12.28.20 Ghelfunn is Set Free [Novel Word Count Total: 11540]

 

Udan had seconds earlier cut the ropes binding Ghelfunn to the tree near the horses. Now free, Ghelfunn had then retrieved his whip and knives from one of the pack horses, preparing for a fight. Three men now looked at him and Udan in disbelief, frozen for a moment like statues to clear their shocked minds. Silence filled the camp but for a faint whistle in the trees. No one moved for what seemed to be a very long time. Udan sheathed his knife, then withdrew his longblade and was holding it shoulder high with both hands. Ghelfunn held his whip in his right hand. He slowly let the throng slide down his right thigh, allowing the fall and cracker to uncoil at his feet.

"I'll take the one on the right," Udan said. "Think you can handle the other two?"

"Well, I am still a little woozy," Ghelfunn said, smiling. " I was hit in the head, you know. But I'll give it a try. You'll watch my back."

"That's all I live for," Udan replied sarcastically. "I've spent my life watching your back."

The three men standing before Udan and Ghelfunn separated, forming a circle around the two Taalzanni warriors. Ghelfunn was the first to act. He withdrew a knife from his vest and tossed it straight at the guard directly in front of him, just missing his neck but leaving behind a nice gash on the right side of the guard's upper shoulder. Ghelfunn then lifted the whip in his right hand, slashing it forward toward the guard to his immediate right. The cracker snapped at the guard's right cheek, leaving a bloody scar. The guard yelled in pain but stood his ground. 

The guard facing Udan rushed him with his sword punching the air, then swiping from left to right at Udan's waist. Udan blocked the move with his sword and kicked the lunging guard in the chest, knocking him backward. With a quick thrust of his sword, Udan wounded his foe easily. The bleeding guard looked up at Udan and help up both hands, giving the sign he was finished. 

The guard facing Ghelfunn reached up with is left hand and felt the bleeding scar on his cheek, giving Ghelfunn a grin. Ghelfunn retrieved a knife from his vest using his left hand and threw it toward the guard's right arm, slashing it just above the elbow. The guard dropped his sword, and the smile on his face disappeared. His expression now showed rage. The seething guard rushed headfirst into Ghelfunn, trying to tackle him. Ghelfunn stepped to his left and tripped the guard's right foot, making him stumble to the ground. At that point, Udan slammed the butt of his sword onto the top of the guard's head, knocking him unconscious.

"Glad you could help," Ghelfunn said.

"My guy didn't have much fight in him," Udan responded. "These men are not exactly the best we've seen in a fight. I killed the young one."

"Why?"

"I don't know," Udan said. "Old habit, I guess. We are at war, after all."

Ghelfunn and Udan gathered the three guards and bound their hands and feet. Udan retrieved a piece of cloth from a pack animal and ripped it into strips. He then tied a strip around each guard's mouth, muzzling him. He used the remaining cloth to dress the wounds he and Ghelfunn had inflicted upon the guards, preventing any of them from bleeding out. 

"We need to get out of here, now." Ghelfunn was worried the other two guards chasing their horses would return soon. "We don't have time to waste."

"Where to do we go?" Udan asked. "Just what are we supposed to do now? I don't even know what in hell's gate we are doing here." 

12.21.20 Udan Hides in the Bushes

Udan hid his horse behind a wall of underbrush near a group of trees and walked a few yards toward the post where Ghelfunn was being held captive. He took a moment to scan the scene, noting where each man was located and to what extent they were armed. Free Ghelfunn first, he planned, then together they would dispatch the six men with haste and make their escape. In order for his plan to work, he would need a distraction to gain the attention of Ghelfunn's guards. Once they were detained, he would then free Ghelfunn. 

Udan worked his way around the perimeter of the camp using the thick bushes and trees as cover. The pickets stood ready to take notice of any unexpected sound or sight, so Udan had to be careful. These men were trained Taalzanni guards, and though now working for Margon and the queen, they were still extremely dangerous. The weakest man among them was the nervous one, the man walking about looking behind bushes, jumpy without the least bit of provocation. Udan recognized this man as the youngest one, less experienced than the other guards but just as disloyal. How could you be such a traitorous bastard, Udan thought. I'm going to make you pay.

Udan worked his way around to the horses, tied up to a fallen and rotten tree lying on its side near Ghelfunn. He positioned himself so that he could only be seen by the nervous youth. Should he make a noise in the bushes, he wanted only the young guard to notice it. The two men watching Ghelfunn were talking to each other and passing a drink between themselves, assured that the pickets on the perimeter would set off an alarm if anything were to disrupt their rest. Hopefully, they would not be a problem. Udan waited for the skittish youth to approach the horses. He then made a slight swishing sound in the bushes just loud enough to get the young guard's attention without disturbing the other men.

