June 2025 Realmgard Short Scenes: June 30
A meeting of the prominent fictioneers of Porthaven. And Kat's here, too for some reason.
Now, since day is the last day of June, this should be the last day of my June 2025 writing exercise. But tomorrow, by dint of being the first of July, is Canada Day. And, as we've established, I am indeed Canadian—
[It's like looking into a mirror…]
—so I might do a bonus Canada Day Scene (well, I guess it would be Aurora Day or something in Realmgard) tomorrow. Either way, I'll have a full recap of the scenes I did this past month posted later this week.
To give this scene a bit more context, Howard R. Morton is meant to be a popular pulp author a la Robert E. Howard (hence, his name being Howard), Eleonora is Pela's mother and also a popular author. Amara, being a big fan of their work, has taken it upon herself to be something of an author herself.
And while the idea of a bunch of authors meeting up as a group makes sense, I'm not sure it's apparently happening at Darkstone Manor, beyond it being a way to include Kat in the scene.
“Writing is hard!” Amara wails.
Howard R. Morton reaches across to gently pat her shoulder. Being comforted by her greatest literary idol does help her spirits, but does change anything about the fact that writing is hard!
Amara, Howard R. Morton, Eleonora Strahlend and several other of Porthaven’s fictioneers have begun meeting regularly to discuss their trade and have some time to write without interruption.
Why this is happening just seeming inches for Kat’s beloved plaid couch and during her between-nap naps, she has no idea…
“How do you do it, Mr. Morton?” Amara asks, dapping her eyes with her handkerchief.
“You’re still new at this,” he offers. “The only difference between you and me is that I’ve been doing this for a lot longer than you have.”
“The story is called Steel-Grey Saoirse and the Swamp of Terrors!” Amara cries. “It really shouldn’t be that hard to write some terrors to live in that swamp.”
“Make her fight a dragon,” Kat mutters from the couch as she rolls over.
Amara throws her hands up in dismay, “Katherine! That’s your solution to everything!”
“People like dragons,” Kat notes.
“People do like dragons,” Howard R. Morton says, and the other authors assembled at the table nod and murmur in agreement.
“Hmm,” Amara says thoughtfully, sitting back in her chair.
“Or, I don’t know,” Kat continues, “somebody is actually three Goblins in trenchcoat. No, offence, Mrs. Strahlend.”
“None taken,” Eleonora offers.
“Wait,” Amara says, reaching for her quill a sheet of paper. “Steel-Grey Saoirse is in the Swamp of Terror to investigate rumours of the dragon, but it’s not actually a dragon…”
The other authors gasp.
“It’s an elaborate mechanical disguise that a group of bandits are using…”
The other authors gasp.
Amara frowns. “I don’t think I’ve quite got that figured out.”
“Come on, Amara,” Kat urges. “It’s easy. There’s treasure in the swamp and the guys in the dragon are trying to scare about people away from the swamp so they can find it.”
“Would, um, would your friend like to join our group?” Howard R. Morton asks. “She’s got some good ideas.”
“I must admit,” Amara admits. “That Katherine has served as a quite a rather helpful sounding board for some of my Steel-Grey Saoirse ideas.”
“Pass,” Kat calls from the couch. “Too much work.”
“Also,” Amara continues. “Her penmanship is terrible.”
“Hey!” Kat calls. “I’m not the one who acts out my fight scenes with little dolls!”
“Quiet, you,” Amara counter, balling up one of her papers and throwing it at Kat.
“Well,” Eleonora offers, speaking her capacity as both a professional writer and a professional mother. “Why don’t we take a break and have a few snacks?”
Kat’s ears perk up at the mention of snacks. And, like, the Turboshark sensing the presence of its wounded prey, or a spider feeling the vibrations of a bug caught in its web, she begins the hunt.
“Where’s food?” she asks, leaping from the couch and bolting across the room to the table where the group of writers have gathered.
But, seriously, writing is the hardest things ever.
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