I'm probably not going to hit my goal for the month. But knowing that is sort of freeing; I'm making a conscious effort to write as often as possible, but not holding myself to a word count.
On the other hand, it's Day 3 and I only have a thousand words written...
Hmm... The late nights are hitting me now. I doubt I will hit the goal. But to place it into context, If I reach a total of 10,000 or more I will have written more on a single body of work than at any other time in my 30s.
(I was forced to write dissertations and stuff to pass exams and thingymebobs when I was younger...)
My plan for today is to go to class, finish work, write one of my two school papers due on Thursday, and then spend the rest of the night writing. I normally hang out with a group of friends online but fortuunately they are all busy this week due to various reasons so I have time to myself n_n
The more I write the more I realize this is going to be a pretty standard and heavily cheesy fantasy novel. I'm also ok with that because I set out wanting to write a pretty standard and heavily cheesy fantasy novel. XD
She stopped a few steps into the room. The smoke in the air tickled her throat and she fought down a cough. A few patrons glanced her way; though the unwritten rule in the bar seemed to be “stay out of others' business,” it was hard to ignore an eight-foot-tall woman with brown skin as knotted and gnarled as tree bark and with springy green hair, like moss flowing down the trunk of an old oak. After the first few looks, though, everyone returned to their drink or their conversation.
Everyone except one. A woman seated in the corner kept her gaze fixed on June. She had tan skin and dark eyes with a slight slope to them—Middle Eastern, June thought, or maybe East Indian. Her hair was black as her eyes, hanging long and straight in a braid. She wore a long-sleeved shirt under a leather vest, likely reinforced to protect her against bullets or knife thrusts. A full glass of beer sat on the table next to an empty with a centimeter of amber residue in the bottom.
*Drip*, went the tap behind the bar.
June moved to the woman's table. “Hello,” she said, the uncertainty in her voice belying the confident strides she tried to make.
“Sit down,” the woman said.
June pulled out a chair and lowered herself gently onto the seat. Ordinary chairs didn't always hold her weight. The tubular aluminum chair creaked and gave a bit as she settled, but it held together.
“You're the person I'm here to meet?” June asked.
“Why else would I tell you to sit down?”
“I want to be sure,” June said. She crossed her arms over her chest. “What's your name?”
The woman studied her carefully. June tried to maintain a neutral expression as the woman's eyes roved over her rough skin, her fringed jacket embroidered with flowering vines that her mother had made, the wilting blossoms tucked in her mossy hair.
“Vendetta,” the woman finally said. June relaxed a fraction as the woman continued, “I suppose I should ask your name too, but you're pretty distinctive. Some people try to pass themselves off as Spirited to get jobs. Either you're the real deal or you went to a lot of trouble to convince me you are.”
“I'm the real deal,” June said. Until the Family had moved to the city, she hadn't really believed people could pretend to be like her. How could anyone mistake June for anything other than a child touched by the elemental spirits of the world? How could you fake the height, the skin, the hair?
A few days after they'd moved into the warehouse, June was patrolling the nearby streets. She'd seen a group of gangers sitting on the steps to an old apartment building. One of them had electric blue skin and glowing yellow eyes. She'd slowed, thinking she'd found a kindred Spirited, but quickly saw that the blue paint streaked and flaked on his neck and that his eyes were bloodshot from the juryrigged contact lenses. Since then she'd seen more fakers, and a few real Spirited. She'd spoken to a few of them, made a few connections, but she didn't consider any of them friends. It was hard to know who to trust in the X Zone.
It was one of her contacts on the street who had told her about this job. That a woman named Vendetta was looking to hire a Spirited and was willing to pay top dollar. Top dollars was what June, and the Family, needed most right now.
Here's my introduction for Piro, my Fey-blooded Gnome Bard. [Spoiler]
Val'myr spotted her silhouette in the grace of the moon upon the summit of a great, verdant hill. A woman, who could have been no more than four feet in height, danced. While in height it could have been a child the curves of her body would prove otherwise with a heavily pronounced chest. There was no song Val'myr could hear; the only noise being that of night birds and insects. She moved as if part of some strange ritual. The tiny body leaped back and forth in the light of the moon. Her form easy to see now was stark naked. Wild, Pink hair that was easily as long as she was tall glided behind and shadowed her movements. It was an intoxicating sight.
"H-Hello!" Val'myr spoke out in the common tongue. The tiny figure stumbled and turned quickly towards Val'ymr. He immediately felt as though he had interrupted something of great importance. The woman's eyes seemed to almost glow green in the dark of the night before she dashed down the opposite side of the hill.
"Wait!" Called out Val'myr as he followed her deep into wooded lands. [/spoiler]
[spoiler=Snippet Two]“Wow…” Saira breathed. On Marcus’s other side, Carl rejoined them, huffing and panting. He too stopped and gasped in awe.
“By the gods…” He uttered a prayer, reached for his holy symbol, and kissed it. “It takes your breath away every time.”
Then he laid a hand on Marcus’s shoulder. Marcus nearly flinched.
“Perhaps… You would like a moment alone?”
He nodded, and the high priest gave a kind smile—or was that pity?—before he turned his back and wandered, allowing him space.
Marcus stared for so long at the spot he nearly forgot to breathe. In, out. In, out. Though still on the outside, his heart drummed in his throat and nerves coiled in his stomach for the first time since the morning he woke. He’d waited for this. He’d waited for this moment for so long, yet now his own bones refused to obey him. He was the chosen soulholder; he had to do this, needed to do this. On the precipice of his own destiny, he knew that now better than ever, but still he couldn’t move.
Why was he hesitating? Where did all of this unwelcomed fear come from, and why couldn’t he simply chase it away like before?
“Are you okay?”
Her voice jolted him out of his reverie. Marcus blinked and saw Saira beside him, the back of her hand softly brushing against his.
“Yeah,” he answered, lips pursing. “I just… I don’t think it’d hit me yet, you know? That any of this was really happening. Now I’m actually here, and my life, the person I am and the person I’m about to become… All of that’s about to change. Forever.”
Then his gaze wandered back over the Circle, tracing the marks on its surface like the lines of a person’s palm. His entire future mapped in stone, unchanging and indecipherable. Trying to shrug it off, he scratched the back of his head and averted his eyes, but the chill down his spine persisted.
