power to save her from slavery and ensure she can rise to her destiny.

We watch as this idiot derails the B plot of the novel, trying to connect with an antisocial woman broken by the decision of her parents.

It would have been fine if it had led anywhere, but instead, through what I found hilarious circumstances, he ripped her throat out.

Oops. There goes your entire character arc for the past two books.

This upsets his plans to free the wolves from Sabine Fendyr, the current Alpha, Prime Apparent, and massive bitch (pun intended) that hated Bryce, humans, and basically anyone with any concept of morality or fun.

Now, in most protagonists, this setback would inspire them to rise as their own solution. Instead, Ithan spends the majority of A House of Flame and Shadow running errands for a sorceress and denying the thought that he could be an Alpha.

Which brings us to his second plot point: the Asteri parasites.

To keep a drawn-out story short, essentially, the Asteri (world government, remember?) had infected the entire population of Midgard with a parasite that limited their powers, making them reliant on Asteri infrastructure to survive.

Ithan helps with the creation of the antidote, preparing to bring it to the final battle with the Asteri… and then, the motherfucker DROPS THEM.

So that’s it.

In every single aspect, Ithan fails where you need him most.

He does contribute where it’s important— helping to kill the Under King, but he balks at delivering the final blow.

With the rest of it, Ithan’s character arc is one of continually causing problems, spiraling about them, and then causing more problems as he tries to fix the old ones.

Now, to a degree, it’s an aspect of being a part of a disappointing series, but when you give a guy everything, and he just cannot deliver, I’ll hate that motherfucker.

Also, what the fuck is sunball?

A Court of Thorns and Roses

Azriel grew up as the bastard son of an Ilyrian noble, spending the first eight years of his life locked away in a cage, allowed outside for only an hour each day.

At 11, he was placed into one of his people’s training camps, where he clawed his way into becoming one of the most powerful Ilyrian warriors in history.

He is known as a shadowsinger, a unique non-species-specific Fae capable of communing with darkness. This has made him an incredible spy (allegedly), and he has supplemented his skills with a knack for torture and information gathering.

He currently represents the interests of the Night Court of Prythian, serving its High Lord and Lady as they manage the schism within their Court, as well as external turmoil from foreign enemies across the planet.

Look, is it a cop-out to choose two characters by the same author?

Absolutely.

But my hate has no bounds.

My issue with Azriel is a strange juxtaposition to Ithan. Where the latter has given us everything and fails to deliver, Azriel has given us NOTHING, and STILL SOMEHOW ALSO FAILED TO DELIVER.

My major issues with him fall under three main categories: angst, pining, and incompetence.

Let’s start with angst.

Azriel is an almost ideal partner— powerful, wealthy, talented, capable, hot, tall, shredded, tall, and intelligent.

But his vibe is that of an insecure freshman in high school. His background delves a lot into how his upbringing drastically affected him, and rightly so.

But "step-mommy sucks and dad was absent” isn’t really a good reason to hate yourself when you have a family that loves you, and it’s also been roughly 492 years.

Yes, maybe it’s the Crone speaking, but at some point, it’s time to let it go. Sure, you should absolutely seek out mental health resources, but maybe after the first two centuries, things can be put into some perspective?

We are told that Azriel suffers from a belief that he isn’t worthy of what he wants, and I’m inclined to agree with him.

There’s only so much support you can provide someone before it’s left to them to fix themselves.

Essentially, I’m over it.

Azriel hasn’t done enough for me to care about why he’s sad; it’s just a drain and a detraction from the characters that have gotten their shit together.

Speaking of, let’s move on to his pining.

Azriel is beautiful, and shredded, and hot, and rich, and hot, and hopelessly in love with someone who won’t reciprocate his feelings.

I don’t even particularly care why (she’s gay). You have literally all the time in the world to get over it.

Azriel essentially acts like a frat boy (or sunball player) who can’t get what he wants, which means he yearns for it.

The man lived for 500 years, and never learned to move on?! Are you kidding me?

Maybe it’s an inability to sympathize with immortals?

