I really hope that I have grown in my writing. What started out as a platform for bits and pieces, thoughts and scribbles soon became a way – especially in these last few months – to keep me committed to writing. But, more importantly, to writing better.
The most popular pieces during the year included the current serial about the We R Dragon Slayers Company, the problem posed to a neighbourhood when an elderly neighbour isn’t seen for a couple of weeks, and the world of Airthai’s dragons and stories.
But, although I have learnt much over this past year, I know that there is still a lifetime of learning about crafting and creating with words ahead of me.
Something Old, Something New:
Here’s a bit of fiction set in a world I am tinkering with. The world is called Icurn and a first glimpse of the world was in the NaShoStoMo piece The Tree Reader earlier this year.
WIP (working title): The Fountain
The stone started speaking to her four years ago. Elrith hated when it was her turn to collect water from the fountain on the corner of the street. It is not that she minded the heavy burden the water posed on the way back to their cramped living quarters in the north of the city of Serenia. She also did not mind the talk of the other young women. It was the fountain itself, or, to be more exact, the stone from which the fountain was constructed.
The fountain had been constructed long before this part of the city became home to the poorer classes .The light brown stone had been specifically imported and used because it was strong, smooth and seemed to keep the water cool even in the heat of summer. The centre of the fountain was a sculpture of four fish out of whose mouths the water poured clear and clean. For everyone else, the fountain was just that. Nothing but that. Except for a girl she only knew as Maritha’s daughter. Rumour had it that she had heard the fountain’s water speaking to her. But, whatever the rumour, the truth was that she had been living in one of the city’s houses for the mentally infirm. And it was this fact which scared Elrith the most.
And There's More...
Keep on reading for today’s episode of Virgin for Hire, or click here if you want to catch up on the story so far.
Until tomorrow,
Á Agrai tellarias or s'agrélar silássa.
Virgin for Hire: In Which the Magic Spell Bears Fruit and Something is Stolen
During all of this, the rest of the WERDS Company sat inside the carriage and watched Eldridge enjoy being the hero.[1] The wrangler was well known one of the roads in the next province, where he not only scared the daylights out of a band of thieves, but also had them donating all the stolen goods they kept in a cave nearby to the poor[2]. For, while Philip was the best sword fighter of the group, he also looked like a hero. A chivalrous hero – a hero who would fight fair and who would therefore be quite easy to kill.
Poetry-loving Eldridge, however, looked like the kind who would use the ripped-off arm of the first bandit he could catch to pommel the rest of the band to death before they even had a chance to apologise for trying to rob him. The same man uttering magic spells was even more frightening. The bandits fled before Eldridge’s outstretched hands and Jake even left his monocle behind in his haste to get away from the summoned dragon. Eldridge simply stood there and grinned with a glint in his eye.
“Which one did he recite today?” Philip asked.
Therese, who had the best mind for remembering such things, said: “A riddle about gold. It’s one of Berty’s favourites if I remember correctly.”
The sound of the wrangler rummaging for something in the luggage tied to the back of the carriage, while still having a good laugh, was suddenly cut short. Then his very worried face, white as a very clean sheet, appeared at the window. “We have a problem,” he said. “The dress is gone!”
“Gone?”
“Stolen! The robbers had the arrogance to steal the dress!”
Therese stumbled out of the carriage as fast as her fashionable[3] travel dress allowed to make sure that the wrangler was not mistaken. But he was not. The sturdy carpetbag, in which her specially made damsel-in-distress-dress had been packed, was gone and the straps which had kept it in place had been cut.
After an initial cry of dismay Therese pulled herself together. “Go ask the driver where the closest town with a Magician-tailor is. Tell him we’ll pay him extra.” And then it dawned on her; the driver had been very quiet through the whole robbery.
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