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I actually worked on my rewriting last night - joy. The characters are finally doing what I want them to do again, although Zacharias has proved YET AGAIN that he cannot be trusted to have consistent moods at any time, especially not in the morning. The poor dear.
And I also wrote this, it's part of chapter eight, hallo Legion, care to have a look?
The Dead King sat on the throne of a castle, toying with his earring and examining the hall.
"It's a nice castle," he said grudgingly.
"Yes, master," said his first disciple, who he had decided to call Wesleigh, after a young Dragonrider from Onarik he'd rather liked when last he'd wandered the lands of the Living. "It is a fine castle, one of the oldest in the land."
"It will do as a base for now." The King sighed and swung his legs up and over the arm of the throne. "Look, Wesleigh, if you're going to be my disciple, we'll have to get one thing straight. I'm not fond of sacrifices. And in those ridiculous robes, you look like a High Priest about to do some serious slaughtering."
Wesleigh pouted. "Master, I had understood that you waded through lakes of blood - "
"What use are lakes of blood?" The Dead King pouted right back.
He was certainly not what Wesleigh had been expecting. He looked like the personification of Hell, with his dust-colored hair tumbling over his shoulders, his lavender eyes, his pretty mouth as red as the blood he was supposed to revel in. And that earring! Wesleigh had originally assumed that the upside-down cone was some sort of occult symbol, but no, apparently it was just some tacky jewelry he'd picked up in Hadra Corroch back in the days when it had been a bustling Irrandese bazaar. "Master, you are the King of the Dead. The Dead tend to bleed."
The Dead King shrugged. "I've always preferred the drowned myself. They tend to be a lot happier. Euphoria, you know." He pondered for a while, then added slowly, "And the Dragonriders who crash to the ground in flaming wreckage. Those are quite nice." He was quiet for awhile, and then seemed to snap out of a daze, and commanded, "Go and change into something more suiting one of your station, and take up the ruling of these lands. In my name, of course. Or, rather, in the name of my foolish sister. No one would even recognize my name, these days." He was fiddling with the earring again. "And, Wesleigh? Do try harder to find the necromancer who calls himself a king. That one is exactly what I need."
Wesleigh bowed low. "Yes, Master. I shall do my best."
The Dead King waited until his disciple was almost at the door before he called, "You don't think I'm insane, do you, Wesleigh?"
"You are just as sane as the next god, Master."
Hurrying along the corridors, Wesleigh thought bitterly, As sane as the next god, assuming all the gods are completely and utterly mad! Bugger all this for a lark. Bloody stupid gods and their bloody stupid Shades and their bloody stupid jewelry! Bloody stupid rangers, bloody stupid rebellions, bloody stupid world!
Wesleigh, of course, had no idea how close the world of the Living was to ending. Power, power, it flooded the veins and corrupted and changed, and Wesleigh was no longer the same person who had returned to this castle after so long spent away. The world might end, and the Dead King's first disciple, blind to his work, would never even notice.
(A/N: Hey, try to guess who Wesleigh really is. Guess correctly, win chapter eight!)
Got three chapters waiting for me to beta, which is cool.
Anyway, we went on the annual bike ride for the arts. I have a lovely scrape on my knee, and cannot walk because the muscles in my legs keep wanting to give out. Twenty-five miles, ouch. But I enjoyed it.
I read Stardust yesterday. It was very short and very predictable, but there was something about it that made me keep reading. Now I'm working on American Gods, which has rather more sex than I was expecting, but is still enjoyable.
Off to limp about bemoaning my pitiful existence.
And I also wrote this, it's part of chapter eight, hallo Legion, care to have a look?
The Dead King sat on the throne of a castle, toying with his earring and examining the hall.
"It's a nice castle," he said grudgingly.
"Yes, master," said his first disciple, who he had decided to call Wesleigh, after a young Dragonrider from Onarik he'd rather liked when last he'd wandered the lands of the Living. "It is a fine castle, one of the oldest in the land."
"It will do as a base for now." The King sighed and swung his legs up and over the arm of the throne. "Look, Wesleigh, if you're going to be my disciple, we'll have to get one thing straight. I'm not fond of sacrifices. And in those ridiculous robes, you look like a High Priest about to do some serious slaughtering."
Wesleigh pouted. "Master, I had understood that you waded through lakes of blood - "
"What use are lakes of blood?" The Dead King pouted right back.
He was certainly not what Wesleigh had been expecting. He looked like the personification of Hell, with his dust-colored hair tumbling over his shoulders, his lavender eyes, his pretty mouth as red as the blood he was supposed to revel in. And that earring! Wesleigh had originally assumed that the upside-down cone was some sort of occult symbol, but no, apparently it was just some tacky jewelry he'd picked up in Hadra Corroch back in the days when it had been a bustling Irrandese bazaar. "Master, you are the King of the Dead. The Dead tend to bleed."
The Dead King shrugged. "I've always preferred the drowned myself. They tend to be a lot happier. Euphoria, you know." He pondered for a while, then added slowly, "And the Dragonriders who crash to the ground in flaming wreckage. Those are quite nice." He was quiet for awhile, and then seemed to snap out of a daze, and commanded, "Go and change into something more suiting one of your station, and take up the ruling of these lands. In my name, of course. Or, rather, in the name of my foolish sister. No one would even recognize my name, these days." He was fiddling with the earring again. "And, Wesleigh? Do try harder to find the necromancer who calls himself a king. That one is exactly what I need."
Wesleigh bowed low. "Yes, Master. I shall do my best."
The Dead King waited until his disciple was almost at the door before he called, "You don't think I'm insane, do you, Wesleigh?"
"You are just as sane as the next god, Master."
Hurrying along the corridors, Wesleigh thought bitterly, As sane as the next god, assuming all the gods are completely and utterly mad! Bugger all this for a lark. Bloody stupid gods and their bloody stupid Shades and their bloody stupid jewelry! Bloody stupid rangers, bloody stupid rebellions, bloody stupid world!
Wesleigh, of course, had no idea how close the world of the Living was to ending. Power, power, it flooded the veins and corrupted and changed, and Wesleigh was no longer the same person who had returned to this castle after so long spent away. The world might end, and the Dead King's first disciple, blind to his work, would never even notice.
(A/N: Hey, try to guess who Wesleigh really is. Guess correctly, win chapter eight!)
Got three chapters waiting for me to beta, which is cool.
Anyway, we went on the annual bike ride for the arts. I have a lovely scrape on my knee, and cannot walk because the muscles in my legs keep wanting to give out. Twenty-five miles, ouch. But I enjoyed it.
I read Stardust yesterday. It was very short and very predictable, but there was something about it that made me keep reading. Now I'm working on American Gods, which has rather more sex than I was expecting, but is still enjoyable.
Off to limp about bemoaning my pitiful existence.
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No elliott.
am i right? most surely i am not, as i always aren't
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