“It’s…more daunting than I thought it would be,” he mumbled.
“It’s okay to be a little scared,” Saira reassured him.
Marcus’s head snapped back up, frowning. “I’m not scared. I’m about to be Recognized as the Thgil-soulholder, the great leader of the five saviors! I’ll get to travel the world, perform miracles, all of mortalkind practically worshipping the ground I walk on, until—”
Then he paused. Marcus’s smile stopped growing, instead slipped away into a look of sorrow. “Until…” he began again, but couldn’t finish.
The silence drifted between them a moment, weighted by the unspoken end to a story they both knew by heart. The prophecy stated that when all five saviors joined together, only then could the gods be revived. No one talked about what would happen to the chosen mortals after they’d offered themselves to their second-souls. The Thgil clergy told him he’d be reborn as the Sunlord himself, but after many years and many books, Marcus learned all too well why, and what they’d really meant. He still felt his father’s tears falling on his neck when he’d pulled him into his arms eleven years ago.
Saira had on that look again, night-sky eyes that pierced his thickest shields like stars in the darkness. She knew it as well as he did what would await him once he strode onto the Circle, but even so, her gaze didn’t gave an inch. Seeing it pulled a sheepish shrug out of him.
“Yeesh. Nothing ever gets by you, does it?”
“Well, I’ve only known you almost my whole life,” she said with a smirk, but it fell quickly, replaced by a more serious expression as she wrapped her fingers around his.
“You’re going to be great,” she insisted. “No matter what may happen in the end, I know you won’t just disappear. You have so many people who love and care about you, and we may not be there when it happens, but we’re all going to be with you one way or another. You’ll be the best Thgil-soulholder the world has ever seen, and that’s a promise from everyone in Corna, not just me.”
Everyone in Corna. His father, his grandmother, Saira and her family, his classmates and neighbors… He’d touched all of them, one way or another, and still would long after he’d leave. Seeing their faces behind his eyes brought a smile to his lips, an honest one this time. They were the reason why he kept going, why he was able to laugh at the littlest things rather than dwell on the noose that dangled at the end of his road. He’d been doomed from the very start by loving all of them; he dared not disappoint them even if he wanted to.
And that was okay, because after all, he still loved them.
“Thanks,” Marcus sighed at last.
“Any time.” Saira beamed at him, until she glanced down at their joined hands. As if just noticing them, she quickly let go and hid her hands behind her back like she’d done something wrong. For some reason. Marcus wasn’t sure what.
Shaking his head and fighting a chuckle, he instead spotted Carl far off to the side, crouched on the edge of the Circle and examining its carvings in closer detail. “Father Carl!” Marcus called out, and waited for the old man to rise from his stupor. “I’m ready.”[/spoiler]
only 4000 here Didn't have time to write on either Friday or Saturday. I am also finding it difficult to not go back and edit what I have already written, figuring it feels like I am wasting time if I do so, which isn't how I usually write at all. I usually rewrite a page or a section a couple of time over before I am happy with it. Time doesn't afford me that luxury here.
Anyway, a small snippet here:
The kid made his way to the blacksmith passing both churches which stood side by side as was fey culture. He wondered how much the mysterious race had influenced the settlers when they first arrived almost a century ago and how much the settlers influenced them. Philosophical debate such as this was above him however, and he left it to the two clergy men of their respective places of worship to determine it.
The smith was outside, toiling away at some bits and scraps some hunters had found the week prior out scouting the area. The blacksmith looked up as the youth approached.
“Figured you’d be around some time,” the smith said. “What do you have there?”
“An iron pan,” the kid replied, with a slight nervous stutter. “My mother said, you could maybe craft a dagger from it.”
“Forget it,” the smith replied in a rather gruff tone. “I enjoy your mother’s cooking. Bring that stolen pan back to her.”
“I didn’t steal it,” the kid replied.
The blacksmith looked up with a snarl on his face. He wiped his hands on his apron and stood up to face the kid. Being six foot three, he towered over the kid by at least six inches. He got into a menacing stance.
The kid continued, “my mother gave it to me, for my first night’s patrol.”
“You don’t need a dagger for patrol,” the blacksmith replied waving his hand away in disgust. “It’ll make you a target more than anything.”
The blacksmith was right. Metal on the island was scarce. A raider would kill for a scrap like a metallic pan without even thinking twice of who the owner was.
“Besides, the only reason why your mother was allowed to keep that pan was her for biscuits,” the blacksmith continued. “We would have confiscated it a long time ago if it wasn’t for those.”
“She has another pan,” the kid replied.
“Really?” The blacksmith thought on this for a minute. “She does have sway with the clergy doesn’t she?”
The kid shrugged.
“Listen,” the kid said. “I am with you, I don’t think I need a dagger, it is just to make my mother happy. If I return without one, she’ll won’t let it be and may come down here herself.”
The blacksmith snorted out a laugh. “Fine, fine, give me the damn pan. Tell your mother she owes me though, and I will be over later tonight when you are on patrol to collect.”
“You want her to bake you some biscuits?”
“Something like that,” the blacksmith laughed. “This will take awhile, go make yourself busy for an hour or so, I’ll have the dagger ready for you before your patrol.”
The kid nodded and took a step back away from the opposing figure then quickly turned back to his home.
“I heard you had work for me?” she continued when Vendetta had finished her inspection.
Vendetta nodded and took a swig of beer. When she lifted her arm to drink, June saw the holster under her armpit, the handle of the gun gleaming in the pitiful light. Vendetta put her glass down and said, “What I need is a Spirited who can see spirits, talk to them, and manipulate them.”
“I can do that.”
“I wasn't finished.” Vendetta leaned back in her chair, draping one arm over the back. “If you take the job, you'll have to break into a secure facility. One with spirit guardians. They'll be tough and they've got orders to kill. Then you have to track down the target, a man who's high up in the organization and also protected by spirit guardians.”
June swallowed around the sudden lump in her throat. The tickle from all the cigarette smoke returned and she resisted the urge to cough. She knew her powers were considerable, but she'd never used them for such a complex and dangerous task before.
