NaNoers Unite!

[DanTheSeamonster he/him]

Awesome job, Winter!!

 

I'm still at 34,098 words, but I haven't written yet today so that number should jump up some. Also, is this a place where we can share excerpts? I think that would be fun! Nothing too long, maybe just two or three paragraphs.

[FrancisVanZandt]

I'm WJFrancis308 on NaNo! This year, I worked on a novel I conceived of in 2014, right before NaNo started, and right as I learned of its existence generally.

 

My project was Tree Warden: Trials of the Chosen. I'm not finished yet, still got another 5k or so left in the story, but as of today, I won NaNoWriMo 2015! I'm excited to have reached this pantheon of wordy persons.

[Elbereth she/her]

I think excerpt sharing would be great! As long as it isn't too long, of course. I'll probably post something later tonight.

[Kaymyth she/her]

Did somebody say excerpts?

 

Some of you read the first draft version of this on the Camp Nano site.  Here's the revision version of that same scene snippet (though I think I'm cutting it slightly longer, giving it a bit more lead-in), now new and improved!

 

 

Somewhere in the back of her head, a voice of maturity pointed out that this was a very, very bad idea. She ignored it and started moving forward toward where the shots had come from, the direction that Harlen had taken off in.

 

Eva passed through a couple of cars where people were just huddling down, waiting for the worst to pass. Things were chaotic in the third car up. It wasn't a compartment car like hers, but a coach class passenger car. People sat in clusters, mostly looking frightened, but there were a few others up near the front shouting and tending to a wounded man. As she approached, she saw to her surprise that it was Hawthorn. “Harmony!” she gasped.

 

One of the other men turned to stare at her. “What are you doing up here, girl?” he demanded. “Get back to your seat! It isn't safe up here!”

 

“It isn't safe back there, either! One of the bandits broke into my cabin. I dropped him, but I don't know if it was permanent or not.”

 

“You?” the man asked incredulous. “You don't even have a gun.”

 

“Don't need one. I'm a Coinshot.”

 

His eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Huh.” He looked her up and down, taking in her clothing. She was wearing Roughs-style gear, though her accent marked her as an Elendel girl. The man shook himself and made a decision. “If you're going to help, then help. Goran's up top. You got ammo?” She nodded. “Good. Go cover him at the first window, but stay down. Goran'll skin me alive if I let a girl get shot on his watch.”

 

Eva ducked over to the first seat in the car, peeking cautiously out the window. She could see the stagecoach clearly now as it kept pace with the next car up. It must be a cargo car, she realized, seeing sacks come tossing down to a man standing on top of the coach. The trains did that, sometimes, interspersing more valuable cargo randomly amongst the passenger cars rather than putting them at the front or the back. Such cars were designed to look like normal passenger cars from the outside, making them more difficult to spot and rob. You could pass through them if you were on the train via a narrow walkway that wound around the side of the car, but passengers didn't have access to the car's contents.

 

Well, the ruse hadn't worked this time. She focused her attention onto the stagecoach, looking for metal, but found none. It made sense; you don't operate a coach with metal axles, no matter how much more sturdy they were, if you were planning to run a bandit heist. So she slid the window open and pulled out another handful of marbles.

 

The first volley hit their cargo catcher, who fell to his knees and then dropped backwards off of the stagecoach. The second was aimed at the driver, splaying out in a scatter pattern. Most hit the coach, but a precious two or three found their mark. The horses, suddenly no longer being whipped along at top speed, immediately started to slow down and take off away from the terrifying metal monster that was roaring in their ears.

 

More shouts were coming from up above, and she could hear rage in someone's voice. Another several shots rang out, and she saw a man's feet suddenly drop down, dangling just in front of her. She looked up and could see a man desperately holding onto the side of the train, blood on his sleeve. As he failed for purchase, she caught a glimpse of a lawkeeper's badge on his chest. Goran. That must be Goran. He was going to fall.

 

She had to do something.

