Here are some excerpts and pieces of recent posts to give an idea of my writing style. I've kept them fairly short, so there may be some context missing.

---

It took him almost a week to hunt down the thieving rat that had dared to steal from his Lady, but once he had, he wasted no time. Once reaching this city he had allowed certain signs of his pursuit to show, spurring the thief to greater panic. He would never be able to truly escape, after all. His Lady's blade sang to him, a wisp of thought curling in his ear and leading him onward. Truthfully, there was no reason beyond simple pettiness to let the man know he was still being followed, but he never pretended to be a kind man.

 

He never pretended to be a good man either.

With that in mind it was deeply frustrating that just as he was about to slip up behind his prey and fulfill the task his Lady had set upon him, that mongrel scampered up to a small group of men dressed in fancy, pretentious armor. With the thief looking distinctly northern, and himself even more distinctly southern, it was infuriating, but no surprise when he ended up clapped in chains in some cold, damp cell. And to make matters worse, one of those who had arrested him had figured out the likely cause of the scars criss-crossing his hands, and his hands had been bound, a gag wrapped around his head to keep him from delving into the magic that hummed in his blood.

---

A great boon to king and country, perhaps, but it was difficult to view such a marriage as a boon for him. It was, at least, possible to focus on the benefits though. He might not be the diplomat of the family, but he hadn't been completely oblivious to his parents' teachings, and insulting what could possibly be their one chance at true peace by seeming surly and mulish was just not proper. Besides, Orin was already courting and wouldn't have been acceptable anyway, and he would be a poor brother to wish such a thing upon his little sister; since marriage was truly a well-established method of securing ties between groups, it was a logical move.

​

After simmering in a polite temper for several days he had settled instead into a resigned determination to do right by his country and try to avoid personal misery as much as he was able. It may have taken a few nights perched on the highest reaches of the castle, staring up at the moon, but the sharpness of his previous emotions had dulled and faded. He was...not happy, but he was alright. He was still healthy and whole, his family was still healthy and whole, and while he would likely no longer be able to live in Ilea proper, he wasn't completely cut off from the island he loved. They had agreed to a full moon wedding as well, something that had greatly reassured the nervous people of the kingdom. It could be an empty concession of course, but in this Vesryn was inclined to trust his parents' confidence. While he had grown up with the war a constant, looming threat, he was not unaware that his parents' own knowledge of peacetime held considerable worth.

​

If nothing else, it was at least a pleasant evening, not too cold, and the sky was clear, allowing the light of the moon (which had just begun to rise) to filter down upon them. It provided nearly all of the light needed to see, bathing the room in a soft silver glow and mixed with the faint orange of torchlight to give a peaceful air. The twining, silver and green patterns tiled on the floor in the area dedicated to Ilea's own goddess of Ilune were just distinctive enough in the low light to convey a flowing sense of movement; arguably the same sense of movement that had filtered into every aspect of their lives, from the water to the wind in the trees, but especially the gentle swirl of the mist that was such a common sight on the island. Having delved into those mists himself following the ancient rites, Vesryn had even developed a fighting style that followed that flowing pattern. 

---