“How much are you paying?” she asked, trying to sound tough and matter-of-fact.
“Ten thousand,” Vendetta said. “Two up front, the rest when you finish the job.”
June couldn't hide the surprise and hope that flashed across her face. Top dollar was a lot higher up than she'd though. Ten thousand would get the Family out of the abandoned warehouse where they squatted and into a crumbling, but liveable, rental house. It would get food and clean water for everyone and new clothes for the children. June's heart beat faster, an excited rat-a-tat-tat against her chest, as she pictured all the things she could do with that much money.
“That works for me,” she said, hoping her voice sounded cool and not desperate. “Where is this place, and who's the target?”
Vendetta nodded. “Good to have you on board, then. It's the Gradient water treatment plant near the reservoir.”
“I know the place,” June said. Gradient was one of the few businesses that still operated out of the X Zone.
“The target is the vice president of operations, a man named Cohen Braxley.” Vendetta set a thumb drive on the table, the technology looking pristine and out of place on the scarred table. “This has all the information I've got on him, including his routine. He often works nights so you might have a good chance of getting in and finding him after hours.”
June picked up the drive. “Got it. What do I do when I find him?”
Vendetta stared at her and said nothing. Her expression implied June had just said something ridiculous, but June couldn't figure out what. The silence stretched for another few seconds, and then Vendetta said, “What?”
June flushed, though she still didn't know how she'd embarrassed herself. “You said the job was to break in and find the target. What do I do when I find him? Am I supposed to threaten him, or steal something, or..?”
Vendetta leaned forward, one eyebrow cocked. She spoke slowly, as if June was a small child. “You're supposed to kill him.”
I'm only at 3,500-ish words @_@ my internet has been down for a week now so I'm typing from my university's library atm. Been working on school papers. After Thursday though I'll be free to write again. I'll write double-time for like a week and catch up.
[spoiler=Snippet 3] After one more round of hugs and words of good luck, Marcus took his first steps onto the Elemental Circle, while Saira and Carl watched from the outside. Once he reached the center—just as he’d been taught—he clasped his hands together, took a deep breath, and prayed.
The air stirred. Trees began to rustle as faint wind swirled around the Circle, breathing life into Marcus’s stiff bones. A pale glow slowly seeped through the cracks of the Star, barely visible in the daylight.
“Marcus Cladec.”
A voice like thunder rumbled across the Circle, earning a slight jump out of Marcus’s shoulders. It bombarded him on all sides, yet also from nowhere, disembodied and impossible to track. Nor did it settle on a gender, layered in both male and female pitches; the Guardian Spirit of the Stone was beyond such things, an ancient soul bound to the Circle as the conductor of the Recognition.
Upon hearing his name, Marcus lowered his hands and stared bravely into the sky.
“Redulos fa Corna, aumé eva enaod leirwu se nikfér hesri raaf.”
A being so ancient, in fact, it only knew how to speak the old tongue. Luckily, as was true for all soulholders, Marcus had studied and learned the language growing up as a child. He rarely had need of it, and it took him a few moments to translate and understand what the Guardian had just said. “Soulholder of Corna, you have done well in reaching this far.”
“Thank you, Guardian,” Marcus replied in its same language, a little clumsier than he’d have liked.
“It has been seventeen years since my Circle touched the earth on the eve of your birth,” the Guardian continued. “Now, your second-soul beckons you.”
Another rush of heat surged through him from the inner god within. As if Marcus needed any more reminders.
“Are you willing to awaken your sleeping self?”
Despite himself, Marcus frowned, patience thinning even in the presence of Fate. “Of course. I would not be standing here if otherwise.”
But an especially strong gust blew into his face. Marcus threw his hands up, trying to shield his eyes with his arms until the wind died down.
“Insolent boy!” the Guardian’s voice howled across the Circle. “You mock our ritual when you know not even the weight of your own destiny! Know this and commit, soulholder Marcus Cladec: that once you take this vow, you will be bonded to your second-soul until your death. Are you truly prepared to accept one of Kiral’s very creators into your mind and body? To live and give yourself to the gods? Choose wisely, for you will not be able to go back.”
As he lowered his arms to his sides again, a puzzled brow knit above his eyes. No soulholder refused his or her Recognition; it was unheard of. From everything Marcus had read, the longer a soulholder put off the ceremony, the pain of the second-soul would worsen, not unlike a woman’s labor pains. Except this pain could kill.
Suffer excruciating pain, or sacrifice his life to a god. Just another reminder that his future was not his own. A grim smile touched Marcus’s lips. A choice like that isn’t a real choice at all.
“I will not run away,” he told the Guardian. “It is my honor to serve Lord Thgil and the holy goddesses. My life, my soul, my body—all of it is theirs to give. I’ve waited seventeen years for this, and I’ve waited long enough.”
An unnerving silence gripped the Circle, filled only by the whispering wind and murmurs in the trees. Marcus’s heart pounded harder with each passing breath, and not because of his second-soul’s dormant presence.
“Very well,” the Guardian said at last. “I, the soul bound to your Circle, now Recognize you as a soulholder. Brace yourself, Marcus Cladec, for your awakening has come!”
Hands curled into fists, feet rooted to the ground, Marcus took a deep breath, and waited.
Then the Guardian began its chant, the same words over and over again, but too brisk for Marcus to understand. Wind whipped around the Circle, faster, colder, so fierce its howl filled his ears and drowned out the Guardian’s voice. He struggled to breathe steady as it blew across his face, tore at his hair and clothes, and almost lifted him off the ground. Below him, the glow of the Circle intensified, but the wind was drying out his eyes, and he had to shut them close.
But the darkness of his closed eyelids brought little comfort—a pressure formed between his brows, like a finger prodding his skull from the inside, and made him dizzy. Heat rushed up and down his veins, poured out of his heart and throbbed with the rhythm of his pulse. So hot on the inside, but blistering cold on the outside thanks to the merciless wind; such dual sensations churned his stomach, vomit rising in the back of his throat.
Do not throw up, Marcus ordered himself, gnarling his teeth in rebellion. Do not throw up. Focus on breathing, in out, in out… Just do not throw up!
