Despite the craziness of life, I am so glad for time to write! NaNoWriMo certainly gives me more motivation to find time to write, and certain more excuses to put off folding the laundry!
Here is a sneak peak of what I’ve been writing! A first draft of Chapter One of “Varkens of Ailenor”:
The Ulil savage swung his broadsword down with carefully wielded strength. The metal cut into the dirt of the Tearmurr. Brielle rolled away from his attack and quickly stood up again. She planted her feet firmly a shoulder’s width apart and readied for the brute’s next attack. The blades faced away from her, held with precision and freshly sharpened. She stared into the savage’s pale eyes, not letting the black war paint smudged across his face intimidate her.
He pried his broadsword up from ground and began to pace around her, letting the blade drag on the ground and cut into the grass. Brie matched his moves in a careful dancing, anticipating his every move. He grunted and bared his teeth at her.
“You will never breach Ailenor’s gate,” she told him proudly.
“I have cross many miles of tundra and defeated many beasts much larger that you, little one,” the Ulil warrior said, his voice gritty and deep like a dragon. “I will not stop until I have the Keeper’s head on a spike!”
“Then you may be disappointed,” Brie responded. She twirled towards him, spinning once and then striking with her daggers. He avoided he blades, but not the kicked that she landed right into his gut. He stumbled backwards and lifted his blade into the air. Gravity pulled the blade down towards Brie and she crossed her daggers in front of her chest, creating a cradle for the broadsword.
His blade pressed downwards and she fell onto her back, but her daggers did not falter.
“You should have known better than to challenge an Ulil executioner,” he said, a grimacing smile appearing on his lips. His weight was becoming unbearable.
“Perhaps you shouldn’t underestimate the Varken of Ailenor!” Brie said, pulling her daggers away and slipping between the savages legs as his blade buried itself in the ground. She jumped onto his back, digging her knees into his sides. She pulled back his head and pressed the sharp edge of her dagger against his throat. “I would start begging for mercy, if I were you.”
“Brielle!” Grimwald gasped.
Brie looked over at him, startled and embarrassed. She was perched on a marble statue of King Stephenus with a wooden spoon pressed against his hard throat. Loose strands of strawberry hair fell chaotically out of her once-elegant braid and around her face. Her long, dull skirt was hiked up above her knees to give her the leverage she needed to maintain the precarious pose on the statue.