Dragon's daughter

Oshian Dragon Daughters are known as “Delivery Girls” among ground troops and other WACs. They specialize in payload delivery of spell bombs and heavy destructive payloads.

Above: a Dragon Daughter unloads her payload of spell bombs. Gold gilded canisters stuffed with combustion and ignition scrolls that have written to trigger when unraveled fully.

Usually serious bombardments require at least two Dragon Daughters to carry a trunk-sized canister filled with several book-length explosion runes and bottled disaster flasks. These cases, and more devious magical machinations are called DMDs, or Destructive Magical Devices.



Game of Thrones autotuned 

I love it! Brilliant!

As the water poured down over her hunched shoulders, she lost all sense of who was inside of this body. Suddenly foreign and terrifying, she beat her fists against this face, these legs, these arms. Flailing wild, each blow stinging on her skin and aching in her muscles and echoing through her bones…the only way she could prove to herself that this body was still here. Was still alive and real and that she was inside of it.

When that failed, she slumped against the side of the bathtub as the water slowly faded from hot to cold and the little hairs on her arms stood up and the body that wasn’t hers began to shiver.

It took so much effort to stand, more to wrap a towel around the body.

She looked in the mirror and through the fog she saw a distorted form. She hated it. She loved it. She reached out and swept a hand across the glass to reveal the face. But it wasn’t right. Something was missing.

So the hands of this body picked up dark after dark and painted the face until it looked real.

Lips like bruises, purpleblackred. Eyes smeared with grey-black.

Hair wild.

Too tired to even run a comb through it.

Snarl hair is better for a Witch Baby anyway. For a wild thing, a mythical creature, a daughter of dragons and fire and ice. A girl made all of teeth and claws and shards of glass and all things sharp and jagged…no room for rounded edges, no room for soft.

And then she sat.

And sat.

And she got more and more tired.

But she did not want to sleep.

She worried she might slip away.



The Dragon’s Daughter

A musical tour through the world of Game of Thrones! (Season 1 only)



The Dragon’s Daughter - Melodysheep’s Game of Thrones tribute remix.

In honor of Femslash February, enjoy this small snippet from the 1st draft of Dragon’s Daughter. This scene is silly but I like it anyway.

Felisjyta pulled her into the hallway.

“I’m going to have to go out to the front lines,” the knight said. “I just wanted to let you know. Errys and I are both going.” Patrice felt her heart freeze up, the same way it had when she realized her mother was dying. When she didn’t say anything, couldn’t say anything, Felisjyta kept talking.

“I need to take Vasjya with me, since trained for fighting. I know I can count on you to take good care of Vanji though, even if he is a brat. And…I wanted to give this back to you, while I still had a chance.”

Felisjyta handed her back the necklace Patrice had given her – her mother’s scale, with its carved impression of a dragon in flight. The lump in her throat receded just enough for her to talk.

“No!” Patrice said, and pushed the necklace back into Felisjyta’s hands. “If it brought you luck in the tournament it might bring you luck on the field. And you can…you can give it back to me when you get back. Because you will, of course.”


“You knights can be irritating and confusing to me, but you are the only friends I have. You can’t leave me and then go somewhere I can’t follow. I won’t forgive you,” she said. Felisjyta sighed, but then smiled.

“How could any knight fighting under your favor do anything else? After all, didn’t I already promise that I wouldn’t do anything hurt you? I’ll come back, and then we can both go to Serze together. Maybe you’ll like it better there.” Felisjyta slipped the necklace back around her neck, then leaned forward and pressed her lips to Patrice’s forehead – the same thing she had done before, Patrice realized.

“What’s that supposed to be?” She demanded. Felisjyta looked back at her.

“A kiss. A sign of affection.”

“Well I know what it is. I’m not as naïve as I was when we met,” Patrice said. Felisjyta laughed.

“Then call it a promise, that I’ll come back. And it’s still a sign of affection. I’d make it more serious, but I’m afraid you’d be angry and burn me up,” Felisjyta said. Patrice thought of a great many things, just then, far too many to make any sense of.

“I don’t think I’d be angry.” Is what she said. And when Felisjyta moved in to say good-bye to her properly, she found that she might understand why her mother had loved humans so much after all.