He tried to stay calm, but the power kept building, and building, and building. Until at last, something snapped inside. Marcus threw his head to the sky and screamed, only to have the wind swallow it. Every fiber and every sinew of his body ached and throbbed, shook like a dam holding back a flood. He hugged himself tight as if to keep something in, even though he knew it did anything but.
Yet as it steadily filled him, the pain ebbed away, replaced by something…better. The empty void that’d ached and pained him whenever his sleeping soul stirred, it was full now, brimming with heat. Never before had he been more aware of himself: of the blood pumping through him, from his brain to his fingertips, the warm trickle just under his skin, even the air as it sunk in his lungs and traversed his veins. Power burned within him, seeped through his every pore, and gods, it was incredible.
Is that it? Marcus thought, struggling to think anything coherent. Is it…over?
The ceremony is, yes. But this is the beginning of something greater.
Marcus jumped. The voice was a man’s, deep and rich and inside his head. More than that, it trembled through his very flesh, barely contained beneath his skin.
This voice… Marcus spoke back with his mind, and felt his heart skip a beat. Are you— Your second-soul. Yes. The voice chuckled, a ripple that earned another jump out of Marcus. He laughed harder. It’s good to finally meet you, Marcus.
Blush burned in his cheeks as he scrambled for something, anything more significant to say. He’d had so many questions, had imagined and practiced this moment a thousand times over ever since he was a child. But all of his fantasies crumbled to dust and blew away the moment he’d heard his second-soul speak. By the Heavens and Fates and all that was holy, this was his god. Lord Thgil, actually speaking to him, from inside. What could he possibly say?
G-Good to meet you too, Marcus replied, but silently cursed his stutter. How could he stutter? The words were all in his head, for crying out loud. You know my name?
Of course. We’re bonded, after all. I know everything about you.
Oh… Right. Marcus mentally kicked himself as he blushed harder. Of course he would know. Thgil only existed inside his head. Why shouldn’t he know his name, what he liked to eat, where he liked to pee, every book he’d ever read and every lie he’d ever told? What a stupid question. Stupid, stupid question, and he couldn’t even hide how stupid he felt anymore.
Don’t worry, his inner self chuckled again, ringing back and forth inside his mind, your secrets are safe with me.
The laughter was infectious, accompanied by the soul rippling up and down his limbs. Marcus laughed too, and slowly, his embarrassment melted away. I’m not sure if that makes me feel any better, but you have my humble thanks, Lord Thgil.
Then the rippling stopped.
Thgil… Yes, the god whispered. You needn’t worry about such pettiness, Marcus. I know our kind can be overwhelming, even for a chosen soulholder.
Another pause, and Marcus’s mind was his again, filled with a silence almost deafening after Thgil’s echoing voice. Marcus reached for that silence, grasped for something, anything to fill it with. This was Lord Thgil he was talking too—the holy Sun himself, all of His glory bound inside him, the envy of every puny mortal right now. He had so many questions, so many things he wanted to say…!
There is…something wrong.
But before he could piece together his swarming thoughts, Thgil spoke again, more concerned this time.
What is it? Marcus asked.
Even I am unsure, in my current form. However… I sense darkness. I see a shadow being cast over a village south of here, and misshapen creatures stalking its people from the trees… Memories flashed in the back of his mind, of the Corrupted they’d encountered in the woods. Shadows writhing in their rotten bodies, bloodied teeth and claws that could rend a person’s flesh to shreds.
Thgil’s soul surged again, fizzing with heat. Ah, then you know it.
Yeah. We’d already run into some on our way here. You’re saying there’s more of them?
I fear they did not take kindly to my awakening. Now they’re gathering, and mean to attack your home.
What? Knots strangled Marcus’s throat as he thought of his family, his friends, all unarmed and nearly defenseless. No, we can’t let that happen! The town won’t stand a chance! What’re we gonna do? What can we do!?
A wave of heat answered him, swept through his mind and cascaded down his veins. Marcus swayed one step and held his head, suddenly feverish and dizzier than before.
It’s all right, Thgil whispered, close and tender like a lover in his ear. We won’t let those monsters destroy or hurt anyone. In fact… It is us who will destroy them, together.
Together?
Yes. Take my power, Marcus. Open your heart and mind and let me run freely within you. When imbued with my blessing, not even the darkest creatures will be able to stop you. Now, come into my embrace, and relax…
Not entirely sure what he meant, Marcus took a deep breath and tried to release his tension. But he flinched and stiffened as the pressure in his head intensified. Something tightened around his heart, like a greedy hand with claws that squeezed, but the fever dulled the pain and clouded his thoughts, until all he felt was Thgil’s soul, warm against his and flooding his core.
You’ve nothing to fear. Not while I’m by your side. Yes, that’s it. Closer…
He spoke like the sun itself, warm and soothing as it shined down on him on a summer day. Gentle enough to lull him to sleep, a caress in his ears. Although he couldn’t see it, Marcus swore he felt someone’s arms wrap around him, an embrace warmer and more loving than a mother’s. He opened his eyes, hoping he could see who it was, but he was just too tired; they couldn’t stay open. Colors blurred together, and a ring of shadow encompassed the edge of his vision, but it didn’t matter. For his god was awake and thriving within him, and he felt more alive and complete than ever before.
So Marcus thought as he gladly surrendered himself, and let the world slip away. [/spoiler]
Okay... Need to change my strategy. My novel converted to a screen play. All speech. All action. It was whizzing along but is pretty much pants. Speed over content.
...
Good stuff is how it all comes together.
...
Oddly still pleased with it. Will go back and flesh it out and leave a completed snippet.
I feel like I started out really strong quality-wise, but my prose really started to drudge along these past couple weeks. I felt myself using the same worn-out words and metaphors over and over again, and I already feel that itch to go back and rigorously revise and rewrite every single sentence I've written... But I'll resist the urge tonight because I'm entirely too tired.
I got like 10 pages or so but I think that's only like 13k words >_<
I'm still in the process of altering Val as a character and so I had to go back and edit twice. Unfortunately college papers also took all my time. I did A LOT of writing in November. Just it was psychology papers T_T
I finished at about 11k. I also started out strong and just fell down near the end. Part of it is that I got some new duties here and I was scrambling and working really hard for most of the month. Adulting wins again, darnit! *shakes fist at sky*
I cleared 16k, which is surprising as I had little time all month to actaully sit down and write.