Udan grabbed the mouth and throat of the highly strung guard, bringing him to the ground in one effortless motion. He rolled the guard on his stomach, face down in the dirt and broken limbs behind the tree restraining the horses. When he looked up, the two guards near Ghelfunn ceased their talking and looked around briefly. Satisfied they had heard nothing but perhaps the wind in the trees, the two men walked over to a small group of rocks and sat down. As they continued their conversation, Udan slit the throat of the young fidgety guard beneath him. One down, five to go, he noted. 

12.14.20 update.hanging.out.at.studio

The studio is quiet, which is as it should be since the Governor has placed a stay-at-home restriction due to the overcrowding at hospitals. Thank you COVID-19. Will this nightmare ever end?

I'm concentrating on two objectives during this pandemic: painting/drawing and writing my first fantasy novel. Admittedly, I'm spending seventy-percent of my working day on the novel. I'm moving into a larger studio space January 1, therefore I've decided to delay any serious painting until the first of the year. The next few weeks I'll be concentrating more on my writing, though I draw every day. Drawing and painting, like most artisan endeavors, requires constant practice. 

My recent blog entries here are pieces of writing for my fantasy novel. They are first drafts, so keep that in mind. Any feedback you have would be appreciated. Once the novel is complete, I'll ask a group of readers I trust to dive into it and give me feedback. Some of these passages will never make it into the final manuscript. The passages that survive will be revised numerous times as I go along. I'm writing an epic novel, which I consider to be 150,000 to 200,000 words and up. It will take time. 

Supposedly there are two types of novel writers: Architects and Gardners. While many authors are a hybrid of the two, most of them will lean one way or the other. The Architect writes out a full outline of the plot and the novel is basically written in outline form before they begin writing the prose. The Gardner, in contrast, just begins to write. They have a basic idea or character, maybe a cool situation with a weird character, and begin to write without a detailed outline. They allow the story to develop and unfold as they go. Stephen King is a Gardner. He places a character in a situation, provides a setting, and then begins to write. He doesn't want to know how the story ends. 

On the other hand, writing an epic novel with a multitude of characters, an outline would be a great way to approach it and seem indispensable. I suspect Stephen King has an outline at some point, probably in his head. However, I find myself doing both. I have a written outline of my story, and know how it will end. I have the last two or three chapters in my head. Having said that, though, I enjoy writing "from the hip" with no idea of how things will develop. I like having the freedom to discover new things each day as I write. I have found that as I write various scenes, my outline begins to take shape. I make changes to my written outline when appropriate. I 'm not going to be a slave to an outline. I begin with a character, in a setting, with an idea, and begin to write. Then as I think about the story while away from the desk, an outline begins to emerge. Therefore, I feel like I lean toward being a Gardner, and will don the Architect's "hat" when necessary.

Stay tuned for more updates. I'll continue to post sample writings from the novel. Let me know what you think.

M

Ghelfunn is in Big Trouble!

 

Ghelfunn opened his eyes but could see nothing. Everything within sight was a blur. He wanted to rub his eyes, but his hands were bound behind his back. He was lying on his left side. The dizziness was beginning to clear, but the back of his head painfully ached as if he had been kicked by a horse. Then suddenly, two men, one on each arm, raised him up on his knees. A moment passed before he steadied himself enough to discover where he was--the Sovereign's war room tent. 

The two men released their grip on his arms, then stood behind him. He looked to the left. Standing near the perimeter of the tent, Ghelfunn saw a few men from the Sovereign's rear guard, one leaning on a support pole picking his teeth. Two others were talking to each other, laughing, pointing at him. Numerous maps of the battlefield hung on the walls, some with red color markings. He faintly smelled food. Lunch, he thought. To his right, he was surprised to see a group of Nprudi horsemen huddled together, talking about something that interested them deeply. Ghelfunn lowered his head and spit out a stream of blood. He felt nauseated, the ringing in his ears making him feel off balance. The light shining through the entrance to the tent was painful, so he closed his eyes. The darkness returned. A moment later he fainted, falling on his right side. The two men behind him quickly grabbed his arms again, raising him  once more to his knees. His thighs began to burn with pain, he groaned as a cramp worked its way from his left foot upward to the calf muscle. He tried to straighten his leg out but the man on his right slammed a fist into his ribs. 

"That's enough," a voice calmly said. "Let's not kill him. Not yet anyway."

Margon walked into the tent and stood in front of Ghelfunn, leaning down to look directly into his prisoner's eyes. He smiled. Margon then walked over to a table containing a platter of food and cups full of water. He took a piece of meat, rolled it between his fingers, and took a bite. 

Turning to Ghelfunn, he said, "You hungry? Looks like you missed lunch."

Ghelfunn looked up and said nothing.

"That's okay. Your head will clear. I imagine you are still somewhat dizzy. That blow to the head was more severe than I would have liked--I apologize. My men are loyal but tend to be a bit too aggressive."

"What's going on," Ghelfunn asked, blood dripping down from his head wound. He spit again, this time toward Margon. "You are Margon, right? The queen's safeguard?"

"I am," Margon responded. "You might say I'm her right and left hands--and both feet. I command her personal guard." Margon took another bite of meat, then picked up a glass of water, taking a drink. "We have met, you know. You are just a little confused right now. Is your head feeling any better?"