 

Eva jumped out of the seat, dashing through the carriage door. There was a narrow gap with a floor between the two train cars; usually there was a covering over that gap for the comfort of the passengers traveling between cars, but this one had been ripped off by something terribly strong. She didn't know if it had been done by friend or foe, but she saw her chance to help Goran. She reached over and grabbed the dangling man around the waist, pulling him in and guiding his feet to the walkplate. He let go of the edge of the car, wrapping one arm around her shoulders, the other pulling in to his torso. He was bleeding from several gunshot wounds.

 

“Get inside!” She pushed him back into the car, passing him over to a couple of men who had followed her.

“Ruination!” The same man who had first challenged Eva swore. “Girl, get down! You've done enough. Help me with Goran.”

 

“Harlen's still out there!” she cried. If those bandits had taken down a trained and hardened lawkeeper so easily, how much trouble was Harlen in now? He was family. She had to help him. Visions of heroism danced in her head as the rush of all of the excitement overtook her. “I'm not done yet!” She gripped the ladder on the side of the car, pulling herself up a few rungs and then burning steel. She paused just out of sight, judging the angle of those lines, trying to determine which belonged to the train and which led to armed men on the roof. Three at least, she guessed. Maybe more. One of them might be Harlen.

 

I'm gonna catch thunder for this later, the last vestiges of her sensible brain told her. She pulled on her speed and skipped upwards onto the roof. A quick scan took in all three men, and none of them were Harlen. There was a fourth lying flat on the car, a shaking hand pointing a gun that she hadn't seen at the other three who were advancing on him menacingly. She recognized Roban, the other Valdorn engineer, and jumped into action. “Get away from him!” she snarled. A quick set of Pushes sent guns flying, but also made her hop up a few feet unexpectedly, coming back down onto the car considerably closer to the men than she had wanted to be.

 

At that point, the element of surprise evaporated and reality set in. She didn't have enough control of her Allomancy to be able to use it as a weapon in such a precarious position. Eva was suddenly acutely aware of the rush of wind as the train flew down the tracks and that she was facing three men who undoubtedly had practice running around on top of an object moving at a mile a minute.

 

She should have been able to use her Steelpushes to enhance her balance, but she had so little practice that she was like a weak-legged kitten. Her wild shoves, the hallmark of a half-baked idiot Coinshot newbie, were nothing like the delicate sort of control it would take to engage in a fight up here. The largest man, his face scarred and bearded, growled and advanced upon her.

 

Eva tried to dodge under his swinging arm, but even with her extra speed she wasn't nearly secure enough in her perch to do so gracefully. He caught her with a glancing blow on the shoulder. It was stronger than such a light blow had any right to be, and she found herself falling down and over the side of the train.

 

Desperately, she Pushed as she tumbled. By sheer luck, she was going over on the side that held the second set of tracks, giving her metal rails for her Steelpush to catch. It was enough that her forward momentum started to bleed off almost immediately. She hung in the air for several agonizing seconds as the train rushed forward past her.

 

And then suddenly she was no longer over the rails.

 

Eva dropped.

 

Much to her amazement, Eva actually managed to land on her feet. That moment of triumph was cut abruptly short by a violent lance of pain that leaped up through her right leg. She screamed in pain and collapsed the rest of the way onto the ground.

 

She rolled over onto her side, gasping as agony shot up her calf. It's broken, she thought dimly as she realized that she had heard something crack when she landed. Oh, Preservation...

 

Slowly, she gathered her wits, focusing on breathing as she sought to get a grip on the pain She had to think, had to pull herself together.

 

Eva sat up in time to see the last car of the train leaving her behind. “No,” she whispered. She was alone, miles from the nearest settlement. She couldn't walk. Her mind ranged desperately for a solution that could get her to help. Maybe she could Steelpush herself over the rails and back to Drypost, but she didn't know if she had enough reserves for that kind of journey. For that matter, she wasn't sure if she had the level of control necessary to do it and not break anything else, let alone do it while injured.

