All that troubleshooting leaves me a little sapped for ideas. Okay, I lied. I have quite a few ideas actually. Every time one popped into my head I logged in and created a new post with the topic and the basic idea that I had. They are all sitting there in draft form hanging out on the sidelines. So the real answer is that all the troubleshooting I've been doing this week (and the lack of sleep) makes me doubt that I could really give those ideas the attention they need.
So far I've written a few posts with writing advice and this blog is still very young, all things considered. I haven't really shown you any of my writing. That probably isn't very fair. I figured that tonight would be a good night to share my writing with you. You don't have to like it, and even if you can't stand it we can still be friends. :) This blog is about writing and not about my ego. Any comments you have are more than welcome!
This is draft form and just a sample, it is the introduction of a major character at the beginning of Chapter 2. I hope you enjoy it. Don't mind the formatting, the blog format and my indents just don't seem to want to cooperate. :)
Excerpt from “Coma - The Cataclysm”
Deltwathe, considered the center of culture and reason by most, stood tall and graceful, a safe haven to merchants and royal envoys of allied towns. The towers of the castle challenged the heavens, visible for miles upon the horizon. The flags flew proudly on their posts, announcing the allegiance of the White Dragon. Formidable outer walls enclosed the Lower Commons, housing for the poor and the home to small tradesmen and those peddling common goods. An area designed to serve the kingdom as a primary defense; it remained guarded day and night by both castle guard and militia formed from residents of the lower city.
An architecturally defensive structure, the outer walls were adorned with bastions along the embattled parapets, perfect cover for defending archers. The entrance to the city within included inner and outer gates, ornate wooden gates fortified with iron and steel, with a twenty yard kill zone between each gate proceeded by its own portcullis, an iron grille suspended within the ceiling of the tunnel. As a last line of defense against a breach, the portcullis could be dropped to reestablish the killing field against reinforcements. The walls in the corridor were lined with narrow slits every two feet, alternating from side to side. In the event the attackers were to breach the gates, archers and crossbowmen would be at the ready.
Such were the defenses of Delwathe, the fairest
In the distance a chapel bell clanged the hour, a symphony of echoes rang back in reply. As if on queue the torches within the bastions lit simultaneously, warning the world that the eyes of Delwathe were forever watching. The streets of Lower Commons were flooded, cobble venders pushed last minute sales before customers retreated to the comfort of homes, inns, or taverns to stave off the incoming cold that night would bring.
Through the mingling crowd a darkly dressed man made his way towards Three Swords Tavern. His rusty blonde hair whisked about his shoulders as he weaved towards his destination, the long broadsword bridled to his back cause some to quietly step aside as he passed. His movements were lithe and catlike despite his girth and muscled broad shoulders. The armband on his left bicep bore the insignia of Captain, denoting his rank in the Kaelvacci, the elite Special Forces charged with serving the Prince and high ranking members of the court.
Catching a glimpse of a familiar face, the Captain smiled and quietly followed the retreating figure into an adjacent alleyway. Long stealthy strides quickly closed the gap between predator and prey, within fifteen paces the mousey old man squirmed feebly against the Captain’s unyielding grip.
“Good to see you again Tibias,” the Captain grunted into the man’s ear, pressing his face into the stone wall of the building.
The old man’s eyes winced shut in pain, his long stringy gray hair pulled tight into the fist of his assailant. “Always a pleasure, Captain Reshald, how may I be of service to the Kaelvacci this evening?” he asked politely, struggling against both pride and pain.
“Not to the Kaelvacci tonight old man, “ Reshald loosened his grip. “It’s time for one last payment, payable to me. Play your cards right and tomorrow you could be a free man, cross me and we both know what happens.”
“An-anything, M’lord, name it and it shall be done.” Tibias smiled, exposing the rotten teeth jutting up from his gums.
“Tomorrow night, Tibias StormWeaver, your life depends on it.” Reshald thrust a small scroll marked with the royal seal into the trembling hand of the terrin addict and backed silently out of the alleyway, disappearing into the murmur of the crowd.
Clenching the wrought iron handle of the tavern door, Captain Reshald checked himself and straightened his jerkin. Once everything seemed in order he swung the solid wooden door outward and stepped into the dark parlor, the smoky atmosphere swayed as the flames of candles danced upon their wicks, the clamor of glasses clinking and patrons laughing drifted from the main hall.
Nestled deep within Lower Commons, Three Swords Tavern bore a very exclusive membership comprised of powerful men and women among the middle citizenship, imperial agents, and a select few upperclassmen with a propensity for slumming and a taste of lower class appeal. For all matters the tavern was a place of discrete business, a safe-house, an organization threatening to breathe with a life of its own. It was the perfect place for the type of business the Captain had on this particular evening.