"I am more than a little confused," Ghelfunn said. "Why are you dressed like a Nprudi horseman?"

"So many questions. I know you are curious about what you have seen. And we will get to that. But for now, I have a question."

Ghelfunn's headache was beginning to ease, but the cramp in his left leg was still bothering him. His knees were digging into the tent's floor causing him to shift weight from his right to the left. If I could just stand up, maybe I'd feel more like talking, he thought. 

"What's your question," Ghelfunn asked.

Ghelfunn in Battle Against the Nprudi

 

Ghelfunn stepped over the bloody body of a Nprudi footman, holding a knife in his right hand. The footman had stumbled over a rock and it was a mistake he soon regretted, for Ghelfunn had taken his knife and quickly plunged it deep into the footman's chest. Ghelfunn stood up, scanned the battlefield to the east and began looking for the Sovereign. Where the hell is the king? he thought.

At the moment, another Nprudi horseman lunged toward him with a poison-tipped spear. Should the spear break Ghelfunn's skin, he would die in seconds. The horseman stabbed at Ghelfunn's neck and face, then quickly tried a slashing move to gash his lower legs. The Nprudi was looking for any open skin, any weak spot to make an incision. Ghelfunn, however, used the shield on his left arm to skillfully knock away the darting spear tip, anticipating perfectly the Nprudi's moves. Before his enemy could take another step forward, Ghelfunn dropped to his left knee, raised the knife in his right hand and threw it directly toward the neck of the Nprudi. The blade entered just beneath the Nprudi's chin, then continued upward into his gasping mouth and square jaw. The Nprudi stepped backward but did not fall. The knife hung from his lower left jaw, protruding through his throat and neck to the right. Surprisingly, the Nprudi grabbed the blade and with a loud scream pulled the knife out and tossed it aside. Ghelfunn wasted no time. He reached for the leather whip tied to his belt on the right hip. His right hand fit firmly just above the heel knot. Ghelfunn slung the whip forward, the thong straightening out in a whisp of smoke and dust, the fall and cracker snapping in midair. Ghelfunn immediately slung his right arm backward in a sweeping motion, then suddenly forward, causing the whip to sling forward toward the Nprudi's arm which still grasped the poisonous spear. The Nprudi dropped the spear, which was set for another attack. The spear stabbed the earth remaining there like a tree limb stuck in the ground. Ghelfunn withdrew his whip and repeated the swift and deadly motion again, this time slinging his whip upward, wrapping the fall and cracker around the Nprudi's neck. Slamming his right arm and wrist downward, Ghelfunn brought the NPrudi to his knees entangled at the end of his whip. Ghelfunn walked toward the bleeding, gasping, Nprudi and removed the whip from around his neck. Ghelfunn kicked the Nprudi in the chest causing the footman to fall backward. Ghelfunn stood over the reclining Nprudi and slammed his shield into the Nprudi's wounded neck just below the right jaw. The Nprudi took one last breath, coughed, lifted his head and looked at Ghelfunn. Their eyes met briefly; a small tear dripped down the Nprudi's right cheek. The tear drop mixed easily with the Nprudi's blood, soaking his lips and chin. The Nprudi would shed no more tears that day. His life was no more.

"Ghelfunn!" Odan shouted. "You okay? Looks like you need help!" Odan ran from his own fighting position across the grassy knoll and stood to the left of Ghelfunn. "When will you use a sword like the rest of us? That whip of yours will one day get you killed."

"The long blade gets in my way. I've told you this a thousand times. I prefer my whip, a good knife, and perhaps a supply of starblades. A bow and arrow? Fine. But a sword? No thanks."

"From the looks of it, we're winning," said Udan. "I've killed my fair share of these devils. I see just a few pockets of resistance. The Nprudi are done."

"We've been fighting a forward guard," Ghelfunn said. He looked at the bloody scene and somehow knew it was just the beginning. "The main attack force is to the north. They will be coming soon. Have you seen the Sovereign?"

"He's over there," Udan motioned to his left beyond a group of trees. "He looks safe and sound. Glad he's enjoying the view. Wouldn't want him to be uncomfortable. Probably having a glass of wine and some cheese."

The two men walked north toward the high ridge one hundred yards distant to get a better view of the valley below them. Their path took them over a rocky terrain littered with dead and dying bodies. After years of fighting for the Sovereign, neither warrior was particularly unsettled by the sight of widespread misery and desolation. Mostly, they just wanted to rest and get something to eat.

"Do you see what I see," asked Udan. "Look over the tree line to the right."

"I see them," Ghelfunn said. "We're not done yet. I need a horse. Lost mine about an hour ago."

"I've still got mine, unless my attendant ran off with it. Let's meet here after we get some rides. You won't have any trouble finding a horse, somewhere. There's plenty of dead Nprudi horsemen who won't be needing one." Udan then ran off to seek his attendant, and hopefully, retrieve his favorite horse.