 

Movement in the distance caught her eye, and her heart seized up in sudden terror. There were men coming from the direction of the train. Men on horseback.

 

The bandits.

 

Eva was in very, very big trouble.

 

[Elbereth she/her]

Kaymyth, that's really cool.

Ooh! I'll post an excerpt! This is from Camp two years ago, because I just found it again and liked it.

Prologue: An Introduction

I'm Lorissa.

I'm Theresa. We'll be your narrators today. I hope you're nice, because

we'll be living with you awhile.

Be aware that this is not a perfect rendering of our life.

Of course not! We have been trained to have good memories, but recalling a conversation from a decade ago perfectly is beyond our skill.

Theresa! Now they know we live for a decade!

Actually, they know we lived to at least 10 plus at whatever age we first have dialogue. So at least fifteen.

True. That's actually worse. But hey! Just because we lived to at least fifteen doesn't mean we weren't crippled or something.

Still... You ruined the suspense!

Not the point. We have to do this, so we should actually get started.

We also "have" to do it separately. Why should we have to do it at all, if we're already breaking the rules?

Just because we're combining our stories, because it makes more sense, doesn't mean we can break all the rules. It's like the difference

Fine. This is the story of our life.

Which, because Lorissa insists, will also be told in true narrative style: that is, there

is a climax and such. So. We begin with:

Chapter One: Exposition

[Kaymyth she/her]

Man, I still do too much word repetition.  It's better, but there's two or three things in there that need to be fixed.  This stuff is completely invisible to me when I'm actually writing.

 

Ah, well, that's what beta readers are for, right?

[Elbereth she/her]

Yeah. I noticed a few things in mine that I pointedly did not fix. I have no need to go on a revising binge in the middle of November.

[Kasimir he/him]

Joining the excerpt bandwagon, then. This is from a NaNo a few years back--should be 2012, I think. Set in the Dragon Age universe.
 

He spied Corvus sitting at a booth, in full view of the door, as soon as he entered the Crow and shed his rain-cape at the entrance, stamping his boots to try and get rid of excess water. The Tevinter nodded to him, and Gerhard headed up to the bar. “I’ll have a Sundarin dark,” he ordered, “And a fish stew.”

Fingers nodded; he looked hassled. The Crow was always more crowded on a rainy night, and he glanced questioningly at Corvus’ booth. “I’ll be at that table,” Gerhard said, answering Fingers’ unasked question. The bartender nodded, and bellowed the order to one of the waitresses on duty that evening.

Gerhard headed for Corvus’ booth and sat down. “So,” Corvus drawled, “I hear you’ve been asking after me. Leon, isn’t it?”

No one asked for a family name, here in the Antivan underworld. At least not here in the Crow where it was moondark business, with the occasional sunsider straying into the tavern, tempted by the lure of a cold cask of Anders ale.

“That’s right,” Gerhard said, “Corvus.”

Corvus nodded, dark eyes glinting with amusement. His black hair was braided and a dozen or so silver charms glittered at the end of them. In the firelight, they weaved almost hypnotically, reflecting the unsteady orange glow. Gerhard had caught sight of a few engravings on them before, but he’d never quite known what the etchings actually meant. “So. What is it about?”

“Antonio,” Gerhard said. “You put me in contact with him.” Corvus closed his eyes for a moment, thought about it, and then laughed.

“That man. So I did. I remember now. What happened? Not to your satisfaction?” Corvus nodded in thanks as the waitress brought him a pint and a bowl of fish stew. There was almost always a pot of Antivan fish-stew at every tavern; it was probably the only thing which didn’t change very much in any Antivan tavern.

Gerhard’s food and his Sundarin arrived a few moments later; he thanked the waitress and paid her. “I haven’t heard from him,” Gerhard said. The fish stew smelled absolutely appetising and his mouth watered as he dug in. “No check-in.”

Corvus shrugged. Charms clinked with a faint chiming sound as he moved. “Antonio is generally reliable,” he said.

“But you know things,” Gerhard pressed. “It is your business to know.”