But you not getting what you want just doesn’t stir sympathy in me. If I had to spend eternity single (way ahead of you) but owned a house, lived near my best friends, and had wings, I’d be laughing all the way to the bank.

Azriel’s prison is self-inflicted; everything that he doesn’t have is quite literally nothing in the face of what he does. Gratitude would go a long way in making me empathize with this character. But all we’ve seen of him is what he resents for not having, and of course, my third point: incompetence.

Daniel! Surely Azriel couldn’t be incompetent! He is ancient and hot and talks to shadows and hot! He does everything right!

Except for:

Need I go on?

Obviously, there needs to be some plot points. But every single one is because Azriel was blindsided, and there was never a good reason why.

For a male who allegedly has an entire network of spies operating throughout the courts, there wasn’t a single major battle that he caught early.

NOT TO MENTION, this brilliant spy can’t figure out the woman he’s been lusting after for 500 years prefers women!

In the end, Azriel is left without a mate (thank gods) because I physically can’t handle this male being disappointed in having another thing handed to him.

In every one of my imposed metrics, he fails.

Further novels will dive more into his character, but considering the most we’ve heard from him is from a parallel series, I don’t have my hopes up.

Whiny bitches not allowed. Even if they’re hot.

Niklaus “Klaus” Mikaelson is a pivotal character throughout both The Vampire Diaries and its spinoff, The Originals. He represents the peak of his five siblings, the Original Vampires, the progenitors of the rest of the vampire species in his world.

His strength comes not just from the spell his mother cast that gave him his undead powers but also from a loophole in the nature of magic itself, combining his vampiric traits with his heritage as a werewolf.

That’s right, girls and boys, Klaus is the hybrid trope.

Rather than using his status as unkillable to enjoy the various pleasures of life, Klaus murders his way through the old world, the new world, and the world that got a facelift.

His stepfather also becomes an Original, and dedicates his undeath to ending Klaus and his true children, and to a degree, I can’t blame him.

Niklaus would eventually go on to harass many high schoolers, sire hybrids, get them all killed, and eventually have a daughter who, get this, ends up being a tribrid.

Gods (worldbuilding) spare me.

I’m starting to sense a theme among these men. But Klaus breaks the mold in one distinct way.

I truly, TRULY wanted him dead the moment I met him.

Throughout his character arc, he never once proves that he is better alive.

Every single enemy has the same grievance against the Mikaelson family, and its name is Klaus.

The hybrid himself always tries to paint it as either eliminating a potential danger or doing it for the sake of his siblings. But he also has a habit of desiccating those siblings and shoving them in a coffin for decades at a time, so I call bullshit.

He exclusively acts in his own interests, which is not a negative trait for an antagonist, but we’re supposed to root for him.

There are only so many times you can paint a character as a villain when their backstory is:

Oh, sorry, that last one is about his sister, who is still on his side FOR SOME REASON.

The fact of the matter is, if anyone succeeded in killing him, every other character would be better off, and no more people would be brutally murdered, betrayed, backstabbed, frontstabbed, or decapitated.

Even when he finally dies, his fucking idiot brother, Elijah, decides to go with him. Honoring their creed of “always and forever” and never once giving the poor man a break to be his own person.

Niklaus is by no means a single instance of such a character, but I think he perfectly encapsulates an issue within the fantasy genre: a character doesn’t have to be well written to be liked, so long as they’re hot.

For practically every male character in The Vampire Diaries and its spinoffs, fans will bend over backward justifying why their preferred man isn’t at fault for all their personality flaws, and it’s just lazy fucking writing.

The entire fanbase desperately shifts blame to external factors— highlighting fundamental issues in their dating life, you heard it here first— because demanding a thousand-year-old man grow the fuck up and get over his daddy issues is too much.

I dislike any character that is supposed to be several orders of magnitude older and more mature than me, but isn’t.

Thank god I got possessed by the Crone instead of one of these idiots.

Hello again {{firstname_title | Valthakai}}…

We’re on to chapter 3 of Arc’s story.