 Ghelfunn turned and watched his friend, thankful to Rhemaden that Udan was still alive. That man has saved my life too many times to count, he thought. He's been at my side all these years. Without him, I would be nothing.

Ghelfunn scanned the battlefield and quickly found a stout horse to take as his own. The Nprudi herds were among the best in the realms; horses to the Nprudi were more important than food. A Nprudi horseman was taught to feed his horse first, then feed himself. Ghelfunn's new destrier appeared to be of great stock, a massive stallion, with a dark coat. "You'll do just fine," Ghelfunn said while climbing on. "We'll get you into some action soon. It's what you and I were bred for."

Ghelfunn turned his warhorse toward the group of trees to provide a report to the Sovereign. As a member of the Sovereign's Supreme Guard, Ghelfunn and Udan had years ago sworn an oath to protect the Royal family at any cost, even death. 

As Ghelfunn approached the Sovereign's camp, he glanced to his right and immediately became alarmed. A small group of men on horses were riding straight for the group of trees shielding the High Royal. They wore black, which was odd. Ghelfunn knew that anyone fighting for the Sovereign wore appropriate battle colors. He noticed the leader, the one horseman out front, and thought he recognized him. Is that the queen's personal safeguard? What's he up to?

The horsemen, Ghelfunn estimated fifteen in all, were riding hard and would be at the Sovereign's camp in minutes. Ghelfunn had to act quickly. He scanned the battlefield and immediately knew he was alone, other members of the Sovereign's guard were too far away to be of any help. The Sovereign's army was scattered over the plateau, some wounded, many dead, and others still scrambling after Nprudi footman retreating back to the north. Ghelfunn looked for Udan and couldn't see his friend anywhere. For Rhemaden's sake, Udan! Ghelfunn groaned. Where are you when I NEED you!

Ghelfunn turned the Nprudi warhorse, jerking the reins hard to guide the animal straight toward the group of trees ahead. He galloped as fast as he could, hoping to make it to the Sovereign's perimeter guardsmen before the fifteen riders in black arrived. Maybe this is a false alarm, Ghelfunn thought. Has the day's battle fatigue set my mind to seeing dangers that do not exist? Why am I so worried? It's probably the queen's guardsmen bringing an important message to the Sovereign. But they are wearing black. That makes no sense!

The queen's small force disappeared into the trees before Ghelfunn arrived. Fifty yards distant he saw them ride into the underbrush, their black clothing fading into the darkness. He was too late. 

 

 

 

Ghelfunn is Up a Tree, uh, In a Tree

Ghelfunn slid back into the darkness of the fallen tree trunk, the men outside resting near the hidden entrance to his hiding place. He was lying on his back, feet pointed toward the entrance, hands at his side. He listened as men's voices filled the inner chamber in which he was entombed, their laughter echoing off the slick walls inside the wooden stump. The tree trunk was rotted, hollowed out by years of decay. Luckily, it was a large enough for a man to use as shelter against the seasonal elements. 

He had been in worse situations but at the moment Ghelfunn couldn’t remember when. This is not good, he sighed. It’s going to be a long night. Why had the assassins stopped? Had they lost his trail? More than likely they wanted to sleep. Even the queen's henchmen needed sleep. Ghelfunn estimated twelve men were just outside the entrance to his temporary new tree house. He realized he was living inside this grounded tree house, not nestled outside among tree limbs and leaves up high in the air. Perhaps hiding inside a tree sprawled out on the ground was an advantage, not a liability. The thick walls of the tree trunk should prevent the assassins from hearing him, but he was taking no chances. He tried his best to remain still, making no noise. How long were these men were going to be in camp? That was anyone's guess. 

Ghelfunn’s mind wandered, listing those moments in his life when death seemed a real possibility. It was a long list, to be sure. His thoughts of the past slid past him in a blurring of images, feelings, regrets. The death of his father and the subsequent run for his own life still haunted him. He was just a child then. It seemed ages ago, not just a few years. How did he survive? Udan, of course, had saved him. Where is Udan now? Is he alive? Ghelfunn had last seen his friend in battle minutes before the king died. Udan was standing over a bleeding Nprudi, removing his knife, when Ghelfunn left his side to assist the king.

The king’s honor guard trained relentlessly to anticipate threats to the Royal and his family, using their skills to protect them. Where was our training when the king was slain yesterday? Ghelfunn understood that training and skill were effective only to a degree. Even with his experience as a king’s guard, Ghelfunn could not remember anything like this, ominously stuck inside a tree trunk with a dozen assassins a few feet away. He felt like laughing at the absurdity of it but declined to take this predicament lightly. One wrong move would mean certain death. If Udan hears about this, he’ll never let me forget it, he thought. 