“Yes,” Corvus agreed, amused. He took a long sip from his tankard of pale Tevinter ale. “I am good at it, of course.” He said that without a trace of self-conscious mockery, and with quite a bit of pride. “What do you want?”

“His name. Something to look out for. Or if you know what might have happened to him. I need a lead to chase down. Some people to shake down.”

Corvus threw back his head and laughed. Some of the patrons glanced at them. Corvus was known by reputation, and it was well-known that clients who failed to respect Corvus’ rules soon found out he was good with that Tevinter short sword he always wore on him.

“You don’t ask for little, do you, Leon?” Corvus said. Now, Gerhard saw the steel in those dark eyes. “I don’t give out names. Ever. It makes for bad business, yes? I give usenames to you and to your Antonio. I put you in contact with each other, for that you pay me. Names are bad for business. If your Antonio fails to report in, I can find you another. Or I can find out why. But names I cannot do.”

Gerhard shook his head reluctantly. It had been worth a shot. “And I don’t suppose you have another?”

“As good as your Antonio? No. Not at short notice.” But Corvus had not dismissed the idea out of hand, Gerhard noticed. He was toying with his fish stew, and that meant he wanted something in return. There was always a price.

“There might be a way,” Corvus said, finally. “That we could both get what we wanted.”

“I’m listening,” Gerhard said, indicating his stew. “So talk.”

Corvus leaned forward, his dark eyes intent. “I know what you want,” he said, in his accented Trade tongue. “In time, I can put you in touch with a contact who might be able to locate your Antonio, or find what you’d asked for. In return…” he glanced around, at the crowded tavern, and lowered his voice to a whisper that Gerhard had to strain to hear, over the chatter of voices in the background. “Have you heard of the Minrathous Registry?”

Gerhard blinked, surprised. “The Minrathous Registry?” he repeated, incredulously. Corvus shot him a sharp look and he lowered his voice apologetically. He’d learned about the Minrathous Registry in history classes, back in the Circle. Dagna, the cheerful dwarf-girl with the bright eyes had mentioned it when he’d met her in Orzammar, when she’d been talking about her dreams to study in the Circle of Magi. Dreams he had almost destroyed when the Circle of Magi had been Annulled.

But they had been rebuilt. That had to count for something.

“The Tevinter Imperium kept records,” Gerhard said, “Of every human family ever known to have produced a mage-born child.”

“Yes. You are well-versed in your Imperium history. The Minrathous Registry was encrypted,” Corvus said, “A kind of ingenious magic used by the magisters of the old Imperium to prevent the documents from being copied and altered in any way except by someone possessing the magical key. They were sealed away in a box, lined to protect them against the damp. Magically sealed, to prevent them from being opened by anyone other than an authorised mage.”

“I don’t see the problem,” Gerhard said, coolly. His heart was pounding in his chest, now.

Corvus regarded him with a knowing look, and Gerhard ate more of his fish stew. Forced himself to meet the man’s even gaze. “There are more mundane seals on the Minrathous Registry, of course,” Corvus said. “But of course, you are a procurer of some ability, yourself.”

Gerhard was careful not to let any expression show on his face. “Am I? The Registry’s something that’s lost to history. No one’s found it.”

Corvus laughed, shaking his head slowly. “Leon,” he chided, “I am not here to kill time playing games. I am speaking to you because there are things we can do for each other. You said—what was it?—yes, that it was my business to know things. So we can set aside this game. I know you work for the Grandmaster of the Antivan Crows. I know you are resourceful, and that you’ve completed tasks for him before. I know that even the city guard has consulted you on cases before. Now that is a rarity. It speaks of…an extraordinarily versatile individual. And I believe such talents might come in useful.”

Gerhard folded his arms across his chest. “I’m listening,” he said, neutrally. “I still don’t hear the offer. You’ve known about the Registry since before you set foot in the Crow and waited for me. Where do I come in?”

