Character study: Wendell from Absolution of the Morning Star

Wendell the One Eye first appeared as a name. At work, one of our government-funded fellowship programs was being audited while I was writing Dawn of the Lightbearer, and the head of the audit team’s name was Wendall (no lie). I suppose I had some angst then, and the name just rolled off the tongue and onto the page (the audit took almost three years). I needed a shadowy figure for Erik’s uncle to refer to, one that could be both an ally and an enemy. When Wendell the One Eye first emerged, he wrote himself. There was no planning or strategy, most of what is below came already formed from the ether. Perhaps that is why he is my favorite character. I don’t have to agonize over every word from his mouth. It just flows.

Wendell is a character who slips through your fingers. When you think you understand him, he shifts, revealing another layer or contradiction, leaving you questioning whether you should despise him, admire him, or both. For me, Wendell has always been a force of nature—untamable, unpredictable, and dangerously intelligent. He’s the character who seems to thrive on chaos as if it were the air he breathes.

From the moment Wendell strides onto the page, he commands attention. His charm is effortless, his smile disarming, but a razor-sharp intellect and a ruthless ambition lie beneath that charisma. Wendell doesn’t just survive; he thrives, adapting to circumstances with a cunning that leaves others scrambling to keep up. He’s not a soldier or a warrior—his weapons are his words, wit, and ability to read people like open books.

Wendell may seem like a man with no past, but that isn’t entirely true. His past is there, just out of reach, obscured by half-truths and contradictions. He tells different versions of the same story depending on his audience, leaving you to wonder which—if any—version is authentic. One tale that shifts as often as the man himself is how Wendell lost his eye. To a rival, he might claim it was gouged out in a fight over a woman, a symbol of his dangerous passions. To a potential ally, it becomes the price of loyalty, lost while defending a comrade. And to those he wishes to intimidate, he’ll spin a tale of sorcery and dark bargains, hinting that his missing eye might still see things no mortal should. The truth? Only Wendell knows, and he’s not about to give it away.

Wendell’s ability to manipulate isn’t limited to strangers or enemies—it extends to his own family. While much of his background remains deliberately veiled, glimpses of his interactions with those closest to him reveal a man who views even kin as pawns in his endless games. To Wendell, loyalty is a currency, and he knows how to extract every ounce of value from those around him. He can be warm and protective, the father figure or the old grandpa who seems genuinely caring, only to turn cold and calculating when an opportunity presents itself. This duality makes him all the more dangerous—his betrayals cut deeper because they come from a place of apparent trust.

It’s no wonder, then, that some refer to Wendell as an unchained demon. He operates outside the usual constraints of morality, loyalty, or honor. To him, these are just tools to be wielded, discarded, or reshaped as the situation demands. Yet, calling Wendell a demon might be too simplistic. He’s not a mindless force of destruction; he’s deliberate, thoughtful, and always playing the long game. If anything, he’s more like a chess master who doesn’t care which pieces he sacrifices as long as he wins the match.

One of the most fascinating aspects of Wendell’s character is how he moves between enemy and ally. There are moments when he is an invaluable asset, offering insights and strategies no one else could conceive. But just as often, he is the source of conflict, his schemes driving wedges between allies and turning victories into ash. Wendell’s loyalties are as fluid as his stories, and his actions often leave those around him questioning whether they can truly trust him. For some, he’s a necessary evil—a man whose skills and cunning are too valuable to ignore. For others, he’s a threat that must be eliminated, no matter the cost.

In writing Wendell, I wanted to capture that constant tension, the push and pull between his brilliance and his ruthlessness. He’s not a traditional villain, nor is he an antihero. He exists in a space all his own, where his actions can’t be easily categorized as right or wrong. Wendell’s motivations are deeply personal, often hidden even from himself, and that complexity makes him so compelling. In many ways, he embodies unchecked ambition—a man who will go to any lengths to achieve his goals, even if it means burning every bridge.

But Wendell isn’t just a character of scheming and betrayal. There are moments—rare and fleeting—when his humanity shines through. A quiet act of kindness here, a look of genuine regret there, and you’re reminded that beneath the layers of manipulation, there’s still a man capable of feeling. These glimpses of vulnerability are like cracks in an otherwise impenetrable façade, hinting at a deeper, more conflicted soul. Perhaps this is what makes Wendell so dangerous. He’s not a monster; he’s human, and that makes his choices and actions hit all the harder.

Wendell’s relationships with other characters often define the tone of the scenes he’s in. His dynamic with Erikson Gray, for example, is fraught with tension. Erikson, driven by purpose and a sense of morality, finds himself constantly at odds with Wendell’s self-serving pragmatism. Yet, there are moments when their goals align, forcing them into uneasy alliances that crackle with mistrust. With Jezelle, Wendell plays the role of a mentor—or at least, that’s what he wants her to believe. Her eventual realization of his true nature is both a triumph for her and a tragedy for him, highlighting the cost of his manipulations.

Even Wendell’s alliances with Lucardia’s shadowy groups are transactional at best. He uses their resources and influence to further his own ends, but he is always careful to keep one eye on the door. Wendell knows better than anyone that loyalty is fragile, and he’s too bright to put all his faith in a single faction. To him, the Followers are a means to an end, and he treats them as such, no matter how much they might believe otherwise.

Writing Wendell has been one of the most challenging and rewarding experiences of my writing career. He’s a character who defies easy categorization, a man whose actions are as unpredictable as they are inevitable. Every scene with Wendell feels like a game of chess, with moves and countermoves unfolding in ways even I don’t always anticipate. He’s a character who keeps me on my toes, constantly challenging me to think deeper and push further.

In the end, Wendell is a character who lingers. He’s the whisper in the dark, the shadow at the edge of the firelight. He forces us to confront uncomfortable truths about power, morality, and the lengths we’ll go to achieve our desires. Wendell isn’t just a character; he’s a reminder that even in the most fantastical worlds, the greatest conflicts often come from within. Writing him has been a journey into the heart of ambition, and I can only hope readers find him as fascinating—and infuriating—as I do.

Cheers!