Currently Untitled Work of Fiction, Chapter One

Okay, so before we launch into 'Chapter One' I just want to remind you all of two things -
1. This is a first draft. If, heaven help me, this actually happens, what gets published will be crazy different from what you see here. Try to keep it in mind while you read.
2. This is my intellectual property. Due to some unfortunate instances in the past, I am pretty familiar with intellectual property laws and I won't be stoked if some low-life tries to steal my work and pass it off as theirs. Don't steal my stuff, people. Seriously.
Anyway, with that out of the way, here's chapter one... and an image of Nil, who is actually a photographer whose portrait I randomly found and it was too perfect for what I've pictured Nil looking like, so. Image Credit Joel Bedford.

CHAPTER ONE

Elldrin Tannivh pulled his furs tighter around himself and shuddered. The Eiramer seated next to him turned and chuckled softly. “Patience, young thin-skin,” the snow elf teased lightly. “Our prey will come upon us soon enough, and before you know it you’ll be safe in your vaeki in front of a raging fire.”

Elldrin scoffed. “That would require someone to light it, Vorgen.” The pale elf cocked his head at his companion. “No? I thought Axila had been tending your fires… in more ways than one,” he winked.

“I sent her away,” Elldrin sighed. “She made her intentions clear, and I do not reciprocate her feelings.” The elf’s eyes narrowed. “Is my cousin not good enough for you, human?” he retorted.

Elldrin shook his head. “Vorgen, you know it’s not that. I hold a great love and gratitude for your people… but I’ve no interest in your women.”

Vorgen’s face softened, and he nodded gently. “I understand,” as he continued, a wicked gleam crept into his eyes. “Bedding beautiful women can be terribly difficult.”

Elldrin laughed softly before reaching out to touch his companion on the shoulder. He lifted his chin towards the creature approaching through the muted light. Vorgen turned, and the wicked gleam of amusement in his eyes turned raptorial. “Speaking of beautiful women…”

Elldrin had to agree. The hôdwyrm stalking slowly past them was very beautiful, her blue-gray scales bunching and stretching over her muscled frame. Pale blue wings stayed neatly folded against her body as her head, low to the ground, snaked back and forth as she scented for her quarry. He certainly had to admire her careful, silent, predatory movements, as well as her keen eyes and deadly claws.

But aside from her beauty, she had done nothing but torment their small outpost and kill their livestock- including a few of their priceless Iaënnaunen stallions, one of the few beasts of burden that could endure the frozen wastelands of Laervinne. And with deep winter quickly approaching, loss of livestock could not be afforded. Her elusiveness had led to the two warriors tracking her for nearly a fortnight before finally succeeding in leading her here, where they could finally confront her.

Elldrin glanced at Vorgen, who had silently drawn his twin swords and had already dropped into a hunter’s crouch. The elf, sensing his gaze, turned and briefly signalled his intentions- provide a deadly distraction for the wyrm while Elldrin targeted her weak spots with flaming arrows. Elldrin nodded his assent, and took a deep breath, readying himself to set his first arrow alight. There was a brief pause as the wyrm moved ever closer, and then Vorgen launched himself at the beast.

She noticed him just before his swords left two deep slices in her chest. With a roar and a burst of frozen flame she reared up on her hind legs, slashing out at the pale creature who had spilled her blood on the tundra. Elldrin took a moment to admire, as always, his friend’s skill with his blades before drawing his arrow. Loosing a breath along the shaft that ingnited it in brilliant white flames, Elldrin whistled at the wyrm to draw her attention. Bellowing her anger, she turned towards the source of the sound. Her gaze locked on Elldrin just as he fired his first arrow- directly into her eye.

Guttural cries of anguish and pain erupted from her throat as she clawed at the arrow. The shaft snapped and the flames extinguished as the broken half tumbled to the ground. Spreading her vast wings, she beat them frantically in an attempt to escape her assailants. But her efforts were in vain, as Vorgen scored two long cuts through one of her wings. She wheeled around to look at Elldrin with her one remaining eye.

Just do it! a cold, anguished female voice erupted in Elldrin’s mind. Finish it! He stumbled a step backward, half lowering his bow. Had she just… spoken to him? He shook his head. No, it couldn’t have been.

“Elldrin!” cried Vorgen, who continued to slice at her wing, though she now stood fixed upon Elldrin, her single eye filled with pain and anger.

DO IT! the voice cried. Shocked, Elldrin raised his hand toward her, a bolt of white flames racing from his hand to her chest, left unguarded as she stared at him. They struck their mark and quickly spread, engulfing her body in a white blaze. She closed her eye and lifted her head to the sky, and with a heavy roaring exhale extinguished herself. A blinding flash erupted from her body, and the next moment there was nothing left of her but bones, intricately laid out as though she had been in flight and simply plummeted to her death.

