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NANOWRIMO
13 years ago
I'm registered this year, will be searchable as 'Zarnth' in NaNoWriMo
The novel for NaNoWriMo: Volume 2 of the For Mythic Creatures series, as I wait for feedback from my test writers to go into the next draft of volume 1.
A bit of the writing. Not sure yet if this will find it's way into book 2 or 3. But since it's pre-existing it won't go into the book for the NaNoWriMo 50,000 word count.
She stepped towards him, the flicker of the candlelight caused the shadows to heave and dance in rhythm with the slightest movement of the air. Stepping across the circle she approached, the gleaming dagger holding his attention, this was the first time he’d looked at it, with it’s bone hilt ornately carved, stained with the years and polished with use. The fat base of the blade, the way the gleaming metal warped the reflections along its curves until that ever so sharp tip.
She moved with a practiced step, her bare feet dancing with a slow winding rhythm, one footfall flowing into the next, her arm movements ritually sweeping the dagger, drawing it through the air, he could feel her slicing through the ether, his mind and senses telling him that she was cutting through more than the air, and that her steps were deftly guiding her through invisible veils of magic, carefully she treaded as she stepped. Just beyond the edge of his perception, he thought he could see the tearing, that he could see her lift and raise her foot, her fingernails with their glimmering paint opening the tear in reality, and stepping through, and brushing her hand behind, smoothing the gap back, with the same gesture that one would associate with a zipper. He could feel her nearness now; feel his own body heat reflecting off her movements, the ripples and waves of the air were more perceptible for his focus on them. He watched her come to a halt, standing, she turned the dagger sideways, and cradled it in both hands, offering it up to him.
Slowly, he reached for the dagger and took it in his left hand. He could feel the weight of the hilt, the balance of the blade. He could feel the air slowly moving, he could feel her standing close, watching him now from out of his reach with a deep curiosity in those green eyes.
"Take the blade and prick your finger. Let gather a drop of blood and let it fall into the bowl at your feet." She instructed and illustrated what she bid him to do, indicating the copper bowl on the white sand.
He looked at the tip of the dagger, and at his hand, and considered his fingers, look at them, and the claws that his mind were beginning to recognize as his own, the way the candlelight glinted on his almost metallic skin, flickering and dancing. He brought the dagger to the pad from his left ring finger, somewhat mistrustful of the blade, and pressed against the blade, it seemed that the metal flashed, or the air did, that with the sharp explosion of pain from the digit, the very air was charged by the blood that he saw filling the small cut, holding it over the bowl beneath him, he watched as the blood, seemed to glow faintly to him, like it was drawing the candlelight, it didn’t quite seem … real, in the way movies didn’t quite seem real. The blood seemed too thick, too tangible, realizing it was his own body heat he was feeling as it ran down the tip of his finger, falling through the night air to spatter into the bowl below, almost sounding like a gong was sounded, he could see the hammered copper bottom of the bowl, and the way the blood seemed to splatter, strange and mysterious. He had never considered blood in this manner before, but now he could trace the intricacies of the impact, and how hitting that exact point had caused the trace of blood. He was lost in the minutiae of the moment even as the second drop fell alongside the first, so very loud in the silence, the metal ringing just faintly, it made his ears twitch and swivel forward.
"That is enough, suck on your finger for a moment until the bleeding stops, and do not let any land, on the sacred sands." she murmured, bending low to take up the bottle from beside the bowl, pouring into the bowl, the clear liquid swirled, pouring it made contact with the blood, and swirled, not mixing well, red smoke on the surface and depths of the liquid.
He could taste the copper, and feel the flash of pain as he sucked on the fingertip, but as if willing it to top had a greater effect, he could even feel the skin sealing as his tongue flicked across it. Soon only the phantom of the pain remained.
"The bowl whispers to you…. hear its voice and know the name… your name… and know it to be true." she reached for a small piece of rounded bone, and brought it slowly around the hammered edge of the bowl, making it resonate just slightly.
He could hear the tone of the bowl, and beneath it, the shifting of the sands, the same sands he could feel the vibration, all the way to his feet, and from his feet, he envisioned the sound bouncing off his very blood, and resonating, closing his eyes to listen more, he could hear.
"Narthaing, Bringer-Of-Ashes"
He started to mouth the name, as it did roll off his tongue, but she put up her hand, still bringing the bone stylus around the edge of the sand, "This is your name. Known only to yourself… and in time, maybe you will trust it wisely to another. For in Magic, many things have power. But especially Names."