As I said previously, just hammering out words isn't my prefered style of writing and I think it showed in what I did get accomplished as I seemed to have been borrowing ideas from other mediums.
I was also all over the map in my writing style as I wrote different parts out of order, or some back history that I would want added but no idea where it would fit. So it was clustered with holes and no clear plot fleshed out.
I do want to go back and edit it, but I also want to put it aside and finish up other projects I have neglected because of it.
It got me rewriting my playthrough as I found where he extra time to work on it can come from. however, it is on hold (again) as I prep a play through for SoD.
Anyone hype for this year for Nanowrimo? This time I won't have school anymore so I can just work and write all month.
I've spent the past year or so creating the world and I even ran a D&D campaign for my friends set in the world.
I'm totes ready to begin this story. I have my cast, I have the setting, I have the story, all I have to do is actually put it into comprehensible writing.
Comments
Plus write to your style. I fear I have not described enough. All speech and action...
Perhaps after I reach the word limit...
On the other hand, it's Day 3 and I only have a thousand words written...
(I was forced to write dissertations and stuff to pass exams and thingymebobs when I was younger...)
I'm the author of... Dammit. Books not invented.
I know how to push the right butto- No... buttons not invented.
...
As for adding a car chase...
downloading office as we speak
(will probably be dling BG:EE to finish my play through on this too)
no longer have to use my phone to type, or lie in bed falling asleep attempting to type.
Can actually go get a coffee and casually pound out 1000 words at a time.
Now just have to find a way to destroy the procrastination.
Everyone except one. A woman seated in the corner kept her gaze fixed on June. She had tan skin and dark eyes with a slight slope to them—Middle Eastern, June thought, or maybe East Indian. Her hair was black as her eyes, hanging long and straight in a braid. She wore a long-sleeved shirt under a leather vest, likely reinforced to protect her against bullets or knife thrusts. A full glass of beer sat on the table next to an empty with a centimeter of amber residue in the bottom.
*Drip*, went the tap behind the bar.
June moved to the woman's table. “Hello,” she said, the uncertainty in her voice belying the confident strides she tried to make.
“Sit down,” the woman said.
June pulled out a chair and lowered herself gently onto the seat. Ordinary chairs didn't always hold her weight. The tubular aluminum chair creaked and gave a bit as she settled, but it held together.
“You're the person I'm here to meet?” June asked.
“Why else would I tell you to sit down?”
“I want to be sure,” June said. She crossed her arms over her chest. “What's your name?”
The woman studied her carefully. June tried to maintain a neutral expression as the woman's eyes roved over her rough skin, her fringed jacket embroidered with flowering vines that her mother had made, the wilting blossoms tucked in her mossy hair.
“Vendetta,” the woman finally said. June relaxed a fraction as the woman continued, “I suppose I should ask your name too, but you're pretty distinctive. Some people try to pass themselves off as Spirited to get jobs. Either you're the real deal or you went to a lot of trouble to convince me you are.”
“I'm the real deal,” June said. Until the Family had moved to the city, she hadn't really believed people could pretend to be like her. How could anyone mistake June for anything other than a child touched by the elemental spirits of the world? How could you fake the height, the skin, the hair?
A few days after they'd moved into the warehouse, June was patrolling the nearby streets. She'd seen a group of gangers sitting on the steps to an old apartment building. One of them had electric blue skin and glowing yellow eyes. She'd slowed, thinking she'd found a kindred Spirited, but quickly saw that the blue paint streaked and flaked on his neck and that his eyes were bloodshot from the juryrigged contact lenses. Since then she'd seen more fakers, and a few real Spirited. She'd spoken to a few of them, made a few connections, but she didn't consider any of them friends. It was hard to know who to trust in the X Zone.
It was one of her contacts on the street who had told her about this job. That a woman named Vendetta was looking to hire a Spirited and was willing to pay top dollar. Top dollars was what June, and the Family, needed most right now.
[Spoiler]
Val'myr spotted her silhouette in the grace of the moon upon the summit of a great, verdant hill. A woman, who could have been no more than four feet in height, danced. While in height it could have been a child the curves of her body would prove otherwise with a heavily pronounced chest. There was no song Val'myr could hear; the only noise being that of night birds and insects. She moved as if part of some strange ritual. The tiny body leaped back and forth in the light of the moon. Her form easy to see now was stark naked. Wild, Pink hair that was easily as long as she was tall glided behind and shadowed her movements. It was an intoxicating sight.
"H-Hello!" Val'myr spoke out in the common tongue. The tiny figure stumbled and turned quickly towards Val'ymr. He immediately felt as though he had interrupted something of great importance. The woman's eyes seemed to almost glow green in the dark of the night before she dashed down the opposite side of the hill.
"Wait!" Called out Val'myr as he followed her deep into wooded lands.
[/spoiler]
@Amber_Scott 's prose makes me super jealous. ;_;
[spoiler=Snippet Two]“Wow…” Saira breathed. On Marcus’s other side, Carl rejoined them, huffing and panting. He too stopped and gasped in awe.
“By the gods…” He uttered a prayer, reached for his holy symbol, and kissed it. “It takes your breath away every time.”
Then he laid a hand on Marcus’s shoulder. Marcus nearly flinched.
“Perhaps… You would like a moment alone?”
He nodded, and the high priest gave a kind smile—or was that pity?—before he turned his back and wandered, allowing him space.
Marcus stared for so long at the spot he nearly forgot to breathe. In, out. In, out. Though still on the outside, his heart drummed in his throat and nerves coiled in his stomach for the first time since the morning he woke. He’d waited for this. He’d waited for this moment for so long, yet now his own bones refused to obey him. He was the chosen soulholder; he had to do this, needed to do this. On the precipice of his own destiny, he knew that now better than ever, but still he couldn’t move.
Why was he hesitating? Where did all of this unwelcomed fear come from, and why couldn’t he simply chase it away like before?
“Are you okay?”
Her voice jolted him out of his reverie. Marcus blinked and saw Saira beside him, the back of her hand softly brushing against his.
