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@woodenvelt.bsky.socialSep 23, 2026, 11:04 AM

A storm is brewing in the Fain ruins.

From book 2 of my romantic fantasy wip about a priest of the dead and a thief with a heart of gold.

#WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingPrompts #WritingCommunity #Wrencer

“Shelter might turn out to be the more pressing concern,” Bruce pointed out, lifting his eyes to the dark clouds gathering overhead. As if on cue, the wind picked up and swept between them, flapping their cloaks loudly. Spencer felt a sudden urge to hurry. Without a word, everyone fell back into a loose line and started walking. Even the marsh mule seemed to want to get where they were going. She trilled nervously and tugged at her lead, half pulling Bruce down the ancient street. An hour of brisk walking brought them closer to their goal. Spencer could see the temple looming nearer, dark stone against a darker sky. The road narrowed as they made their way deeper into the city, crowded at the edges by tall buildings pressed one against the other. The priest caught occasional glimpses of the pyramid’s stepped stones between tumbled down gaps in the walls but the darkening sky and rising pressure in the air made Spencer feel hemmed in. They passed countless courtyards open to the street and small parks filled with broken down statues and stagnant fountains whittled down by the steady march of time. Familiar looking plinths, smaller than Uncle Japes but crafted in a similar fashion, marked each of the many, many intersections. Spencer had grown so used to the warren-like press of stone walls towering on all sides that when the road finally deposited them in an expansive clearing, he stumbled unsteadily for the first few steps.
@woodenvelt.bsky.socialSep 22, 2026, 12:10 AM

Right now, I have 2 pov characters, Spencer and Wren. The story switches back and forth between them pretty regularly. In book 3, I want to introduce Bruce's pov. I think a character really needs to be going on an arc to warrant a pov.

#AwesomeCharacters #Wrencer #Writingprompts

@hookandquillpress.comSep 21, 2026, 6:17 PM

@woodenvelt.bsky.social 's upcoming novel THIEF OF DEATH is a fun romantasy with a thief and a priest of the dead. How would you win the heart of Wren, the no-nonsense thief with a heart of gold?

#hqpress #writingcommunity #wrencer

@woodenvelt.bsky.socialSep 20, 2026, 1:00 PM

Wren finally gets to see Spencer's tattoo.

cw: brief mention of nudity

From book 2 of my romantic fantasy series about a priest of the dead and a thief with a heart of gold.

#SundaySnips #WritingCommunity #Writingprompts #Wrencer

“Fine,” Spencer relented with a sigh. Wren sat back on her heels again, staring up at him from the edge of the bed. Her gown was puddled around her hips leaving the soft, round curve of her breasts bathed in the amber light of the Fains’ lanterns. It was her smile, though, that reckless half crooked grin that made his heart melt in his chest. He would fight his way across the nine hells for that smile. “It was a dare,” he explained. He’d thrown his tunic off at Wren’s urging, but the sash that held it in place still dangled around his hips. “When I was younger, I spent two years in Chaimberley, studying with other acolytes at the cathedral. On one of our free days we went to some hole in the wall ale house near the docks and had more to drink than any sixteen year old should.” “Tattoos, drinking at the docks, streaking across Temple Square,” Wren clucked her tongue at him and shook her head in mock disappointment. “I’m beginning to think you aren’t as gentlemanly as you claimed to be the first night we met.” Spencer certainly wasn’t feeling particularly gentlemanly at the moment. He let his sash and buckle drop to the floor with a thud and hooked his thumb in the edge of the soft woolen hose. Wren’s eyes danced darkly, watching his hands. He slid the waistband down over his right hip, revealing the dark blue inked outline of a skull. No bigger than a golden fenmark, the lines had lost their crisp edge, fading and fuzzing with time. Wren muffled a giggle behind her fingertips. “Bit on the nose, isn’t it?” “It seemed like an excellent choice when I was drunk,” Spencer offered in his defense.
@woodenvelt.bsky.socialSep 17, 2026, 11:13 AM

Spencer is terrible at maintaining a cover.

From book 2 of my romantic fantasy wip about a priest of the dead and a thief with a heart of gold.

#WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingPrompts #WritingCommunity #Wrencer

At least there was one smile that felt true. Wren stood at the bar, haggling with the innkeeper over room rates, but when she glanced his way, the corner of her mouth hitched in a lopsided grin that felt like it was for him alone. “Could you be slightly less of a moonstruck fool?” Bruce’s elbow dug into Spencer’s ribs. “Remember, she’s meant to be your employee.” Spencer rubbed his side, frowning at his cousin. The worst part was that Bruce was right. He had been staring at Wren like a starry-eyed idiot. Celestine could have ridden down from the night sky and buried a silver arrow in his heart and it would have been less obvious. “An employee who’s having a torrid affair with one of your guards.” Across the table, Molly tore a roll in half and used it to sop the dregs of her stew. The sergeant tipped her head ever so slightly towards the corner of the room, a subtle reminder of their audience. It took an effort of will for Spencer to keep facing forward. Last he’d checked, Harlan had been perched on a stool atop the raised platform, tuning his lute and chatting up barmaids with equal enthusiasm. There was no reason to think the minstrel was paying them any heed at all. Nothing except the cold tendril of unease pricking the back of Spencer’s neck.
@woodenvelt.bsky.socialSep 16, 2026, 10:37 PM

#AwesomeCharacters

Wren is definitely the one most in need of a hug. The trick is convincing her to let you hug her without getting a knife in your kidneys, lol. Fortunately, Spencer figures it out.

#Wrencer #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts

@woodenvelt.bsky.socialSep 16, 2026, 10:53 AM

Wren teases Spencer about kissing her and he calls her bluff.

From book 2 of my romantic fantasy wip about a priest of the dead and a thief with a heart of gold.

#WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingPrompts #WritingCommunity #Wrencer

“If it bothers you that much, though, you’re welcome to give it another go…” She’d said it half jokingly, but it was the sort of jest that was wrapped around a kernel of hopefulness, meant to hide a secret want. Wren hadn’t expected Spencer to call her bluff quite so quickly and when she inhaled a sharp little puff of air, it was with a mix of surprise and excitement. This kiss was less desperate than the one in the graveyard, lacking the panic tinged urgency of someone hunting them from the shadows. This time, Spencer’s mouth moved against hers with a languid confidence, hungry but patient. It was a kiss that planned to take its time. Tender but thorough, Spencer’s tongue slid against hers, tasting the depths of her and stoking a fire under Wren’s skin. Each brush of his fingers against her cheek and the press of his hand splayed along her back stirred the hungry flames, making her skin tingle sharply with the want of him. One kiss or a hundred, it wouldn’t be enough. Wren wanted more.
@woodenvelt.bsky.socialSep 15, 2026, 1:12 AM

#AwesomeCharacters

I love that Wren still has kindness in her, even after all the hardships she's endured. Another person might have turned bitter or cruel, but there is a tenderness in Wren, buried deep. Fortunately, Spencer is able to coax it out of her. #Wrencer

@woodenvelt.bsky.socialSep 14, 2026, 10:19 PM

I am still looking for ARC readers. 📚 💀 ❤️

Click on the link below if you want more flaming skulls in your life. I mean, who doesn't want that?

#Wrencer #Booksky #WritingCommunity #Books #ARCreaders

@woodenvelt.bsky.socialSep 13, 2026, 4:43 PM

Spencer dreams of an ancient Fain city, dedicated to the gods of death and darkness. (not evil, just the literal absence of light)

From book 2 of my romantic fantasy wip series about a priest of the dead and a thief with a heart of gold.

#SundaySnips #WritingCommunity #Writingprompts #Wrencer

In his dreams, Spencer walked the streets of an ancient city under the ivory thumbnail of the moon. It was not Urbum Viventium, but rather its shadow, Urbum Mortuos. The broad strokes were the same, echoed in the layout of the streets and the arch of the rooftops and even the cut of the denizens' clothing. But where Urbum Viventium was all air and light and the ring of fire in the sky, its sister city was the cool, solid earth underfoot and the faint wink of the stars glinting on stone. Spencer passed forges hammering steel alongside silversmiths pouring molds and setting gemstones. He drifted past courtyards and parks where lovers strolled and children played hide and seek in the deep shadows. He moved through markets that smelled of spices and good food and night-blooming flowers. Smiling faces bobbed and bowed as he passed and Spencer knew it as a gesture of deference. His feet carried him to the temple eventually, glinting dully in the faint moonlight. There was something there that unsettled him. Gazing at the sloping stone steps he felt the wrongness as a knot clenched deep in his gut. Bile coated his throat as green-black shadows rippled on the temple walls chasing away the silver glow of moonlight. The deep echoing hoot of an owl startled him, a swooping shadow that blotted out the stars and plummeted towards his face. Spencer swore he felt the brush of feathers against his cheek as the bird swept past him towards a pale, outstretched arm. And then he saw Her. The Gray Lady as she was worshiped by the Fains. Uxoria Mortis. The owl lighted on Her leather capped shoulder and a nightbreeze rustled Her silver white hair. Lavender light glinted in Her eyes, just above the charcoal veil, more smoke than silk. Spencer knew with certainty that if he brushed that veil aside, he would see the bleached white bone of a mandible rather than pale skin and soft lips. She held one arm outstretched, pointing insistently towards the temple.
@woodenvelt.bsky.socialSep 13, 2026, 12:35 AM

Jenny Two Knives when Wren slips out of her grasp, yet again.

