Final Character Designs

Here's a quick bust shot painting of the three main characters. Probably the style I'll be using for the the entire game, but we'll see if I have anything else to adjust in the future.

Constance Progression

Just a quick compilation of the many times I tried to draw Constance. Funnily enough, her first incarnation was completely different in terms of character. Relatively innocent and carefree. Her design reflected that. Then I decided that that was too boring to write and turned her into the serious and forever exasperated individual she is now.

Quick Sketch of the Main Characters

A quick sketch of the three main characters together, mostly so I can compare their faces and make sure they don't all look alike. Worst disadvantage about an anime style: everyone looks alike, regardless of gender. Of course, for me, once you get over that hurdle, you have the additional challenge of consistency. Every time I draw the same character, he/she looks completely different. Woe.

Side note: Elliot's design amuses me. His color scheme is so stereotypically heroic/angelic/nice but he's the most psychotic out of the three of them. Constance sticks to the "thou shall not kill" routine and Geoffrey sticks to just trying to get himself killed.

Side Characters

A quick introduction of the side characters in A Strange God Reigns

Horatio

Constance’s father, and a woodcarver residing in Cokemill. Twice a month he travels to Constance's little forest cabin to give her supplies from town. Well-respected in his local community as a decent, but unyielding man, Horatio spends most of his time working in order provide for his family. 

Eleanor

Constance’s mother. Her weak constitution prevents her from visiting Constance more than once a year, but at home she is often hard at work making clothes and homemade goods for Horatio to give to their daughter. 

Samuel

The leader of the mercenary group that kidnaps Geoffrey. While more pleasant than one would expect of a criminal/kidnapper, he doesn’t do much to stop his men from beating Geoffrey on a daily basis. As long as he doesn't actually die. Samuel does, however, draw a line when it comes to women.

James Beckett

Geoffrey’s younger brother. Relatively nondescript in personality, especially when compared to his more unhinged sibling, his adherence to aristocratic tradition and loyalty to his family has won him more favor from his parents than when he was a child. Nonetheless, he is very fond of his older brother and worries for him constantly.

John and Annabelle Beckett

Geoffrey and James’ parents. Although they were once loving parents to both brothers, their affections for their eldest son seemed to have waned a bit ever since he returned from the battlefield.

Script Sample

Coming close to finishing Elliot's route, even though I'm still not entirely show how many more words I have. Other people plan out their plotlines meticulously, so they can have great estimates on when they can finish and what the word count is, but I tend to just churn out whatever feels natural and then prune the whole thing afterwards.

Meanwhile here's a bit of the script from the very beginning. Reading through the script, I realize that none of the main characters other than Constance even show up more than four thousand words in. It's probably because I'm more used to narrative writing than visual novel scripting, so I shove in exposition where it isn't needed.

A Strange God Reigns

    It was past eleven when I heard the manufactured owl calls that indicated my father’s arrival.

Every two weeks, after the sun had fallen and the last of the townspeople had been terrorized back into their homes by the local police, my father would gather up the supplies intended for me and begin the nine mile trek that would take him from Cokemill to the deeper parts of the neighboring woods, where my cabin was secreted in. Depending on when he managed to slip past the police patrol, he would arrive late in the night or early in the morning.

    I padded over to the floor hatch to let the ladder down. The ladder was basic in design—little more than sturdy sticks and old ropes—but even after years of use, it had yet to break. It’d been made by my mother. If I ever see her again, I should ask for knotting advice.

    After unrolling the ladder and dropping it out of the square opening, I stood back and waited.

    The sack of supplies appeared first. After I hauled that aside, Father’s extended hand came next. I grabbed it by the wrist and helped him up the last rungs. Together, we pulled the ladder back up and rolled it up before I closed the door.

    Sitting down on a stool, Father bent down and pried off his boots. The soles were caked with mud. 
    “Get a rag or something, will you? Don’t want to sully the floor.”

    “It must’ve been difficult walking through that. I actually thought you might not appear today. You could’ve waited until the ground dried.”

