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Found 3 results

  1. Salutations to all yall out there, So I have been trying to write a novel for a while now and keep moving around from idea to idea. I finally thought of a good story idea and started writing. However, since I am not like Brandon Sanderson and don't exactly write that fast or am as motivated. I have about one and a half chapters done so far and I am submitting that for intense scrutiny. All jest aside please submit any suggestions, questions, comments, or advice. Thanks Chapter One Callan jumped from tree to tree, racing the coach, trying to get ahead of it. He took a long leap and landed on the stagecoach. It wobbled a bit but soon steadied and moved forward at a great speed. “Bandits,” he heard someone whisper from inside the coach. He grinned and positioned himself so that if the stagecoach turned, he would not be thrown off. Just as he predicted the coach started to jerk and turn trying to throw him off. He grabbed the sides and hung on. Amused that they would try to throw him off by turning he chuckled and swung himself onto the side of the coach. He grabbed the handle of the coach door and opened it. The end of a halberd came to greet him as the door swung open. He grabbed it and pulled it out of the hand of the soldier who wielded it. He then grabbed the soldier’s tunic and threw him out of the coach. He fell with a scream and hit the ground with a sickening crunch. Callan then stepped into the coach and drew his dagger. The people inside the coach let out screams when they saw his dagger and pressed themselves against the walls of the coach, trying to get as far as they could away from the blade. Callan rolled his eyes when he saw this and with a sigh pulled out a burlap sack. “You all know the drill, jewels, weapons, money, and valuables in the sack please and thank you,” he recited with a bored expression. They very nervously did as he asked, keeping their eyes on the knife at all times. When it was all in the sack he tied it up and hauled it up onto his shoulder. He stepped back and with a flourishing bow jumped out of the stagecoach and out into the cold crisp night. *** Several days later Callan found himself being beaten up in an alleyway by several mercenaries. “Quick Grab his arms,” one shouted as he struggled to grab a squirming Callan and restrain his movement. The mercenary behind him quickly grabbed his arms and painfully held them behind his back. Callan tried to escape but he could not break free of the mercenary’s firm grip. “Hold him still,” a deep voice said from the other end of the alleyway. A hooded figure walked up to the struggling Callan and plunged his fist into Callan’s gut. Callan immediately stopped writhing and started gasping for air. The figure reached his hand towards a scabbard and drew out an ornate jeweled dagger. Callan immediately recognized it and took a quick inward breath. The man noticed this. “So you do know me after all.” The hooded man said in a deep grave voice that was quite menacing. He raised his hands to his head and lowered his hood. Callan gasped in surprise. It was one of the noblemen he had robbed days before. “You are a very hard man to find Silverfingers, '' the nobleman said. He started toying with the dagger that had not left his hand. “It took me several hours after the robbery to make a formal inquiry about you.” He drawled leaning against the side of the alleyway. “It took my men two days to find you after that.” He continued, “Very impressive by the way.” He paused, “And yet here we are now. You are in my trap like a fish in a barrel and I am about to seize this opportunity.” “What opportunity?” Callan spat, although admittedly curious about a new option. The nobleman grinned when he saw this. “I have need of you Silverfingers,” he said. “Or to be more precise, I have need of a person of your skill and reputation.” The hidden message was made immediately clear to Callan at this. This man did not need him. He wanted him for the job but had other men that would do the job. But what would happen if he refused? “And if I refuse?” Callan asked somewhat defiantly. “Oh I hope that you don’t, it suits both our needs that you help me with this. If you refuse then you get a free trip to the afterlife and I will have to find another.” Callan thought about this for a bit. He started to see that there was only one way out of this, But he was going to see if he could get something out of this. “If I help you with this I want 20 percent of all the loot gained” he demanded. “And I want to keep the loot I stole from you.” The nobleman smiled and replied, “I accept,” he paused for a moment then continued “but to swear this accord we must use a more permanent method of binding.” He then pulled a blue-green stone out from within his cloak. Callan’s eyes widened as he looked upon the small stone. “I suspect that you already know what this is Silverfingers,” the nobleman drawled. He then attached it to his cane and held it up in front of him. “You must bind yourself to me in this Silverfingers, or you will not live to see the morn.” He darkly stated. Callan learned slowly away from the cane, desperately trying not to look at it. But the closer the cane moved towards him the more the urge to look pressed him. He started to walk backward but one of the mercenaries grabbed him. Just look at the stone, a voice said in his head. The stone was moving closer and closer. Suddenly the stone touched his skin and he gave in to the urge. “If you remove the stone I will give you this oath,” Callan yelled. In the stress of the moment, his voice had increased to a shout. The nobleman smiled and compiled, pulling his cane back under the cloak. Callan relaxed and the mercenary let him go. He glared at the nobleman and said in a low voice, “Where did