Nowadays when I look back on Paul Ivan I just shake my head. It was pretty ridiculous. I think it had started out as kind of Harry Potter fan fiction, but really was more of 'Into the Land of the Unicorns' fan fiction. I entered it into our valley's 'Young Writer's Festival' and got some reasonable praise, but they were probably just going easy on me considering I was 11. But throughout my life, the world I created with Paul Ivan (the world of Sevahndia and its surrounding lands) has never really left my consciousness. It's my Arda, my Nirn, my Narnia. It just won't go away.
So, after over a decade of pretending like Paul Ivan never happened, I've decided to revisit Sevahndia. It's a totally different story, and Paul Ivan doesn't really exist. The analog for Paul is now a character named Elldrin Tannivh, and he's definitely not the Keeper of the Unicorns (though there are unicorns, and they're badass).
Every budding 'novelist' (okay, I refuse to call myself that, I write things... so I'm a writer?) has a different way of managing their work in its early stages. Some people like to put their work on things like Fictionpress and let strangers all over the world critique it. Some people won't let a soul read their work until they feel like it's finished. I personally fall somewhere in the middle-ish. I like feedback, but initially I prefer to receive it from people who know me and won't be SUPER harsh.
And so, since I know there are maybe three people on the entire planet who read this blog... I'll give you the introduction to [CURRENTLY UNTITLED SEVAHNDIA NOVEL]. I'd like your feedback (try to be sort of nice, at least), and if you want to read more, well, let me know. There's plenty of it.
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INTRODUCTION
A thick fog drifted lazily across the cliffs overlooking the ocean, blanketing the sounds of the waves crashing on the rocks below. Even the gulls seemed silent, as if they held their breath, waiting.
All at once, thundering of hooves crashed through the muffled air, exploding through the mist as if they had appeared out of nowhere.
Vestel Helewis was not accustomed to being followed.
She turned in her saddle, reaching her open left hand towards the shimmering portal behind her, and snapped her fingers closed into a tight fist. The portal zapped shut, and Vestel’s horse skidded to a stop near the edge of the bluffs. Sweating and breathing heavily from the effort of not only closing the portal, but opening it at all, she leaned down to pat her black mare. The horse, also breathing heavily, shook her head, exhaling deeply from her nose.
“Well done, love,” Vestel cooed softly. “We’re nearly there.” She turned her gaze southward, to 'there'- a slender watchtower that snaked upward from the cliffs, surrounded by a small wall. Ethen Shrall, it was called, and it was one of the few places in Sevahndia from which other lands- other worlds- could be contacted.
It was here that the scroll Vestel carried was to be delivered.
Nil Bouran sat atop the wall overlooking the ocean, head against the stone behind him and eyes glazed over with boredom. This has to be the worst assignment I could have ever imagined… bird duty, he thought, clenching his teeth and sighing. Then he felt the faint ripple of magic to his left, and stood, his stool clattering over in his haste. Rushing to the wall and staring in the direction of the ripple, he saw it- there, atop the bluff, a large black warhorse burst through a gleaming portal at full speed.
Shit, he thought. This cannot be good. He shook his head, attempting to clear the grogginess from his eyes, but when he refocused his attention on the bluff, the portal was gone and only the horse remained. Its rider sat tall and alert- an even worse sign. For a person to be anything but slumped in the saddle after magic that taxing could only mean that their visitor was a mage powerful beyond any but the Master of Ethen Shrall, and it was unlikely this visitor was friendly. Inhaling heavily, Nil turned on his heel and ran towards the thick stone door separating the wall from the tower itself. This was something the Master would need to be informed of immediately.
Vestel’s eyes narrowed as she watched the guard hurry towards the tower. Opening the portal was bound to draw attention to her, but she hadn’t expected her arrival to be met with the reaction she appeared to have received from the guard, if his body language was any indication. She wheeled her horse to the south and began picking her way along the bluff towards the tower, mustering her inner strength. Opening and closing the portal had sapped her energy, and might make it difficult to summon the magic she needed to give the sign to the Master of Ethen Shrall.
Walk to the gate and stop ten paces away with open palms filled with flames. One blue for the Sign of the Record Keeper, the other green for the Sigil of Sevahndia. Speak freely only to the Master. The instructions had seemed simple enough when they were given to her, but the unforeseen matter of the Raisch had greatly complicated things.
The Raisch. What an incredible nightmare. Vestel was still reeling from dread at their appearance, and shock that she had managed to elude them. The hillmen had never come so far out of their territory before, that she knew of, and these four had been unnaturally fast. She had heard rumors that they had made pacts with the Dark Elves to breed offspring swifter than steeds, but she had dismissed them- until now. The Lord Commander would not be pleased to hear of this, especially when Vestel’s route had been so carefully planned to avoid their territory by a great distance. A knot of foreboding formed in Vestel’s stomach. What if these offspring had gained other traits from their progenitors, like magic? What if they could follow her, here of all places?
Vestel shook her head. She couldn’t think such things, now of all times, as Ethen Shrall loomed ever nearer. Now, when her people so desperately needed her to deliver this message to worlds throughout the Connection. The message that it was finally time for the Warden to return to Sevahndia, and reclaim his homeland.
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