    He didn’t say anything. I used the silence to observe him. Scruffy and disheveled on the best of days, today he looked like the dog’s dinner. His beard had not been attended to for what looked like days, and the shadows under his eyes were actually frightening. Miraculous that he was able to reach my cabin without collapsing on the way. I wondered just how he was going to make it back.

    Rather than explain the cause of his sorry state, Father nodded towards the flames roaring in the fireplace.

    “That’s a good fire. You’ll, uh, be examining the supplies, I reckon?”

    “Yes, of course.”

    “You go do that. I’ll be warming myself while I wait. Cold night.” Pulling his coat tighter around himself, he shuffled over to squat near the fire.   

    Kneeling down next to the sack, I began sorting through the items he brought me. There was bread and cheese and vegetables, six or seven cans of beans, salt, a new skinning knife to replace the one I broke, a fresh whetstone, bandages, four large books with their bindings wearing away at the seams, and a thick old coat large enough to drown me in, should I choose to wear it. I suppose I could do with a spare blanket. Although it wasn’t yet mid-autumn, the recent weather was characterized by a bitter cold. I expected the coming winter to be a ruthless one.  

    By the time I finished putting everything away, Father had dozed off.

    It was the first time I’d seen him asleep in some time. He looked very old. I wasn’t sure of his exact age, but I knew he was over forty—not so young an age. And as the years go on, his visits will begin to decrease, first from twice a month to once a month, then from once a month to once every six months. Eventually he’ll leave and never return. Of course it was understandable—I couldn’t in good conscience force him to continue these strenuous treks while his health and body failed—but it wasn’t a pleasant thought. He was the only person I’ve seen in the last ten years. 

    After tending to the fireplace, I put a hand on Father’s shoulder and shook him awake.

    “It’s getting late. You should head back. I’ve stored the wood in the shrubs nearest to the stream.    There’s some pine and chestnut, and—some remnants I scavenged from an old oak tree. The sack’s quite heavy this time. I suggest you leave soon.”

    He waved a hand. “No, wait. I—not yet. I’m not leaving yet. There’s something I need to talk to you about.”  

    “It’s a little late.”

    “It’s important. I’ll leave the wood if I must. Sit down. This’ll take a while.”   

    The tone of his voice didn’t imply good news. I pulled up a chair and sat down.  

    “Is this about Mother? She’s sick again, isn’t she?”

    My mother, while sturdy in spirit and heart, had a weak body. The doctors hadn’t expected her to live past thirty after her last illness rendered her bed-ridden for months, but she recovered—true testament to her strength of will. But her body never fully recovered. According to Father, she now spent most of her days indoors, doing housework.

    “No. Your mother’s doing fine. Recovering from a bit of an upset stomach, but nothing else.” He waited until he had his shoddy, chewed-up corn pipe stuffed and lit before he continued. “Trouble’s brewing up in town. You remember the Becketts?”

    “No. Should I?”

    “Guess not. Old money folks. Their eldest son, Geoffrey, was in the war. A pretty big name in his own right. He’s got this great limp. Leg stabbed clean through by a bayonet, from what I heard. He can walk a little as long as he’s got his crutches, but—well, it didn’t help him.”

    “Is he dead?”

    “He was kidnapped. Two days ago. Nobody knows if he’s dead or alive, but the police think he’s alive. Otherwise they can’t ransom him. But that’s not the important part. One of the cattle boys was being questioned by the police, told ‘em that he saw a group of horsemen riding into the forest. They had to be the criminals. Who in the bloody hell would ride into the ‘cursed’ Gray Forest if they were locals, you know?”

    I nodded uncomfortably. This—was not going a direction I liked.

    “Not just that. After the first reports, the police went and swarmed the forest edges. The hoof prints they found? Made from some pretty high grade horseshoes, not the shoddy kinds you get from the town blacksmith. The Becketts have some powerful enemies. Whoever these kidnappers are, they aren’t just useless layabouts drinking away their dole money.”

    “And I presume it’s too much to hope for that these criminals used the forest as an escape route only, and are no longer present?”

    “I doubt it. They need to keep the boy close by for negotiations. Stolmire and Greens have already been alerted. Hiding there would be too dangerous.”