you get a bindstone? They were supposed to have been destroyed a thousand years ago.” The nobleman smiled once again and said nothing. The cane was pulled out from under the cloak and held up in front of him. Callan put his hand on the Bindstone and said “I swear that I will be under pain of death if I don’t complete this task for the person holding this stone.” The stone started to glow a deep pulsing green and threw light all over the alley walls. When the light faded completely Callan quickly pulled his hand away from the bindstone and shot a reproachful look at the nobleman. “So it seems we have an accord,” he finally said. Callan looked at him for a moment then slowly replied. “Yes, it seems that we do indeed.” Chapter 2 Kara crouched down low, hiding in the dark. She quivered to a stop, pausing only for a moment before moving slowly onward. Slow step by slow step she made her way down the narrow, dark corridor moving like a panther on the hunt. After a few moments, she reached the end of the hallway and looked around the corner. A guard stood there, silent as a statue. She paused for a moment then ran past quiet as the night breeze. She ran down a few more corridors heading deeper and deeper into the castle. Soon she reached the end of the maze of corridors and arrived at a door. She cautiously pulled it open, wincing at the creaks the door made, and slipped inside. Rows of tables surrounded a great pit filled with wood and charcoal. The room had a smoky smell to it due to the hearth being lit almost every night. Kara moved slowly around the room dodging overturned chairs and fallen tankards that had been filled with mead. She crept lithely and quietly into a small antechamber on the far side of the hall. The room was overstuffed with shelves full of soft bread wrapped in brown parchment-like paper. She quickly grabbed several of these loaves and stuffed them in her knapsack which hung at her waist. Kara quickly moved through the door at the other end of the room and down into the catacombs of the castle. She breathed a sigh of relief as she quietly closed the door and moved down into the heart of the keep. She could walk normally now as these tunnels were abandoned, and only a select few even knew about them. She strode down the long corridor and eventually hit open air as the tunnel eventually widened out into a cave. She reached the cave mouth and stepped out into crisp, cold night air. She walked a fair distance to where she could see smoke rising from a cookfire. When she could see the light of the cookfire she hid behind some bushes and peered out from an opening. “You know it’s just me,” a deep voice said from right behind her. Kara jumped and spun around drawing the dagger she had in her knapsack. A tall and imposing figure stood before her, covered in scars. She slowly released both the breath she had drawn in and her grip on the dagger. She glared at the man standing there as he grinned at her expression. “You really shouldn’t sneak up on me like that, Erran,” Kara said, finally grinning back and walking through the bushes to sit by the fire. Erran sat down across from her still smiling. “If you don’t want me to sneak up on you then you shouldn't make it so easy,” Erran said as he leaned back; putting his hands behind his head. “It’s not my fault that you are so large looking for you is like looking for the summit of a mountain while at the bottom” she shot back. He chuckled at that, pulled a piece of bread from his satchel that was sitting next to him, and tossed it to her. She caught it and tore a piece off with her teeth. She started to chew the tough thick bread but soon found herself unable to fully chew it to the state that it needed to be in to swallow. Erran started to laugh at the sight of her. He got up to hand her a wineskin. “This may help you,” he said as she swiped the skin out of his outstretched hand. He chuckled at the action and went to set up some stakes to act as a hanging post for his great big iron pot which he soon filled with water and hung from a steel chain. When the pot came to a boil he pulled strips of meat out and slowly put them into the boiling pot. Out then came the potatoes and onions he said he had found just that morning. Kara always liked watching Erran prepare food. He had a certain air about him when he cooked. Like he tuned everything else out and focused on nothing else other than what he was creating. He was a master at his craft. He often fiddled with the fire, muttering to himself. “Have to get it just right” he softly whispered to himself as he pushed dirt into the fire with his boot. He added dried spices from his cooking bag and stirred with a carved, ornate wooden spoon. After stirring for a few seconds he brought the spoon to his mouth and sipped the dark steaming liquid. He jerked his head back and quickly grabbed a skin of water he had close by.
  2. Hey everyone, I wanted to share this with my fellow Sanderfans right after my family, but my book is finally published on Amazon! https://www.amazon.com/dp/1084156377/ref=mp_s_a_1_2?keywords=knight+of+strolm&qid=1564516998&s=gateway&sr=8-2 The link above is for the paperback, but the ebook option is out there as well. Have a look if you're interested and if you read it, please review it on Amazon for me! Shoutout to @Koh, who did the cover art for us! Thanks everyone! P.S. I checked with moderators to make sure I wasn't breaking rules by posting this here. ;-) Thanks @Argent
  3. Not even a week left! Can anyone else see... anticipationspren... forming all around them...? Edit: This is aimed at those whom have not yet recieved a copy of the book. Some of you, I do realize, are lucky and are probably seeing victoryspren, joyspren, et cetera, after having received a copy of the book already.
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