Beginning the Witchwood

Archatli Marello leaned over the desk, pinching a slug between long tweezers. The slug squirmed frantically. Archatli slowly lowered the slug onto the leaf of a plant.

My protagonist's name is important. Need to figure that out quickly as I'm going to be writing it A LOT. I can't get sick of it. Going for a 17th to 19th century Venetian vibe for my city and culture. Marello sounds Italian. Wait, it sounds too much like Rage Against the Machine guitarist, right? Review later. Should I go for an older Italian name for the first name? This is a fantasy, not alternative reality Italian history. I need something more fantasy. While they're Venetian culture now, where did the people and culture come from? Let's start with they were once enslaved by an Elven immortal empire modeled after the Aztecs (noting no-one will ever call them Elves and nothing about them will be recognisable as Elves except the fact they're immortal). I need to research Aztec language. Add to read list. Their names should be Italian versions of Aztec names - thank you www.fantasynamegenerators.com. Starting with Achcauhtli, I can simplify that down to Archatli. Sounds a bit Italian I think? I can also shorten it to Archie eventually for his friends. And lover?

The plant had a single stem and a series of broad green leaves. There was a single, dull pink flower in the middle.

The moment he released the slug, it stopped squirming. The only movement was the leaf’s slight dip as it took the slug’s weight. Archatli observed the slug and the plant for a minute. The slug started to tentative explore, but there was no reaction from the plant. With his tweezers, Archatli plucked the slug off the leaf and placed it back in the glass jar with full of dirt and placid flora.

Archie is a Witchwood botanist, the only Witchwood botanist.

Turning back to the plant, Archatli hesitated and breathed out steadily. He stretched a scar-covered finger towards the same leaf. A knuckle’s length away from the leaf, small red barbs sprung from underneath and the plant threw himself at him, pivoting on its single stalk. It stabbed him in the finger before he could draw back. The pink flower shuddered with pleasure and turned a bright, crimson red.

Use language to imply anthropomorphic qualities. The reader should feel the directed evil of the plant. Write meticulously and with detail, then cut down later. This work needs to be slow and patient, and focus on the characters and their interactions.

'Archatli,' came a soft voice from the doorway. He Archatli turned at a similar speed as the plant had a few minutes ago towards the door where the head of botany stood. Master Contrini’s eyes lingered on Archatli’s bloody finger.

'Master Contrini, how can I help?' Eyes still lingering, he the Master replied,

'“How do you know that species isn't venomous?' Archatli looked at the now still plant; the flower was slowly reverting back to its dull pink.

'Impatiens Aggressor is a plant that applies brute force and only tends to grow up to shin level. One would make superficial, ragged cuts into the skin. But in the patches they grow in, it would be highly likely they would collectively hack away at your calf muscles.'

Impatiens Aggressor, derived from Impatiens Walleriana. Each Witchwood plant should be designed to harm, maim or straight up kill. Base them on real plants and adjust names to something more brutal. I don't know much about plants. Do I need to read botany books? Or do I need to do a Bachelors of Botany? Too far. The detail of the plausibility should intertwine with the magic and horror.

“All theoretical of course?”.

“Yes. All theoretical. I found this specimen had taken root high in Gull Rocks.” Master Contrini nodded.

“The Salt Council have requested your immediate attendance.” Archatli faltered as he wrapped the clutch around his finger. Blood dripped onto the bench.

“Did they say why?”

“They did not.” Archatli carefully finished wrapping the clutch and resealed the Impatiens back in the jar.

As he walked past, Master Contrini whispered,

“Good luck.”

Skipping ahead to the council chambers. The trip over to the council tocan include small world building, and allow Archie to reflect on what events led to this situation.

The waiting hall was empty. There had once been wooden seats to sit on. But they had been cannibalised to construct the boats, like most of the wood in Rovetti. Thinking of the boats made Archatli’s palms sweat. Would they charge him with gross negligence, treason, or just straight up manslaughter? There had not been an execution since before he was born, and that had been for a man who had killed three women. Archatli could be blamed for the death of sixteen men had died because of him, and another 34 were injured.

Skip ahead again.

The dais of the Salt Council was propped against the far wall, illuminated by the limited light. Two rows of five chairs at the bottom, two rows of three chairs at the top, stacked on top of each other. The Duke positioned somewhat awkwardly in the center in between the middle rows. Only ten of the chairs were occupied.

How do I describe this weird configuration of chairs I have in my head? Even if there was something to compare to in reality, I can't use that comparison as it takes people out of the world.

Archatli moved up to the podium and pulled out papyrus notes from his inner waistcoat pocket. The ink had faded slightly from spending six months in his pocket. He looked up and kept a stoic face as he eyed the array of men and women. It seemed they were doing the same to him.

Duke Huitchilli Fino leaned forward in her chair, creaking loudly. She said,

‘Archatli Marello, do you know why you are here?” Archatli stood up straight on the podium and said,

‘To face judgment and subsequent punishment for my crimes.’ None of the councilors moved or showed any sign they had heard him speak. The Duke responded,

‘No, that is not why you are here.’

Archatli mouth opened and closed a couple of times. The Duke continued,

‘An independent investigation was conducted into your involvement in the Reclamation Project.’ The whole thing had been his idea.

Third-person intimate. The reader should understand what is going on at all times, but also understand Archie's motivations intimately. Can also have have the unreliable narrator.

‘This investigation, with input from Master Contrini, demonstrated that your scientific method was sound and that you, in no way, could have predicted the events that subsequently occurred.’

I want characters and events to unfold logically and with direct line between cause and effect. People, for the most part, should be reasonable and respond within character. The key antagonist is the Witchwood. That being said, if everyone is reasonable with relatively normal motivations, the people who sit at the extreme are more easily recognisable as additional antagonists.

Archatli felt as if a year-long clamp had been released from his heart. If he was not to be persecuted, why was here?

‘You have been called because your services are required on the Last Expedition.’ The clamp came back.

‘What services exactly would that be? I mean I am an expert in the Witchwood and as far we can tell, the Witchwood may not be across the Jagged Ocean…’ he trailed off. There was no evidence because no-one had ever made it across. The Duke spoke again,

‘This expedition will not be travelling across the ocean. The goal of this expedition is to travel up the Atoya River to Aminotlitchin city. This is a diplomatic mission to negotiate a peace treaty with the Zemonac Empire in an effort to remove the Witchwood.’

Ok, that's a lot of proper nouns to throw into a single paragraph. It's going to read as nonsense. To what extent can you trust the audience? I was reading Dune and Lord of the Rings in my tweens; connecting and understanding names, places and context became second nature to me. Am I writing for people like me, or writing for a broader, modern audience? I know which one is more commercial...

Archatli steadied himself on the lectern, gripping the sides with both hands. The Atoya River was certain death.

‘Tell me, what is that in your hand?’ The Duke seemed genuinely curious. Archatli looked down at the papyrus sheets scrunched in his hand; it had already absorbed some of the sweat from his palms.

‘It— it was my defence.’ .

‘That appears to be a lengthy defence. For academic purposes, perhaps you can summarise it for the council?’ It was not a request. Archatli hesitated. He could hear the tall seating creak as several council members leant forward.

‘My defence…’ started Archatli. He paused. It was his fault and only his fault.

‘I was tricked. The Witchwood tricked me.’