#AwesomeCharacters #Wrencer #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts

@woodenvelt.bsky.socialSep 12, 2026, 1:31 PM

Spencer's goddess sends him into battle.

From book 2 of my romantic fantasy wip about a priest of the dead and a thief with a heart of gold.

#WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingPrompts #WritingCommunity #Wrencer

Rain water, cool and clean, splashed over Spencer, drenching his head and shoulders. It felt like a rebirth, like being dunked head first under the silvery surface of the Grey Lady’s waters. Anger, cold and patient and vast beyond measure crackled in his chest, numbing him with its stinging certainty. The Lady’s icy indignation bumped up against the buzzing rage of the Fains gathered in a loose wedge around Spencer. It was an awkward jumble of sensations that made his vision fuzz at the edges while he tried to gain his bearings. Somewhere far beneath the churning layers of outrage, a trickle of doubt threaded through Spencer’s heart. Worry for Wren and Bruce and Molly, left behind with a band of murderers and criminals at their backs, struggled against the angry tide. Then Spencer felt a cool caress like silk against his cheek, heard the impossibly dry rustle of feathers in a rainstorm, and the doubts disappeared, drowned by the icy certainty of divine purpose.
@woodenvelt.bsky.socialSep 12, 2026, 1:19 AM

Wren is pretty funny, but sometimes she uses humor as a weapon to create distance or put someone off their game. It doesn't always lighten the mood.

#AwesomeCharacters #Wrencer #WritingCommunity

@woodenvelt.bsky.socialSep 11, 2026, 11:07 AM

Wren contemplates how to deal with the villain when she catches up to him.

From book 2 of my romantic fantasy wip about a priest of the dead and a thief with a heart of gold.

#WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingPrompts #WritingCommunity #Wrencer

Wren’s hands stung, the skin abraded by her tumble across the slick stones. It was a minor inconvenience, just another note in the symphony of aches that played across her body. She ignored the pain the same way she ignored her exhaustion, bundling it up and burying deep beneath her ribs until it faded into something else. Just another weight she dragged along in her sluggish, determined wake. She was walking slowly now, but steadily, favoring silence over speed. Her bloodied right palm clutched her long rondel dagger in a relaxed grip, the point aimed down so that the blade ran parallel to her forearm. The thief held a smaller knife in her left hand, its narrow, needle-like length designed to punch through mail rings and armor joints. Wren already knew exactly where she planned to plant each piece of steel. The long dagger would slice neatly into the bend of Var Krugan’s knee, between the leather straps that held his greaves in place. There was an artery there that would bleed out in short order once it was opened up. The ice pick would go straight through the leather joints holding the brigandine plates together and into a kidney. Or maybe he’d drop low enough when she took out his leg that she could bury her second blade in his neck. Either way, the Magnus wouldn’t be long for this world once Wren caught up to him.
@woodenvelt.bsky.socialSep 11, 2026, 12:55 AM

Wren: If I never care about anyone, I'll never get hurt.

Spencer: No lover will ever fully accept me the way that I am.

(And it's not a spoiler to say that they are both completely wrong)

#Wrencer #AwesomeCharacters #WritingCommunity

@woodenvelt.bsky.socialSep 10, 2026, 11:00 AM

If you enjoy reading my snips about Spencer and Wren on #WIPSnips or #SundaySnips, please consider being an ARC reader for my novel Thief of Death. #Wrencer

Sign up at the link below.
docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1F...

A digital drawing of two original characters from the romantic fantasy novel Thief of Death by Samantha Breaux. Art is also by the author. The first image shows a pale man with shoulder length, slightly wavy, dark hair and gray eyes. He is wearing a gray tunic and a white shirt. The second drawing is of a woman in fantasy garb with long brown hair in a braid over her shoulder and brown eyes looking off to the side. Her skin is tan, she is wearing a black cowl, a white shirt, and a blue vest.
@woodenvelt.bsky.socialSep 10, 2026, 10:56 AM

Spencer has a theological discussion with a stranger.