    And so they chose the forest. It was actually a very intelligent move. Contrary to popular belief, the Gray Forest was not cursed. I would know. But in Cokemill, superstition and paranoia reigned in lieu of reason and logic. The mere possibility of a witch’s presence would make the biggest and meanest bar brawling louts wet their britches. Nobody would dare come set foot into the thickets. Geographically, the forest connected Cokemill to its neighboring town, Stolmire. For anyone being pursued, they would find in the forest a multitude of hiding spots and a quick escape route. If they dare enter.  

    “You said the police were summoned. They can’t possibly intend to enter the forest as well, can they?”

    “I don’t know. The Becketts have a long arm of influence, but whether or not that’s enough to get the police in here—well, it all depends on if they have the guts. Maybe the Becketts will try to pay them off. That usually gets anyone going. Either way, you’re in danger.”  

    “I understand that, but—” My voice lingered off, uncertain of what I wanted to say. 

    “But?”  

    “No, nothing. It’s just very sudden.” I closed my eyes and rubbed at my brow. “I’m not sure how to deal with this. In the best case scenario, they’ll avoid this area entirely and the situation will resolve itself. The forest is very large, and—you say these men entered the forest two days ago? I haven’t seen any signs of them.”

    “Have you ventured far from your cabin these past few days?”

    “No, I haven’t.”

    “Then you can’t be certain.”

    “I know.”

    “You won’t be able to hunt for a while. How long will your food last you?”

    “I just finished drying a good amount of venison. In addition to the food you gave me—there’s quite a bit—I should be able to manage for a couple weeks. If I run out—” I gave a small shrug. “If I am going to die, I’d rather it be instantaneous than through slow starvation. I’ll take my chances and hunt for more.”

    Father nodded reluctantly, although he didn’t seem entirely pleased with her answer. But really, what other choice was there? “Yeah, alright. Water shouldn’t be a problem with the stream right outside. Just keep to your cabin as much as possible. Don’t come down unless absolutely necessary, and if it is necessary, make sure that no one’s around. If we’re lucky, then this whole mess will tide over soon. I—uh, I won’t be able to come for a while. I don’t know how long.”

    “Of course you won’t. You shouldn’t have even come today. Those men could be lurking through the forest. They could’ve caught you. Who knows what would’ve happened to you.”  

    “I had to let you know.”

    I hesitated. “Well yes. That I’m grateful for. Thank you. But you shouldn’t—endanger yourself more than you already have. I’ll be fine.”

    “I pray that you will be.”

    “Do you have enough wood?”

    “I’ve been saving on the lumber you’ve given me over the years, in case of times like this. We have enough.”

    The clock struck a quarter before two as Father began climbing down the ladder. I watched him disappear into the darkness with the understanding that his haggard appearance was due to worry and concern for my wellbeing. To be honest, although I was grateful for my parents’ love and affection—how could I not be?—it didn’t give me a very good feeling. They’ve sacrificed so much over the years for my sake. Even if Father never mentioned it, I could tell from the state of his clothes—years old, fabric frayed and patched, boot soles worn thin—that any money they could spare went to buying supplies for me. I did what I could to help them, such as the lumber I chopped and the game that I hunted so they wouldn’t have to spend so much money on food. But no matter what I did, it wouldn’t ever be enough to repay them. My god, but sheer devotion and love they’ve shown me was incredible. When I’d been an infant and the first hint of red hair grazed my scalp, they didn’t deem me a demon child and throw me away. They sheltered me as long as they could, and when they couldn’t hide my hair color any longer, they risked both their lives and financial wellbeing to create a shelter for me in this forest, a place where I could live peacefully, and without fear.

    Well, it wasn’t as if I could’ve lived like this forever. Something would’ve happened—the townspeople would lose fear of the forest, or a traveler would’ve passed by and discovered me. Any number of things. It was incredible that I managed to survive as long as I did—

    No, I should stop thinking like I’ve resigned myself to death, when nothing further could be from the truth. Over the years, I’ve gotten a bit talented at saving myself from life-threatening situations. Certainly part of my survival was due to sheer luck, but If I collapsed and did nothing every time my life was threatened, my body would be six feet under and fertilizing trees by now.

    I should start gathering what supplies I could, before the sun rises and brings whatever chaos it will.