And I’ve run into some issues.

Naturally, the purpose of this section is to provide additional reading for people who love The Valthakan Times, but it is also where I experiment with my own writing.

And I’ve discovered, much like many other writers, that if I think about my own writing too long it makes me want to slam my head through a wall.

The most crucial part of any fantasy series to me is the magic system. I am willing to accept a lot of bullshit if I like your supernatural elements.

I love to find systems that are relatively simple but have avenues for increasing complexity, like allomancy, the sacred arts, or scriving.

Naturally this means that despite not being a published author, the magic system I’m making has to match up with my expectations for some of my favorite novels.

Because if it isn’t perfect why bother writing it?

No, I’m kidding, that’s why I’m using you all as guinea pigs.

But needless to say, the development of my magic system has been driving me not a little bit insane as I try to create something capable of doing all the cool fantasy shit I like as well as being relatively understandable AND avoiding some Harry Potter woo woo crap.

So bear with me my angles and devilles. We’re having fun, and I welcome any questions you may have.

Arc had been investigating the bizarre behaviors of a Fragment on a planet he hasn’t been polite enough to name for us.

In most instances, Fragments represent sources of magic, capable of interacting with both the physical world (Corporeality) and higher dimensional elements (Ethereality).

This Fragment empowers a runic system, where specific symbols can be used to alter the physical properties of various substances.

While this should have made this planet a relative powerhouse in the universe known as the Orrery, Arc traveled to this place to find it rather… stunted.

In his curiosity to discovering why the Scribes— as the wielders of these sigils are known— are so weak, Arc discovers that a professor he had been studying under had contacts beyond the bounds of this planet.

Without the chance to see who was speaking, Arc had the sense that it was a voice he should have recognized.

Unfortunately for him, a fellow student by the name of Mara decided now was the opportune time to slide a knife into his ribcage.

Academia, am I right?

There are few things more important than a Gatherer’s Tether.

By the nature of their sect, Gatherers typically traveled light. The less you carry with you, the less likely some worldbound organization will accuse you of being a demon from beyond the stars and ritualistically slaughter you to appease a living Fragment.

It was woven into a Gatherer’s training. Everything can be left behind; nothing matters but the Fragment you were after and, of course, your Tether.

Such devices are why, after having a knife neatly inserted into his ribs, Arc woke up in his bedroom.

The Tether on his wrist was dead. Its energy expended after it had whipped him through the Ethereality back towards Forage— the Gatherer homeworld.

“A knife? Really?” A delicate voice asked.

Arc sat up, turning with a grimace to Leis.

“How long—”

“A few hours,” she interrupted, “I moved you here once I was sure you wouldn’t ruin your carpets.” She had propped herself on his desk, leaning back against the wall and lightly dangling her feet as she read and waited for him to wake up.

Arc nodded, prodding where the knife had entered just under the right side of his ribcage.

Had his blood not been refined to Ink, he very well could have died. Luckily, his Tether had been designed with an emergency trigger, flinging him home even as he lost consciousness.

“You going to tell me what happened?” Leis asked. Arc stood, pleased to find himself wearing pants and a thin shift—garb given to Crossroads’ patients.

“Normal stuff, Gathering, investigating, half-remembered voices that I was about to recognize before I developed acute abdominal steel poisoning.” Arc stretched, testing his new scar for soreness.

Leis’ work had been perfect. It always was.

“You know, despite my Fragment, Collaging does have its costs,” Leis pointed out, referring to the magic that allowed her to manipulate the Essence of Flesh. It would have been grotesque if she used it for anything other than healing.

Arc had spent years trying to convince her to Journey with him, but she was content with her two Fragments and refused to abandon Forage or her post as a doctor.

“I owe you,” Arc admitted.

“Excellent,” Leis clapped, “I need stitchroot."

Arc groaned,

“You didn’t do that much.”

“You crashed through my dining table when you appeared!”

“I wasn’t exactly in control!”

“Because of the knife wound I fixed!”

“It was a small knife!”