“Yeah,” he answered, lips pursing. “I just… I don’t think it’d hit me yet, you know? That any of this was really happening. Now I’m actually here, and my life, the person I am and the person I’m about to become… All of that’s about to change. Forever.”
Then his gaze wandered back over the Circle, tracing the marks on its surface like the lines of a person’s palm. His entire future mapped in stone, unchanging and indecipherable. Trying to shrug it off, he scratched the back of his head and averted his eyes, but the chill down his spine persisted.
“It’s…more daunting than I thought it would be,” he mumbled.
“It’s okay to be a little scared,” Saira reassured him.
Marcus’s head snapped back up, frowning. “I’m not scared. I’m about to be Recognized as the Thgil-soulholder, the great leader of the five saviors! I’ll get to travel the world, perform miracles, all of mortalkind practically worshipping the ground I walk on, until—”
Then he paused. Marcus’s smile stopped growing, instead slipped away into a look of sorrow. “Until…” he began again, but couldn’t finish.
The silence drifted between them a moment, weighted by the unspoken end to a story they both knew by heart. The prophecy stated that when all five saviors joined together, only then could the gods be revived. No one talked about what would happen to the chosen mortals after they’d offered themselves to their second-souls. The Thgil clergy told him he’d be reborn as the Sunlord himself, but after many years and many books, Marcus learned all too well why, and what they’d really meant. He still felt his father’s tears falling on his neck when he’d pulled him into his arms eleven years ago.
Saira had on that look again, night-sky eyes that pierced his thickest shields like stars in the darkness. She knew it as well as he did what would await him once he strode onto the Circle, but even so, her gaze didn’t gave an inch. Seeing it pulled a sheepish shrug out of him.
“Yeesh. Nothing ever gets by you, does it?”
“Well, I’ve only known you almost my whole life,” she said with a smirk, but it fell quickly, replaced by a more serious expression as she wrapped her fingers around his.
“You’re going to be great,” she insisted. “No matter what may happen in the end, I know you won’t just disappear. You have so many people who love and care about you, and we may not be there when it happens, but we’re all going to be with you one way or another. You’ll be the best Thgil-soulholder the world has ever seen, and that’s a promise from everyone in Corna, not just me.”
Everyone in Corna. His father, his grandmother, Saira and her family, his classmates and neighbors… He’d touched all of them, one way or another, and still would long after he’d leave. Seeing their faces behind his eyes brought a smile to his lips, an honest one this time. They were the reason why he kept going, why he was able to laugh at the littlest things rather than dwell on the noose that dangled at the end of his road. He’d been doomed from the very start by loving all of them; he dared not disappoint them even if he wanted to.
And that was okay, because after all, he still loved them.
“Thanks,” Marcus sighed at last.
“Any time.” Saira beamed at him, until she glanced down at their joined hands. As if just noticing them, she quickly let go and hid her hands behind her back like she’d done something wrong. For some reason. Marcus wasn’t sure what.
Shaking his head and fighting a chuckle, he instead spotted Carl far off to the side, crouched on the edge of the Circle and examining its carvings in closer detail. “Father Carl!” Marcus called out, and waited for the old man to rise from his stupor. “I’m ready.”[/spoiler]
Anyway, a small snippet here:
The smith was outside, toiling away at some bits and scraps some hunters had found the week prior out scouting the area. The blacksmith looked up as the youth approached.
“Figured you’d be around some time,” the smith said. “What do you have there?”
“An iron pan,” the kid replied, with a slight nervous stutter. “My mother said, you could maybe craft a dagger from it.”
“Forget it,” the smith replied in a rather gruff tone. “I enjoy your mother’s cooking. Bring that stolen pan back to her.”
“I didn’t steal it,” the kid replied.
The blacksmith looked up with a snarl on his face. He wiped his hands on his apron and stood up to face the kid. Being six foot three, he towered over the kid by at least six inches. He got into a menacing stance.
The kid continued, “my mother gave it to me, for my first night’s patrol.”
“You don’t need a dagger for patrol,” the blacksmith replied waving his hand away in disgust. “It’ll make you a target more than anything.”
The blacksmith was right. Metal on the island was scarce. A raider would kill for a scrap like a metallic pan without even thinking twice of who the owner was.
“Besides, the only reason why your mother was allowed to keep that pan was her for biscuits,” the blacksmith continued. “We would have confiscated it a long time ago if it wasn’t for those.”
“She has another pan,” the kid replied.
“Really?” The blacksmith thought on this for a minute. “She does have sway with the clergy doesn’t she?”
The kid shrugged.
“Listen,” the kid said. “I am with you, I don’t think I need a dagger, it is just to make my mother happy. If I return without one, she’ll won’t let it be and may come down here herself.”
The blacksmith snorted out a laugh. “Fine, fine, give me the damn pan. Tell your mother she owes me though, and I will be over later tonight when you are on patrol to collect.”
“You want her to bake you some biscuits?”
“Something like that,” the blacksmith laughed. “This will take awhile, go make yourself busy for an hour or so, I’ll have the dagger ready for you before your patrol.”
The kid nodded and took a step back away from the opposing figure then quickly turned back to his home.
I had a write-in with a friend yesterday and got to 7800 words. Hoping to hit 10k today if I push. Still behind, but not, like, WAY behind.
Vendetta nodded and took a swig of beer. When she lifted her arm to drink, June saw the holster under her armpit, the handle of the gun gleaming in the pitiful light. Vendetta put her glass down and said, “What I need is a Spirited who can see spirits, talk to them, and manipulate them.”
“I can do that.”
“I wasn't finished.” Vendetta leaned back in her chair, draping one arm over the back. “If you take the job, you'll have to break into a secure facility. One with spirit guardians. They'll be tough and they've got orders to kill. Then you have to track down the target, a man who's high up in the organization and also protected by spirit guardians.”
June swallowed around the sudden lump in her throat. The tickle from all the cigarette smoke returned and she resisted the urge to cough. She knew her powers were considerable, but she'd never used them for such a complex and dangerous task before.
“How much are you paying?” she asked, trying to sound tough and matter-of-fact.
“Ten thousand,” Vendetta said. “Two up front, the rest when you finish the job.”