“Ah, I’m afraid I can’t tell you that,” Corvus said. He took another long pull from his tankard. “Good Tevinter ale, that. Did I ever mention how hard it is to find good ale outside of the Imperium?” He gave an amused twitch of his lips at Gerhard’s expression. “To business, then. I find myself in need of skilled help, on issues pertaining to the Registry. More I cannot say, until you’ve agreed to undertake such a task. You’ll be paid well, naturally.” He named a figure that made Gerhard blink in astonishment. “And you’ll have the information you want. I’ll make sure of it.”

“It’s…a startling offer,” Gerhard said, eventually. His mind was whirling; relief mingled with confusion. Corvus knew less than he thought he did, then. He’d buried his past well, just as he’d hoped. But the sum that Corvus had promised to pay was a startling one. Where was he getting that money from? He’d known the information broker was one of the best, and probably rich, but that kind of money…

The Minrathous Registry. It all came back down to the Registry. Kavira, a magister of the Tevinter Imperium had written a treatise still studied in the Circle today, theorising that magic was passed down in the blood. It explained why it seemed to occur in families, and sometimes even skipped generations. But families that already had a mage ancestor seemed to have a tendency to produce more mage-children.

Senior Enchanter Mielke had scoffed at that, calling it naïve hogwash. Gerhard could recall the scorn in the Anders’ voice as he said, “If magic is simply a matter of direct inheritance, cloistering mages away in the Circles and killing the apostates should result in fewer mages being born every year. But the Circle’s records indicate that ever since the Circles were established, while the number of apprentices accepted for study varies from year to year, the general trend is still roughly the same.” He’d written a paper on that too, Gerhard remembered.

“I’ll need some time to think over it,” Gerhard said, finally.

Corvus nodded, unsurprised. “You’ll find me at the Crow,” he said. “Do not take too long, Leon. You’ll find that such lucrative offers come only once.”

Gerhard finished the last of his stew. Offering the man a nod, he went to claim his rain-cape from the many cloaks hanging at the entrance. He pulled the hood over his head before slipping out the door, into the driving rain.

[Gabriele she/her]

Oh nice. Once I got the 50K, I'll look for a suitable excerpt, too. I'm at 49K right now so this should not be too long.

[Curious Anamaximder he/him]

It was November? 

 

*gasp* 

[Elbereth she/her]

I just validated! I am very, very happy and excited. Now I just have to write at least 75k more to actually finish the story...

[Kaymyth she/her]

Holy rusting crapballs.

 

I actually have my raging head cold to thank for making it this year.  (I wrote just about all day.  My fingers are swollen.)

 

Just validated.

 

*thud*

[Elbereth she/her]

Great job! You did it, however it happened.

[Young Bard he/him]

Just over 30,000. My record (out of 2 years). I'll make it one day...

[Elbereth she/her]

You might find Camp more suited to you, if you can't get to the full 50,000. I've actually signed up for an unofficial 40,000 this December, because I need to keep working on my story...

[Young Bard he/him]

To be fair, it's just because November is a crap month for me (April and July aren't much better). In January, I could get through 50 thousand.

Edited January 15, 2016 by The Young Bard

[Gabriele she/her]

I ended Nano with 58,5K. Not so bad. Here is a bit from Kings and Rebels - The Shores of Exile. Fresh from the press, so to speak.

 

 

"We are beneath the cellars of the keep now," Goscelin said. He pressed against another stone in the wall and a second secret gate swung open. They stood in a small, circular room with a cupola shaped ceiling and a waist high stone slab in the middle, covered with a piece of embroidered cloth. Goscelin put the torch in a sconce and stepped towards the stone.

 

A glance around showed Roderic two stone benches hewn out of the rock, covered with dusty cushions. He beat the worst of it out of them, but the dust only filled the room, the motes dancing in the torchlight.

 

Goscelin destroyed several more cobwebs enshrouding the stone slab and the ceiling above the seats, this time using his sword. He cleaned it with a grimace.

 

"I admit I am curious why you brought me down here," Roderic said. "Surely not to admire the variety of cobwebs you've bred."