Inside the decaying tree it was warm enough. Ghelfunn wouldn’t freeze to death. Although wet with rotten leaves and debris, the floor and walls provided shelter against the cool winds outside. The odor reminded him of moist leaves and dung laced with a putrid scent of dying flesh. Ghelfunn was familiar with the smell of dying flesh and he smelled it now. Had other men or animals used this tree trunk to escape the elements? Ghelfunn considered it likely. All creatures used the death and decay of other living things for survival, he thought. That's the way of things. The Royals used armies and war to protect themselves, didn't they? The death and destruction of their enemies were necessary for the survival of the kingdom. Ghelfunn felt it was certain this hollowed out rotten tree trunk, lying on its side in the middle of this forsaken and darkened forest, had for decades saved the lives countless creatures. 

Holding his breath, Ghelfunn quietly reached behind him, stretching out from his current reclining position, hoping to find a second opening further down the length of the trunk. He wanted an escape route in case an assassin decided to poke his head inside the entrance. The tree trunk lying on its side made Ghelfunn feel like he was in a kind of strange tunnel or elongated cave. Although he was lying down with his feet near the entrance, he had plenty of head room and could change direction to escape if necessary. As he reached backward into the darkness using his right hand, he felt something move.

 

 

Ghelfunn Escapes into the Forest

Ghelfunn stumbled forward as the wound in his right thigh pulsated with pain. The bleeding had slowed but he was losing strength with each step. The path he chose leaving the battlefield led to a forested area. He knew the tree cover was his best chance to escape the queen's assassins. I've got to find cover, he thought. Those men will not stop until they have killed me.

The forest was unknown to Ghelfunn, he had never been this far east. The sun was low in the sky, the light getting dimmer as he walked deeper into the trees. He looked up at the dark blue sky, the moons beginning to arise overhead, and he winced in pain. With each passing moment the shadows were fading into darkness. Having no lightstick or supplies of any kind, he knew he was in trouble. Twelve assassins were not far behind him, sworn to kill him for what he had witnessed. Fatigue was beginning to seep into his bones. After all, he spent the day fighting the Nprudi. Yes, the day was won...but at what cost? Now he was on the run for his life. Did I escape the Nprudi only to die  in this forest?

Ghelfunn noticed to the right of his current path a huge tree which had been torn from its roots by an Icewind. Icewind can do a lot of damage in a short period of time, especially this time of year. The tree was spread out over a large area in at least five separate pieces.  Ghelfunn saw few leaves--the tree had been stripped, pealed apart by the savage winds. Each piece of the  tree looked old and grey, like it had been dead for many years. A huge chunk of the tree had fallen just off to the side and now looked almost black in the approaching darkness. The limbs were coiled about the trunk and twisted in all directions; it looked like a great spool of wire used for mending fences. Could it be? Ghelfunn walked to examine the huge trunk, at least fifteen feet long and wide as a lumberman's wagon, he thought. I see it! A hole in the trunk! Ghelfunn reached the nearest side of the tree trunk and removed a few twisted branches. A huge gape in the side of the tree had been torn and ripped open. It was large enough for a man.

Ghelfunn squeezed his body into the gaping hole of the tree. He crawled a few feet upward into the hollowed-out trunk. He made sure to cover the opening with rotted branches strewn about the base of the dead tree. Praise the Almighty! Ghelfunn stretched out and quickly passed out. 

He slept until the noise of men's voices awoke him. The assassins were in camp, their fire burning nearby. He could see the light from their lightsticks flickering through the gaping hole of the tree in which he had climbed to safety. The queen's henchmen had decided to use the area around Ghelfunn's treehouse to set up camp. 

Queen Maenia Meets with Sala Ayyubi

The queen sat in the center of her inner chamber on the highly polished wooden floor. It was dark but for one candle burning on an altar, an altar the queen had constructed with her own hand. The inner chamber was a rectangular room with luxurious furnishings fit for a queen. She had designed the space after marrying the king. The king's first wife had died in childbirth. She had married him to insure an alliance between the Fifth and Fourth Realm. As the new queen, she hated the furnishings of the inner chamber she inherited and spent time and money on decorating it properly. She made sure to leave space for her altar.

She hid her worship practices from everyone, bringing out the altar only when alone. The altar piece was simple and easily assembled. She must keep secret that she was a devoted follower of the Ayyubi, a cabal of outcasts who resided in the Fourth Realm. The Ayybuian sect was hated and feared among the Five Realms. The altar was a way to communicate with her fellow Ayyubi, using the ancient rites as portal to communicate with other devotees hundreds of miles away. 

Queen Maenia closed her eyes and began to chant the ancient tongue of the Ayyubi. The words were couched in tonal vibrations, her voice humming with a songlike moan. Her musical rhythms would have been pleasant to most ears, even though they represented the darkest creatures of nature: the hiss of the snake, the growl of the wolf, the chirping of the Cromonian beast.

"I'm here," a voice from the dark filled the room. "Why has Maenia summoned me?" The voice was deep and guttural, unpleasant to the ear. "Have you news to share with me?"

"Praise to you, Sala Ayyubi," the queen said. "I would never contact you unless it was important. Our plan is coming together nicely. We have an opportunity to take the next step." Queen Maenia was careful not to move or turn her head toward the figure standing behind her in the dark. Sala Ayyubi was a powerful being and she knew it was easy to anger him. 