June couldn't hide the surprise and hope that flashed across her face. Top dollar was a lot higher up than she'd though. Ten thousand would get the Family out of the abandoned warehouse where they squatted and into a crumbling, but liveable, rental house. It would get food and clean water for everyone and new clothes for the children. June's heart beat faster, an excited rat-a-tat-tat against her chest, as she pictured all the things she could do with that much money.
“That works for me,” she said, hoping her voice sounded cool and not desperate. “Where is this place, and who's the target?”
Vendetta nodded. “Good to have you on board, then. It's the Gradient water treatment plant near the reservoir.”
“I know the place,” June said. Gradient was one of the few businesses that still operated out of the X Zone.
“The target is the vice president of operations, a man named Cohen Braxley.” Vendetta set a thumb drive on the table, the technology looking pristine and out of place on the scarred table. “This has all the information I've got on him, including his routine. He often works nights so you might have a good chance of getting in and finding him after hours.”
June picked up the drive. “Got it. What do I do when I find him?”
Vendetta stared at her and said nothing. Her expression implied June had just said something ridiculous, but June couldn't figure out what. The silence stretched for another few seconds, and then Vendetta said, “What?”
June flushed, though she still didn't know how she'd embarrassed herself. “You said the job was to break in and find the target. What do I do when I find him? Am I supposed to threaten him, or steal something, or..?”
Vendetta leaned forward, one eyebrow cocked. She spoke slowly, as if June was a small child. “You're supposed to kill him.”
Probably the last "snippet" you'll get out of me.
[spoiler=Snippet 3] After one more round of hugs and words of good luck, Marcus took his first steps onto the Elemental Circle, while Saira and Carl watched from the outside. Once he reached the center—just as he’d been taught—he clasped his hands together, took a deep breath, and prayed.
The air stirred. Trees began to rustle as faint wind swirled around the Circle, breathing life into Marcus’s stiff bones. A pale glow slowly seeped through the cracks of the Star, barely visible in the daylight.
“Marcus Cladec.”
A voice like thunder rumbled across the Circle, earning a slight jump out of Marcus’s shoulders. It bombarded him on all sides, yet also from nowhere, disembodied and impossible to track. Nor did it settle on a gender, layered in both male and female pitches; the Guardian Spirit of the Stone was beyond such things, an ancient soul bound to the Circle as the conductor of the Recognition.
Upon hearing his name, Marcus lowered his hands and stared bravely into the sky.
“Redulos fa Corna, aumé eva enaod leirwu se nikfér hesri raaf.”
A being so ancient, in fact, it only knew how to speak the old tongue. Luckily, as was true for all soulholders, Marcus had studied and learned the language growing up as a child. He rarely had need of it, and it took him a few moments to translate and understand what the Guardian had just said. “Soulholder of Corna, you have done well in reaching this far.”
“Thank you, Guardian,” Marcus replied in its same language, a little clumsier than he’d have liked.
“It has been seventeen years since my Circle touched the earth on the eve of your birth,” the Guardian continued. “Now, your second-soul beckons you.”
Another rush of heat surged through him from the inner god within. As if Marcus needed any more reminders.
“Are you willing to awaken your sleeping self?”
Despite himself, Marcus frowned, patience thinning even in the presence of Fate. “Of course. I would not be standing here if otherwise.”
But an especially strong gust blew into his face. Marcus threw his hands up, trying to shield his eyes with his arms until the wind died down.
“Insolent boy!” the Guardian’s voice howled across the Circle. “You mock our ritual when you know not even the weight of your own destiny! Know this and commit, soulholder Marcus Cladec: that once you take this vow, you will be bonded to your second-soul until your death. Are you truly prepared to accept one of Kiral’s very creators into your mind and body? To live and give yourself to the gods? Choose wisely, for you will not be able to go back.”
As he lowered his arms to his sides again, a puzzled brow knit above his eyes. No soulholder refused his or her Recognition; it was unheard of. From everything Marcus had read, the longer a soulholder put off the ceremony, the pain of the second-soul would worsen, not unlike a woman’s labor pains. Except this pain could kill.
Suffer excruciating pain, or sacrifice his life to a god. Just another reminder that his future was not his own. A grim smile touched Marcus’s lips. A choice like that isn’t a real choice at all.
“I will not run away,” he told the Guardian. “It is my honor to serve Lord Thgil and the holy goddesses. My life, my soul, my body—all of it is theirs to give. I’ve waited seventeen years for this, and I’ve waited long enough.”
An unnerving silence gripped the Circle, filled only by the whispering wind and murmurs in the trees. Marcus’s heart pounded harder with each passing breath, and not because of his second-soul’s dormant presence.
“Very well,” the Guardian said at last. “I, the soul bound to your Circle, now Recognize you as a soulholder. Brace yourself, Marcus Cladec, for your awakening has come!”
Hands curled into fists, feet rooted to the ground, Marcus took a deep breath, and waited.
Then the Guardian began its chant, the same words over and over again, but too brisk for Marcus to understand. Wind whipped around the Circle, faster, colder, so fierce its howl filled his ears and drowned out the Guardian’s voice. He struggled to breathe steady as it blew across his face, tore at his hair and clothes, and almost lifted him off the ground. Below him, the glow of the Circle intensified, but the wind was drying out his eyes, and he had to shut them close.
But the darkness of his closed eyelids brought little comfort—a pressure formed between his brows, like a finger prodding his skull from the inside, and made him dizzy. Heat rushed up and down his veins, poured out of his heart and throbbed with the rhythm of his pulse. So hot on the inside, but blistering cold on the outside thanks to the merciless wind; such dual sensations churned his stomach, vomit rising in the back of his throat.
Do not throw up, Marcus ordered himself, gnarling his teeth in rebellion. Do not throw up. Focus on breathing, in out, in out… Just do not throw up!
He tried to stay calm, but the power kept building, and building, and building. Until at last, something snapped inside. Marcus threw his head to the sky and screamed, only to have the wind swallow it. Every fiber and every sinew of his body ached and throbbed, shook like a dam holding back a flood. He hugged himself tight as if to keep something in, even though he knew it did anything but.