The novel for NaNoWriMo: Volume 2 of the For Mythic Creatures series, as I wait for feedback from my test writers to go into the next draft of volume 1.
A bit of the writing. Not sure yet if this will find it's way into book 2 or 3. But since it's pre-existing it won't go into the book for the NaNoWriMo 50,000 word count.
She stepped towards him, the flicker of the candlelight caused the shadows to heave and dance in rhythm with the slightest movement of the air. Stepping across the circle she approached, the gleaming dagger holding his attention, this was the first time he’d looked at it, with it’s bone hilt ornately carved, stained with the years and polished with use. The fat base of the blade, the way the gleaming metal warped the reflections along its curves until that ever so sharp tip.
She moved with a practiced step, her bare feet dancing with a slow winding rhythm, one footfall flowing into the next, her arm movements ritually sweeping the dagger, drawing it through the air, he could feel her slicing through the ether, his mind and senses telling him that she was cutting through more than the air, and that her steps were deftly guiding her through invisible veils of magic, carefully she treaded as she stepped. Just beyond the edge of his perception, he thought he could see the tearing, that he could see her lift and raise her foot, her fingernails with their glimmering paint opening the tear in reality, and stepping through, and brushing her hand behind, smoothing the gap back, with the same gesture that one would associate with a zipper. He could feel her nearness now; feel his own body heat reflecting off her movements, the ripples and waves of the air were more perceptible for his focus on them. He watched her come to a halt, standing, she turned the dagger sideways, and cradled it in both hands, offering it up to him.
Slowly, he reached for the dagger and took it in his left hand. He could feel the weight of the hilt, the balance of the blade. He could feel the air slowly moving, he could feel her standing close, watching him now from out of his reach with a deep curiosity in those green eyes.
"Take the blade and prick your finger. Let gather a drop of blood and let it fall into the bowl at your feet." She instructed and illustrated what she bid him to do, indicating the copper bowl on the white sand.
He looked at the tip of the dagger, and at his hand, and considered his fingers, look at them, and the claws that his mind were beginning to recognize as his own, the way the candlelight glinted on his almost metallic skin, flickering and dancing. He brought the dagger to the pad from his left ring finger, somewhat mistrustful of the blade, and pressed against the blade, it seemed that the metal flashed, or the air did, that with the sharp explosion of pain from the digit, the very air was charged by the blood that he saw filling the small cut, holding it over the bowl beneath him, he watched as the blood, seemed to glow faintly to him, like it was drawing the candlelight, it didn’t quite seem … real, in the way movies didn’t quite seem real. The blood seemed too thick, too tangible, realizing it was his own body heat he was feeling as it ran down the tip of his finger, falling through the night air to spatter into the bowl below, almost sounding like a gong was sounded, he could see the hammered copper bottom of the bowl, and the way the blood seemed to splatter, strange and mysterious. He had never considered blood in this manner before, but now he could trace the intricacies of the impact, and how hitting that exact point had caused the trace of blood. He was lost in the minutiae of the moment even as the second drop fell alongside the first, so very loud in the silence, the metal ringing just faintly, it made his ears twitch and swivel forward.
"That is enough, suck on your finger for a moment until the bleeding stops, and do not let any land, on the sacred sands." she murmured, bending low to take up the bottle from beside the bowl, pouring into the bowl, the clear liquid swirled, pouring it made contact with the blood, and swirled, not mixing well, red smoke on the surface and depths of the liquid.
He could taste the copper, and feel the flash of pain as he sucked on the fingertip, but as if willing it to top had a greater effect, he could even feel the skin sealing as his tongue flicked across it. Soon only the phantom of the pain remained.
"The bowl whispers to you…. hear its voice and know the name… your name… and know it to be true." she reached for a small piece of rounded bone, and brought it slowly around the hammered edge of the bowl, making it resonate just slightly.
He could hear the tone of the bowl, and beneath it, the shifting of the sands, the same sands he could feel the vibration, all the way to his feet, and from his feet, he envisioned the sound bouncing off his very blood, and resonating, closing his eyes to listen more, he could hear.
"Narthaing, Bringer-Of-Ashes"
He started to mouth the name, as it did roll off his tongue, but she put up her hand, still bringing the bone stylus around the edge of the sand, "This is your name. Known only to yourself… and in time, maybe you will trust it wisely to another. For in Magic, many things have power. But especially Names."