 

Goscelin grinned and took a seat beside his nephew. "What do you know about the ring Alerot gave you?" he asked, his tone serious now.

 

"That is was a heirloom of my mother, given into his keeping until I had grown old enough to be entrusted with it, that it is very powerful and that I should seek to learn more from you."

 

Goscelin nodded, thoughtful. He could sense the memory of Alerot's death still haunted Roderic. "Have you ever used the ring?"

 

"Once. I was drawn into it when Kjartan called the mists to mislead our pursuers. He used his ring ...."

 

"Kjartan has a magic ring, too?" Goscelin interrupted his nephew. Mithras, this could be even more dangerous than he feared. There were tales about rings in Aremorica as well, and now this Nortvegjan had one, too. One of the lost Vineta rings, most likely.

 

"Yes, and he does not like to use it, but there was no other chance. I felt my finger throbbing and the ring gave away a blue aura, much like Kjartan's. And then I felt the power around us and called the mists. It was a strange feeling. I ... I thought that if I went deeper and channelled those currents swirling in the earth, I could have collapsed a mountain behind us and block the pursuers." Roderic took a deep breath. "I can understand why Kjartan stays away from such magic. And I don't want to have anything to do with it, either."

 

"I am afraid you will have to deal with it, Roderic. This magic is part of our very blood."

 

"How so?" Roderic whispered.

 

"You remember the legend of Kêr Ys of course, how Merlyn gave the realm of Kêr Ys to his daughter Morgase and her husband Gradlon, and how her incesteous affair with her brother Talyesin and her son's revenge caused the cataclysm in which Kêr Ys and the other realms created by the refugees from Atalantis sank beneath the waves the old magic unleashed."

 

"I remember," Roderic said. "Levonais which the bards also call Avallonia, Caer Gwaelod and Vineta were the names of the realms. There is an old lament in the language of Riata that sings about the fall of Avallonia, the loss of its beauty and its ancient magic."

 

He gave his uncle a half smile. "There are also rumours that the old magic has not been lost forever, that some people can still work the power of earth, water and air. Some of the West Coast families are said to be of the old blood."

 

"There are stories like that in Aremorica as well, and they have been told more frequently of late."

 

"But are those tales true then?"

 

Goscelin nodded. "The magic was never lost, only dormant, or weakend. But the currents have shifted and the magic has become powerful again." He rose and went to the stone. "This ...." he lifted the cloth, revealing an egg sized jewel gleaming in a soft blue ...."is one of the stones Merlyn gave to his heirs. The very core of the old magic of Atalantis that shaped the Sunken Realms."

 

"Mithras and Sol Invictus protect us," Roderic said in a low voice.

 

Goscelin could see him staring at the jewel like in a trance. "Touch it with your ring."

 

Roderic rose and slowly stepped to the stone on which the jewel lay. He hoovered his hand over it, hesistantly. As he stood there, tall and fair, hood thrown back from his dark hair and his grey eyes shining, Goscelin was struck how true the old blood ran in him. Bertriz had traces of it, as did several of his ancestors, but none so strong. The ring and jewel were Roderic's heritage, there was no doubt.

 

Finally Roderic let his hand sink onto the jewel. Blue light erupted and there was a sparkling in the air that made Goscelin's hair stand up. The blue swirled in bands of azure, turquois, midnight and cerulean with faint traces of ruby, silver and bright emerald. Roderic closed his eyes, like concentrating on some unseen power, and the swirling colours took on a pattern and slowed down. After a while, something like a crystalline net of colours formed, about the size of the stone slab, hanging in the air. Roderic opened his eyes and lifted his hand off the jewel. He looked at the net and with one brisk move, commanded it to meld with his ring. A flash almost blinded Goscelin. Then the loaded, coloured air became quiet and dull again, only the jewel and Roderic's ring gleamed in a faint blue.