"We must be careful," Sala said. "Are you sure circumstances warrant it?"

"The king is leaving tomorrow to battle the Nprudi," she said, looking at the candle as it flickered in the dark. The low light was soothing, and she felt comfortable in the presence of the Lord Sala Ayyubi. "We have this opportunity to strike a blow."

"Very well. Proceed." Sala's voice was firm and unyielding. "Do not fail." 

 

A Quick Update

 A quick explanation for the reader who has found their way to my so-called blog (I dislike the term, blog, by the way). This blog served me well years ago when I was traveling and writing, back in the Dark Times when people read blogs and the Internet was bit younger than it is today.

At any rate, I now use this space to post excerpts of passages from a novel that is churning over in my brain. I am writing a fantasy novel. Therefore, I hope these posts make more sense to you. 

Follow along with me as I go. Some of these passages are "warm ups" and may or may not find their way into the novel. 

The King and Ghelfunn Have a Good Day

The king stepped back as he received a blow from the enemy's sword. He took the defensive stance his training required, bringing his shield high with his weak left arm and shoulder. Using his right hand, he thrust his sword downward in a sweeping move to cut the legs of the approaching Nprudian warrior. The Nprudi were excellent swordsmen but were careless in their close-order attacks. Their aggression was uncontrolled. They often would move into the opponent's killing zone too soon or too quickly. This Nprudian was in a hurry to finish off the king, perhaps a reward being his motive.

The king's sword sliced into the left thigh of the rushing enemy, blood quickly spurting from the wound, spilling onto the Nprudi's cuisse. The Nprudian armor had weak plating, especially on the legs. Speed was a Nprudian trait, leg armor was designed to allow quick and decisive moves. The king knew this, of course, and thus the attack to the lower body. The Nprudi hit the ground hard, falling on his left side. The king raised his sword and took a downward blow toward his opponent's right shoulder, finding a soft spot just above the pauldron. The Nprudian's neck was exposed, just enough to end his life. 

The Nprudi have yet to improve their armor, the king thought.

Ghelfunn ran to the king and stood beside him just as the Nprudi slumped over dead. "Is your Greatness okay?" Ghelfunn asked. The comment was inappropriate, but the king liked Ghelfunn, so he let it pass. 

"I'm fine," the king said. "Don't worry about me. I was fighting the Nprudi while you were still sucking your mother's teat."

"I apologize sir," Ghelfunn said. "I meant no offense. You know my solemn oath is to protect you." 

"Kings are nursed by those who look out for him," the king said. "I find it irritating. I accept your apology but remind you I've killed my share of Nprudi." 

The king looked eastward over the battlefield before him and smiled. Ghelfunn knew at that moment they had won the day, the Nprudi were finished. The sun was sinking beyond the horizon, the golden glow that was common for that time of day began to enlighten the battlefield. The trees and all the surround plants were shining with that golden hue as blood and pieces of body parts settled into the fertile soil of the plateau. The king was happy. Ghelfunn grinned and said to the king, "I do love to fight." 

Dham Drathoy

Dham Drathoy sat at the large wooden table in the center of his cooking den. He placed the dirty dishes from the morning's breakfast and placed them in the water tub to be cleaned later. Just now he had something else on his mind. He's in trouble. Today is the day he must decide what to do.

Drathoy walked into his upstairs bedroom. Above his clothing cabinet was a framed drawing of his dead wife, Syentha, Ghelfunn's mother. He carefully removed the drawing from the wall. He placed it on the small table near his wooden bed. Hiding behind the picture frame was a small metal door with a locked latching. Drathoy installed the small safespace after he purchased the house fifteen years earlier. He kept his important documents in it. At the bottom of a pile of papers Drathoy gripped a small square-shaped note:

Dham Drathoy, the noted began. Remember you owe me a great deal of Koines. Interest is getting higher by the day. You must pay your debt by the end of this week, or someone will suffer the consequences! I would hate to see your son pay for the sins of his father. Don't make me come see you in person. It won't be a friendly visit.

Drathoy folded the note and held it to his breast. What am I going to do? He closed the metal door to the safe, locked it, replaced the drawing of his wife, and stuffed the note in his vest pocket. He looked at the drawing of Syentha. Wife, he said, if this crook believes he's going to extort me, he's crazier than I give him credit for. Drathoy was being threatened by the district tax collector, to pay money he did not owe. He was not going to put up with it any longer. 

Ghelfunn and Tooloo

_{Scene 3}

Ghelfunn awoke like most mornings, with his tweedmouth goosican licking his face. The goosican was the friendliest breed in the Fifth Realm, beloved for its hunting abilities and loyalty to its owner. When born, the four-legged goosican would emotionally attach itself to whomever it first licked, in an instant. Luckily, Ghelfunn passed that test and for the last four Winters has been at Ghelfunn's side. 