Yet as it steadily filled him, the pain ebbed away, replaced by something…better. The empty void that’d ached and pained him whenever his sleeping soul stirred, it was full now, brimming with heat. Never before had he been more aware of himself: of the blood pumping through him, from his brain to his fingertips, the warm trickle just under his skin, even the air as it sunk in his lungs and traversed his veins. Power burned within him, seeped through his every pore, and gods, it was incredible.
Is that it? Marcus thought, struggling to think anything coherent. Is it…over?
The ceremony is, yes. But this is the beginning of something greater.
Marcus jumped. The voice was a man’s, deep and rich and inside his head. More than that, it trembled through his very flesh, barely contained beneath his skin.
This voice… Marcus spoke back with his mind, and felt his heart skip a beat. Are you—
Your second-soul. Yes. The voice chuckled, a ripple that earned another jump out of Marcus. He laughed harder. It’s good to finally meet you, Marcus.
Blush burned in his cheeks as he scrambled for something, anything more significant to say. He’d had so many questions, had imagined and practiced this moment a thousand times over ever since he was a child. But all of his fantasies crumbled to dust and blew away the moment he’d heard his second-soul speak. By the Heavens and Fates and all that was holy, this was his god. Lord Thgil, actually speaking to him, from inside. What could he possibly say?
G-Good to meet you too, Marcus replied, but silently cursed his stutter. How could he stutter? The words were all in his head, for crying out loud. You know my name?
Of course. We’re bonded, after all. I know everything about you.
Oh… Right. Marcus mentally kicked himself as he blushed harder. Of course he would know. Thgil only existed inside his head. Why shouldn’t he know his name, what he liked to eat, where he liked to pee, every book he’d ever read and every lie he’d ever told? What a stupid question. Stupid, stupid question, and he couldn’t even hide how stupid he felt anymore.
Don’t worry, his inner self chuckled again, ringing back and forth inside his mind, your secrets are safe with me.
The laughter was infectious, accompanied by the soul rippling up and down his limbs. Marcus laughed too, and slowly, his embarrassment melted away. I’m not sure if that makes me feel any better, but you have my humble thanks, Lord Thgil.
Then the rippling stopped.
Thgil… Yes, the god whispered. You needn’t worry about such pettiness, Marcus. I know our kind can be overwhelming, even for a chosen soulholder.
Another pause, and Marcus’s mind was his again, filled with a silence almost deafening after Thgil’s echoing voice. Marcus reached for that silence, grasped for something, anything to fill it with. This was Lord Thgil he was talking too—the holy Sun himself, all of His glory bound inside him, the envy of every puny mortal right now. He had so many questions, so many things he wanted to say…!
There is…something wrong.
But before he could piece together his swarming thoughts, Thgil spoke again, more concerned this time.
What is it? Marcus asked.
Even I am unsure, in my current form. However… I sense darkness. I see a shadow being cast over a village south of here, and misshapen creatures stalking its people from the trees…
Memories flashed in the back of his mind, of the Corrupted they’d encountered in the woods. Shadows writhing in their rotten bodies, bloodied teeth and claws that could rend a person’s flesh to shreds.
Thgil’s soul surged again, fizzing with heat. Ah, then you know it.
Yeah. We’d already run into some on our way here. You’re saying there’s more of them?
I fear they did not take kindly to my awakening. Now they’re gathering, and mean to attack your home.
What? Knots strangled Marcus’s throat as he thought of his family, his friends, all unarmed and nearly defenseless. No, we can’t let that happen! The town won’t stand a chance! What’re we gonna do? What can we do!?
A wave of heat answered him, swept through his mind and cascaded down his veins. Marcus swayed one step and held his head, suddenly feverish and dizzier than before.
It’s all right, Thgil whispered, close and tender like a lover in his ear. We won’t let those monsters destroy or hurt anyone. In fact… It is us who will destroy them, together.
Together?
Yes. Take my power, Marcus. Open your heart and mind and let me run freely within you. When imbued with my blessing, not even the darkest creatures will be able to stop you. Now, come into my embrace, and relax…
Not entirely sure what he meant, Marcus took a deep breath and tried to release his tension. But he flinched and stiffened as the pressure in his head intensified. Something tightened around his heart, like a greedy hand with claws that squeezed, but the fever dulled the pain and clouded his thoughts, until all he felt was Thgil’s soul, warm against his and flooding his core.
You’ve nothing to fear. Not while I’m by your side. Yes, that’s it. Closer…
He spoke like the sun itself, warm and soothing as it shined down on him on a summer day. Gentle enough to lull him to sleep, a caress in his ears. Although he couldn’t see it, Marcus swore he felt someone’s arms wrap around him, an embrace warmer and more loving than a mother’s. He opened his eyes, hoping he could see who it was, but he was just too tired; they couldn’t stay open. Colors blurred together, and a ring of shadow encompassed the edge of his vision, but it didn’t matter. For his god was awake and thriving within him, and he felt more alive and complete than ever before.
So Marcus thought as he gladly surrendered himself, and let the world slip away. [/spoiler]
...
Good stuff is how it all comes together.
...
Oddly still pleased with it. Will go back and flesh it out and leave a completed snippet.
I feel like I started out really strong quality-wise, but my prose really started to drudge along these past couple weeks.
How did everyone else do?
I'm still in the process of altering Val as a character and so I had to go back and edit twice. Unfortunately college papers also took all my time. I did A LOT of writing in November. Just it was psychology papers T_T
As I said previously, just hammering out words isn't my prefered style of writing and I think it showed in what I did get accomplished as I seemed to have been borrowing ideas from other mediums.
I was also all over the map in my writing style as I wrote different parts out of order, or some back history that I would want added but no idea where it would fit. So it was clustered with holes and no clear plot fleshed out.
I do want to go back and edit it, but I also want to put it aside and finish up other projects I have neglected because of it.
I may revisit this in the summer, who knows.
I have a very fleshed out plan of a novel, that would work if it was a graphic novel... Need to go through it and describe what is happening.
however, it is on hold (again) as I prep a play through for SoD.
I've spent the past year or so creating the world and I even ran a D&D campaign for my friends set in the world.
I'm totes ready to begin this story. I have my cast, I have the setting, I have the story, all I have to do is actually put it into comprehensible writing.