From book 2 of my romantic fantasy wip about a priest of the dead and a thief with a heart of gold.

#WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingPrompts #WritingCommunity #Wrencer

The stranger cocked his head again, eyeing Spencer thoughtfully. If the priest’s tension unnerved him, the man gave no clue. If anything, he made an effort to appear even more languid, smirking as he leaned back on one arm. “The Gray Lady is a much harder sell, though. Death is the antithesis of life, the ultimate enemy. What is broken in the human mind that we would build temples to our own doom?” “The Lady is not as easily embraced as other gods, it’s true,” Spencer made a valiant effort not to grind his teeth as he spoke. “Mostly because people like you misunderstand Her nature. Death would happen with or without Her. Nothing goes on forever, nor should it. She is Death’s guide, a gentle hand to hold as we transition to the other side.” Laughter, loud and sharp and somehow fragile, burst from the stranger. It echoed across the open fens, ringing in Spencer’s ears. “Death’s bounty hunter is more like it. Coming for any soul bold enough to cheat the old bastard, sending people like you to drag the liberated back, kicking and screaming all the way.” The man’s rich timbre turned malignant and his smile crinkled into a sneer. It was as if the amiable fellow who’d helped Spencer totter to the bench and the man before him now were two entirely separate people. The priest couldn't fit the two different attitudes into the same space.
@woodenvelt.bsky.socialSep 9, 2026, 11:05 AM

Reggie is being stealthy. Wonder where who learned that from?

From book 2 of my romantic fantasy wip about a priest of the dead and a thief with a heart of gold.

#WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingPrompts #WritingCommunity #Wrencer

“Reg?” The ghostly skull drifted up from his earthly vessel, hastily slung at Spencer’s belt with a leather cord threaded through the eye sockets. His eyes were dimmed to fine pinpoints of green light and his spectral visage barely shone. Reggie was being stealthy. “Think you can find Wren for me?” The ghost skull nodded and grew even fainter before gliding away towards the temple, a dim patch of paler shadow sweeping over the ground. The priest ran his thumb idly over the smooth lines of the dead Fain’s jawbone hanging at his hip. He wished he’d had time to rig something more dignified. Just letting the skull dangle upside down from his hip seemed disrespectful, somehow. Reg hadn’t complained, but still. “I’m going to get us inside the temple,” Spencer reached for the mercenaries, gripping them each on the arm. “It’ll be a quick skip across the Veil, just like when we got the drop on Danny. Are you ready?” “No,” Bruce grunted at him softly and Molly gave him an amused snort. “But get on with it anyway.”
@woodenvelt.bsky.socialSep 9, 2026, 11:02 AM

Wren and Spencer fight some undead ghouls.

From book 2 of my romantic fantasy wip about a priest of the dead and a thief with a heart of gold.

#WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingPrompts #WritingCommunity #Wrencer

The ghoul gave one last gurgling shriek and collapsed at Spencer’s feet. He spun on his heel and caught a glimpse of sinewy white arm lunging low, trying to trip Wren. The priest swung his shovel down and it bit into bone with a sickening crunch. Wren did her part to help, plunging her sword in the ghoul’s neck to hold it steady. Spencer drew in a deep breath, gripped the undead by the wet tangle of hair on its head and began to pray. He felt his vision going fuzzy at the edges as the ghoul thrashed beneath his hand, but then there was a flutter of wings and the cool rush of patient power buoying him onwards. The press of opposition evaporated abruptly– as if the necromancer had suddenly retreated, causing Spencer to stumble forward. The ghoul in his hands collapsed in a jumbled heap. Wren wrapped an arm around his waist and he pressed a quick kiss to her sweat drenched forehead. As they stood there panting, he realized he wasn’t sure who was holding who up. A quick tally showed five dead ghouls at their feet and glancing up the road, the priest could count three more that had fallen to Bruce’s blade. He had to go by the number of heads, as his cousin had scattered an assortment of body parts all over the place. The dawn was cresting on an absolutely stomach churning scene.
@woodenvelt.bsky.socialSep 9, 2026, 12:20 AM

#AwesomeCharacters

Prior to meeting Spencer, Wren would have tried to handle it all herself. Now, Spencer would be her go-to. Spencer would pray to the Gray Lady first, and if that didn't yield anything helpful, he would reach out to Wren or Bruce, depending on the type of trouble. #Wrencer

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