Vorgen let out a low whistle. “I must say, my friend,” he said, sheathing his swords, “I could witness that a thousand times and never cease to be astounded.” Elldrin nodded blankly, still mulling over what he’d just heard, or felt. That wyrm had spoken to him; he was certain of it. But why? And more importantly, how? “Come, let us return to Mharen, and boast of our victory at last! No one needs to know that she was an easy kill, only that she was difficult to track.” He winked at Elldrin, who had descended the embankment to stand beside his friend above the hôdwyrm’s skeletal remains. Vorgen clapped him on the shoulder. “I will be sure to mention your excellent shooting to everyone, even the women you’re so disinterested in.”

Elldrin, breaking out of his reverie, laughed, “I’ve no doubt you will! It is good to be rid of her at last. Let’s go get some uninteresting women, shall we?” They turned and headed north to the outpost, Elldrin sparing only a glance at the bones before they vanished from sight in the distance.

Nil stood atop the fortification beside the Master of Ethen Shrall, gazing down at the young woman who had arrived at the gate only moments before. Though garbed only in light traveling armor bearing the Sevahndian crest and a heavy gray cloak, even from here Nil could see she was armed to the teeth. She stood ten paces from the gate, blue and evergreen flames blazing in her palms, chin raised in defiance as she stared directly at the Master. She carried herself like a warrior, though Nil could see the magic had drained her.

He glanced at the Master, who stood gazing at her with his mouth slightly open, hands gripping the stone in front of him. “It cannot be,” the Master murmured, shaking his head. “It is too soon.”

“For what, sir?” Nil inquired, returning his attention to the maiden below. The Master shook his head more forcefully. “Let her in,” he commanded quietly. “Sir?” Nil responded, not taking his eyes off the girl.

“You heard me,” the Master said, with more conviction this time. “Let her in.” “Yes, sir; at once.” Nil turned and hurried to the small bastion that protected the gate’s controls. Mustering what little magic he could, he turned his closed fist upwards and slowly opened his fingers.

As the magic seeped out of him, the gate groaned open. He could see the young woman close her hands, releasing the flames, and turn towards her horse. “Leave it,” the Master’s voice echoed across the courtyard. “Someone else will tend to your horse.” The messenger opened her mouth as if to protest, but then shook her head and swept inside. A stable boy scampered out to the enormous steed outside the gates, and hurriedly brought the animal inside, past the young woman and deeper into the courtyard, out of sight.

Nil released his hold on the magic that had opened the gates, which scraped to a halt. He turned to see the young woman shrugging her cloak around her to ward off the chill of the harsh sea winds. She twisted to look up at the parapet, her eyes landing on Nil. He could tell from here that despite sharp features she was quite beautiful, but as he watched she raised her hand he heard the gates shudder to life beneath him and slowly swing shut. So she was powerful. Dangerously powerful, and smart. Smart enough to discern the gate controls, and powerful enough to control them from much farther away than anyone else could, even after so much magic.

The Master hurried past him to the steps, exchanging a brief glance with Nil that confirmed he too had noticed her capability- and looked as concerned as Nil felt. He inclined his head slightly to indicate that Nil should accompany him down the stairs. He felt a certain sense of dread as they reached the bottom of the stairs and could still feel power radiating off the young woman, who was much taller than she looked- taller than the Master, and almost taller than Nil himself. The men would not be pleased.

“Welcome, Messenger,” the Master greeted the young woman, placing his right hand on his left shoulder and inclining his head. The young woman returned the gesture, responding, “thank you. I am terribly sorry to arrive so suddenly, but my journey had…” her nose wrinkled, “unforeseen complications.”

“Not to worry, Miss…”
“Vestel Helewis,” the woman responded. Stiffening slightly, she added, “Captain Vestel Helewis, of Her Imperial Majesty’s Royal Defense.” Of course, Nil thought irritably. She technically outranked him. “I have a most urgent message that I must deliver to you immediately… in private.”

“Of course, Captain,” the Master replied smoothly. “However, it is standard practice here for the captain of my guard, Nil Bouran,” he inclined his hand toward Nil, “to accompany me for the delivery and dispatching of any messages, even those from the Empress herself.”

“My message today is not from the Empress, Master. My message is from Record Keeper Eleirya. The time has come at last for the Warden to return.”

Writer Writes Writings

So, once upon a time, as a wee young lass of 7, I wrote a story about 'Axy the Puppy.' Why I thought Axy was a good name for a puppy, I'm honestly not sure. But anyway, my story about Axy (which was also illustrated by me) included a few ridiculous things like hunting in Yellowstone, yeah right, and puppies being born totally able to run around and walk and stuff. Which is weird, because I've seen 101 Dalmatians about a thousand times. It was my 'Frozen.' (Sorry mom. At least there wasn't singing.) It was pretty silly, but it started me along the path of writing. I wrote a lot. I wrote several stories about my teddy bear Cuddles and her best friend Simba (who belonged to MY best friend Kacee), and eventually started writing about Paul Ivan, the Keeper of the Unicorns.
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.

_

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.