"Get off me, Tooloo," Ghelfunn said with a yawn. "Silly beast. I'm awake." Ghelfunn sat up in his bed, looking tired. Tooloo looked at Ghelfunn with that soulful grin on his face that meant let's eat.

Ghelfunn's father, Dham Drathoy, found a shop in the marketplace set aside for various kinds of animals. He wanted a tweedmouth for Ghelfunns' sixth Winter Celebration, a time when a child in the Fifth Kingdom began to take on certain responsibilities. Caring for a goosican would be the first step in a long journey to manhood. At least that was Dham Drathoy's plan.

Ghelfunn dressed and walked into the cooking den. His father was making breakfast. Tooloo quickly found his bowl of mashed gruelshu, wasting no time gulping it down. The cooking den was Drathoy's favorite room in the house. He loved to cook. 

 "Sit down, son," Drathoy said. "Your breakfast is getting cold. Did you sleep well?"

"I was sleeping great when Tooloo decided to lick my face off," Ghelfunn said. "I wish I could train that tweeder to obey me. He won't listen. I say let me sleep and all he does is look at me. I know he's laughing at me." Ghelfunn took a bite of his father's bread, the best bread in the Fifth Realm according to those who were lucky enough to get a bite.

"It takes patience," Drathoy said. "You can't give up on him. He's still young for a tweedmouth. I'm patient with you, right? I will never give up on you. Training takes patience and time. He loves you. A day will come when you will be thankful Tooloo was licking your face." 

After breakfast, Ghelfunn prepared for studies. In the Fifth Realm, the young studied together in a nearby temple complex. Tooloo, of course, was never allowed inside. This irritated him greatly. On this particular morning, however, Ghelfunn was going to skip his studies and run to the market. If his father found out, then Holy Grief would ascend on him like a smothering blanket. He had to be careful.

Ghelfunn prepared for a day of study at the temple as he always did. He packed his satchel with writings and books, said good-bye to his father, then walked out the front door with Tooloo lagging behind. Drathoy said goodbye and looked at his son leaving the house, then returned to the cooking den.

Is father still looking? Is he suspicious? Ghelfunn thought. I feel so guilty. Looking at Tooloo, Ghelfunn said under his breath very quietly, "We need to hurry. I must do this. I have no choice. My life, and my father's life, is at stake."

Ghelfunn walked down the street from his house and saw his friend, Stoyvit, standing in the front garden of his house. Stoyvit and Ghelfunn had been neighbors since both were born, close friends whom often spent days playing together in the grasslands east of town. Stoyvit was bigger than Ghelfunn, had long blonde hair streaming down to the mid-waist which was typical for his family's tribe. Ghelfunn often teased Stoyvit about his height and weight, mostly because he was jealous. To be a warrior, Ghelfunn often thought, I need to be as tall and strong as Stoyvit.

Ghelfunn and Cilghor

_{Scene 2}

Ghelfunn stood his ground. No more running. If the demonlord chased him into the alley for a showdown, so be it. The dark, wet, and crusty alley floor was dirty with garbage, mostly tossed from the windows overlooking it. A pile of old shells was stuffed into one corner near the entrance, a broken gate hung loosely on its hinges creaking in the wind. The smell of rotten food filled the air. 

The rains have subsided at least, Ghelfunn thought. He didn't mind a fight in the rain, but he preferred to stay dry during a fight. The battle with this demonlord was going to be tough enough. He didn't need the rain adding to the mess.

Cilghor the Infected stood in front of him twenty feet away. Cilghor had been chasing Ghelfunn for days but could not catch him. As a swiftfoot from the hills, Ghelfunn ran like a deer. Cilghor was slow, like an oxbeast. Cilghor knew he must trap Ghelfunn in a place like this, in an alley with no exit. The two enemies knew each other from the Old Days when they fought on opposite sides of the Pilgrim Wars. Cilghor hated Ghelfunn's guts and wanted to spill them out and take a bite, as was the manner in which demonlords celebrated a victory. Eating a piece of one's enemy was sacred duty.

"You have decided to fight," Cilghor said. "Tired of the chase?"

"Not tired. Just bored," Ghelfunn said, stiffening his muscles. "I'm hungry, but I don't mind killing a demonlord before dinner." He offered Cilghor a smile.

"The others I killed were not smiling," Cilghor said. "They were not bored, either. They died under my gaze like slaughtered pigs."

Slowly, methodically, the demonlord raised his four arms and took an aggressive posture that Ghelfunn had seen many times. Cilghor showed fisted claws at the end of each upper arm. He was ready to punch, like a fighter entering the arena. His two lower arms were outstretched, each hand holding a blade. The knives glistened in the darkness of the alleyway from the shining lamps nearby. Ghelfunn had seen knives like this before, but usually much larger. Cilghor's blades were smaller and seemed more dangerous. Demonlords were known for their skill with the blade. Their four hands could expertly handle swords and knives of every kind. The blades were made of the finest metal.

