Month: December 2019

Here we have the bookworms, those with a thirst for knowledge, who dream big and fail most often. These people take pride in what they know, trust logic, and deductive reasoning. As such, they often see others as inferior and treat them accordingly.
While they examine the future with optimism, they’ll often look around and see others as too lazy, unimaginative, or selfish to reach challenging goals and, therefore, express pessimism in society’s progress. And they are perfectly fine living with this duality, incongruent as it may seem.

This personality type eschews rules, believing them to be bendable guidelines and dislike authority figures who stand by them unmoved by compassion or logic. Because they question everything, and continuously review progress, they think others also do this and are often confused when the evidence shows otherwise.

Characters in our stories with this personality type are challenging to work with. Because they live in duality, and very few of us share this ability, we must reach outside ourselves, step beyond our own ways of looking at the world, to depict these people correctly. But the challenge is worthwhile if we succeed. Tragically, however, we often fail as story-crafters to consistently and accurately portray the introverted, imaginative, thinking judgers of the world.

Our next personality type, like all Analyst personality types, enjoy the mental exercise in questioning everything, especially the prevailing mode of thought. In this, they often step on others’ toes. They openly challenge the boss’ ideas in meetings or pick apart everything a significant other says.

While they have little tolerance for being coddled, they need to remember in the end, they will always depend on other people or risk losing everything. When engaging in a fun exploration of new and exciting ways of perceiving the world, they lose the necessary support for their pet projects.

This is a fun personality to include in your characters, whether they are the protagonist, antagonist, or merely supporting one or the other. They can be stumbling blocks, introducing internal strife, or external conflict. But don’t forget, without support from others, they should always fail. But that’s okay because, in the end, our characters must be challenged. No story worth writing is free from our favorite characters failing. It is the rise above failure that provides the character arc. Who doesn’t like a character-driven story?

Sron Smaltbringer felt the power of the stone seep into his body. He opened his eyes and looked at the map on the wall. He knew the map well having looked upon it thousands of times in his longer-than-normal life. Through the magic of the stone, everything appeared with a distinct blue hue.

An orange spark flickered near the southwest corner, where swamps dominated the land. Flickering meant that someone was trying unsuccessfully to manipulate the blue stone without training. It happened in the waters of the swamp more often than any other area of the land. Why do these people, he thought with contempt rising in his heart, continually disobey the laws and tempt fate?

“We have new activity in the swamps, section thirteen or fourteen,” he said. He noted the scratching of the scribe behind him with satisfaction.

In the watershed portion of the Granite Spires, where he had not seen Kyan-thrusting in a very, very long time, a smaller, but steadier yellow light pulsed. No! It can’t be! The Pathfinder? Has he returned after all this time?

Instantly, his concentration wavered as he thought of Vonq Heartlasher. Lonesome forlornness filled his heart as his eyes drifted downward, away from the map. Beautiful maiden, why didn’t you take my hand? Absentmindedly his hand reached for the amulet dangling on a leather thong just below his neck.

“Master?” the scribe behind him said.

Swallowing hard, Smaltbringer looked up and spotted several more flickers of orange light.

“Sections twenty-seven, thirty-three, and forty-eight. That’s all,” he said with a growl and instantly regretted it. “There’s an anomaly in the watershed that I will look into,” he said with more calm than was probably necessary.

“I’ll alert the Scryers,” the scribe said and hurried out of the chamber.

He closed his eyes, murmured a word, and felt power leave his body. He knew when he opened his eyes, he’d see the map as everyone else saw it, the kingdom with its seven weather systems and varied landscape. In three dimensional relief, the Granite Spires towered over the plains, swamps, deserts, and coastal regions.

He slumped into his chair and wiped sweat away from his forehead with one bony hand.

It was not magic that brought wetness to his brow, he knew. It was dread. The Pathfinder was back; he who tore his love, his life from his chest after so many years that he’d nearly forgotten about him.

Nearly. Except for the realization every morning over the last fifty-three years that the only woman Smaltbringer had ever, could ever love, no longer slept by his side. Instead, she slept in the mausoleum just outside the window to his left.

Smaltbringer sat up straighter in his chair with a single thought. Maybe, just maybe. The Pathfinders’ return meant also the Kyan-thrusting that no one else in all the intervening years had been able to duplicate. Smaltbringer had been close a few times, though it had cost him, nearly ending his life on one occasion.

Opening his eyes and looking at the map once more, he focused on the spot where the pulsing yellow light had been.

“Hakutcho!” Smaltbringer bellowed. A Pestifuro entered the room and bowed slightly at the waist. He was smaller than Smaltbringer, both in height and weight, but Smaltbringer had no doubt about the man’s ability to protect. He had proved it many times over the last decade.

“Sire?” the Pestifuro asked as he raised himself.

“Ready the contingent, we’re heading to the Watershed. It is time to make our weapons.”

“Right away, sire.”