“Then you shouldn’t have destroyed my table.”

“Fine!” Arc threw up his hands, “I’ll head to Waif after I’m done on Signum.”

“You’re going back to that backwater? What do you want the one who stabbed you—”

“Mara,” Arc offered.

“Mara…” Leis shot him a knowing look, “You want to give Mara another chance to stab you properly?”

“The Fragments on that world are… strange.”

“Oh… the slivers of the Upper Worlds? Those Fragments? The accumulated power left over from the restructuring of the Orrery? Those Fragments? They’re a bit… strange? Hmm?”

Arc glared, but Leis didn’t look concerned. Even dropping his glamour did nothing.

“Much better,” Leis waggled her eyebrows. Arc couldn’t help but release a sigh, the glamour no longer chafing against his skin. He stepped up to his closet, finding his standard-issue trousers and overshirts. For the first time in months, he caught a proper look at himself in the mirror at the foot of his bed.

Black veins curled in delicate patterns across his body, the thinnest of them tracing out from the corners of his eyes.

Even after all these years, Arc found the darkness of his sclera uncomfortable. It made no sense why subsuming the Ink Fragment into his Blood would have stained his eyes.

But Gathering was more art than science in many cases.

“So it’s Signum then? Your next Fragment?” Leis asked.

Arc didn’t answer immediately. It had been years since he had returned to his birthplanet and claimed its Fragment, even longer since he had found himself on Forage and was gifted the Gatherer’s Bridge.

“No,” he finally said.

“No? Then why bother going back?” Leis asked. She paused, realization snapping across her features. “You can’t seriously be after revenge against that Mara? So she stabbed you. It’s not like it was going to be fatal. You’ll be excommunicated for this!”

“I’m not going to kill her, Leis, relax. I don’t need to claim Signum’s Fragment. It’s unbound.” Arc changed out of the medical gown, Leis politely averting her eyes.

He turned back to find her standing directly in front of him.

“What do you mean unbound?” She hissed.

So Arc explained, revealing his issues with getting the Signum Fragment to interact with the Ethereality, how Professor Amos was clearly investigating its nature with knowledge of the Orrery, and the mysterious patron he had been speaking to.

“It’s the Children. It has to be.” Leis said when he was finished.

Arc grimaced,

“The Cult of the Well Mother?” He asked, referring to the sect that had been an enemy of the Gatherers since its inception. Where the citizens of Forage sought to strengthen themselves and their connections to the various peoples of the Orrery, the cult followed a much more… selfish lifestyle.

It was a blessing that there were only six true members, though their influence was far-reaching.

“A Fragment that isn’t doesn’t require a Braid is something the Cult would want to control,” Leis spoke with finality, but a part of it felt off to Arc.

He approached his desk, grabbing a smooth stone he used as a paperweight and calling up some of his own Ink.

With delicate practice, we wove the mimicry runes Amos had taught him, placing a matching set on a blank paper he had been weighing down.

Once he ensured the sequence was corrected, he turned back to Leis.

“These runes should make this rock behave like paper,” Arc explained, but when he tried to crumple it in his hand, it was evident the symbols had no power.

“There’s a block in the Ethereality,” Leis suggested, “but you can overcome that by subsuming the Fragment. That’s nothing new.”

“Except that I can’t Braid it, at least not with the Bridge as an Anchor. The people there don’t even seem to have a Mindfragment to begin with. Besides, I’m not going to risk destabilizing myself,” Arc huffed.

“So we know nothing?”

“Only that there’s a Fragment with some of the most aberrant behavior I’ve ever seen. And the highest echelons of its planet are actively working with an Orrery-wide organization to understand it.”

“It could be altruistic,” Leis suggested.

“The professor accidentally melted a student. And the person he spoke to wasn’t particularly bothered.” Arc pointed out.

Leis rolled her eyes, waving at Arc to follow her.

“If you go back there, I won’t join you. But we might as well see what we can send you with.”

Arc smiled, following his friend out to the streets of Crossroads.

Chapter 4: Of Dreams and Nightmares