Cilghor began to swing his lower arms, cutting the putrid air with each blade as if swatting flimens. The blades moved so fast Ghelfunn could hardly see them. A blur of steel and wood protruded from Cilghor's lower arms as his upper arms tightened and bulged with blood pouring into his large veins, making them pulsate with each heartbeat.

Ghelfunn did nothing. He stood his ground like a stone statue. The smile left his lips, but that was the only sign he was ready for a fight.

At that moment, Cilghor stepped forward quickly and began his assault. The demonlord's clinched fists targeted Ghelfunn's upper body and face. His bladed lower arms were aimed at the waist and below, hoping to critically carve a thigh tendon or perhaps slash the groin. In the old days as a soldier, Cilghor quickly overcame an enemy this way, by pounding the head, strangling the neck, stabbing the lower extremities, using his four arms to punch, grip, strangle, slash, and stab an enemy from head to toe. 

Ghelfunn knew these tactics. He was ready.

As Cilghor came forward, Ghelfunn immediately hit the ground in a slide. Using the wet surface to move smoothly and quickly like a snake, Ghelfunn slid under the demonlord's lower arms and their knives. Cilghor harmlessly slashed through the air making no contact. Cilghor's upper arms were also useless, having nothing to punch. Ghelfunn's slide took him straight through a path between Cilghor's enormous legs. Once through, now behind Chilghor, Ghelfunn swung to his feet facing the back of Cilghor's agitated body.

The entire movement took Ghelfunn seconds to execute. 

Ghelfunn quickly reached for a circlespar hanging on his belt. He had to hurry. With his right hand, Ghelfunn tossed the circlespar like an arrow tip directly at the back of Cilghor's neck. Before the demonlord could turn around and face Ghelfunn, the circlespar entered Cilghor's neck and sliced its way through the throat, completely separating the demonlord's head from his torso. Cilghor crumbled to the ground in a heap of sweaty bewilderment. Ghelfunn had moved so fast, with such confidence, Cilghor never had a chance. The fight was over in less than thirty seconds. 

The small, thin, cylindrical circlespar took a reverse path to Ghelfunn's waiting right hand. Ghelfunn placed the deadly serrated blade back on his belt. Cilghor's blood dripped from the blade staining Ghelfunn's pants.

Ghelfunn stood over the dead carcass of the demonlord Cilghor the Infected. He removed the two blades firmly gripped by Cilghor's lower hands; the tendril-like claws still wrapped around the hilts. Ghelfunn placed the blades in the small of his back beneath his cloak, snuggly using his belt to hold them in place. He smiled at his old enemy.

"Time to eat," Ghelfunn said. 

 

++++++++++++

_{The Coffee Shop}

Noname sat at a coffee shop patio table, shivering. Damn it's cold. Why does it have to be so cold? It was the wind. It would have been much warmer had the wind not blown so hard. This time of year, it was normal, so he accepted it.

The Standard Coffee Shop was like a thousand other coffee shops in LaLaLand. People standing in line, workers behind the counter running madly to keep up with the growing crowd, filthy bagel crumbs and dirty napkins littering the counter top. The place smelled like the inside of a coffee cup that had been sitting in the sun all day. When Noname purchased his large cup of coffee he thought about leaving. This place is a dump, he thought. Instead he took his coffee and found an empty table outside on the patio.

Noname needed to work. He was by nature lazy, but a writer must work no matter how much he wanted to be somewhere else. Words had to hit the page consistently no matter what, day in and day out, or the bills would remain unpaid. He had no choice; he had to write at least five hundred words or feel like more of failure than he already felt. Writing kept him sane. 

His novel had no title. In fact, it had no setting or plotting or even a good character. Not yet. Noname's favorite professor, Dr. Asswipe Numbnuts, taught him to begin a story with either a strong character or an interesting setting. From these starting points, a plot would emerge like a string of vines growing on a brick wall. Dr. Numbnuts knew how to write, Noname was sure. The professor was popular among his students and was respected for having written fifty-four novels over a span of thirty years. Dr. Numbnuts was tall, lanky, had huge hands and liked to play the banjo. Yes. The banjo. When Noname visited the professor's home recently he had seen an expensive looking banjo in the corner of the living room. Ivory frets decorated the finger board, walnut being shined to a high brilliance. The well-worn drum head showed grease and dirt from the constant strumming of the professor's right hand as he finger-picked the five strings that were tightly stretched along the length of the instrument. For a banjo, it was beautiful. Was it possible for a banjo to be beautiful?

Five hundred words. Noname was stuck. He stared at the computer screen waiting for something, maybe a word to magically type itself into the manuscript from an unseen hand. He drank some coffee. It was getting cold now, too. I'll start with a setting, he thought. I'm at a coffee shop, so why not write about the coffee shop? I need to write five hundred words. That's all for today. Just five hundred words.

Noname began to write, forcing his hands to hover above the keyboard. He waited. Soon his fingers began to tap the keys and words began to fill the page. Suddenly he glimpsed downward toward the word count on his manuscript. Five hundred and twenty seven words.