 

Mithras, Goscelin thought, he is so strong. The most powerful magic weaver since Trevelyan, to be sure. Mithras and Morrighan [find Breton goddess] give him the strength to use his power wisely. He will either become the Keeper our time will need, or he may destroy the very continent.

 

Roderic shook his head disbelievingly. "What did I do there?"

 

"You used the jewel to enhance the power of your ring."

 

"damnation, that ring was powerful enough."

 

"No, your instincts were right. Come, sit down, I have more to explain to you."

 

Roderic took a seat beside his uncle, fidgeting with the ring on his finger. "It feels warm, almost hot."

 

"There is a fire deep in the earth which causes the currents of power that fuel the magic of those rings. Hence the heat, I suppose. I have never connected the ring to the jewel so I can't say for sure."

 

"The ring was yours then?"

 

Goscelin nodded. "A most ancient and powerful heirloom. It has been in the family for generations beyond count. I gave the ring to your mother to keep it separate from the jewel. I could feel the currents shift and the magic become more powerful before any magic wielder who is not a Keeper could sense it."

 

"And I brought it back," Roderic murmured.

 

"It needed to be brought back, Alerot was right to send you to me. Bertriz was strong enough to withstand the temptation of the ring and wise enough to keep it hidden from the ambitions of your father, but I do not think she was strong enough to become a Keeper, to channel the powers not only of the ring but of the jewel as well. Few could have done what you did, with the currents so wild."

 

"I don't even know what I did, and how. It just felt ... right."

 

Goscelin nodded. "As I said, the magic is in our blood. Our line goes back to Trevelyan, the grandson of Merlyn. If Kêr Ys still stood you would be the Ri an Cael Arcant, the King of the Silver Hall. A title more ancient than the line of any king now alive."

 

"Ri an Cael Arcant," Roderic said in a dreamlike voice, "the Elven king of the Aremorican ballads I used to sing, and I never knew they were the very music of my ancestors."

 

"The music is part of our heritage, too. As is the Jewel of Kêr Ys and the Keepership."

 

"So the jewels were not lost in the floods. That part the legends do not tell."

 

"That part was deliberately suppressed, or there would have been a hunt to find the jewels. Each jewel controlled several rings, given to members of Merlyn's family or his friends. We do not know the whereabouts of most of these, and when the currents were weak, the magic they could weave was not so strong to be dangerous. But now those rings must be found and controlled. There are people who knew or guessed that the floods and the fire mountain in the Roman Sea, all too close to sunken Atalantis, have changed the power."

 

"And that is the task of a Keeper?"

 

"Yes," Goscelin said in a very serious tone. "Some rings may be in the hands of people like your friend Kjartan, men or women who are careful about the use of magic. But others likely have ended up in the hands of greedy, ambitious people. They must be rendered inactive."

 

"How?"

 

"I cannot say for sure, but I think you will find out. Trust your instinct like you did with the jewel. This is a time of change, for good or ill." Likely for ill, Goscelin thought, even with Roderic's strength with the magic. He had no idea of the whereabout of the other jewels and Keepers, of the number of rings still active, and ambitions and intrigues surrounded him even after he had left the court of King Baldovin. He rose and signalled Roderic to follow.

 

On the stairs, he turned to his nephew. "If ever the jewel is threatened, collapse the castle and the hill over it. It must not fall into the hands of people who use the magic for dark purposes," he said intently.

Edited December 1, 2015 by Gabriele

[Kaymyth she/her]

Great job! You did it, however it happened.

 

Technically, I wrote a total of over 90,000 of revision, but some of that was a retread of last year so only about 51,000 was countable for Nano.

 

Oh, and I started late, so I typed those 90,000 in two weeks.

 

[Elbereth she/her]

Wow. That's really impressive.

Also, Gabriele, I really like it. If you want to (no pressure if you don't), I'd totally be willing to read more of it. It's that good.

[Gabriele she/her]

Thank you, Elbereth. It's far from being finished, and outside Nano I write more along the speed of GRR Martin but I'll get back at you once I got enough of the monster done for at least the first part to make sense.

[Perrin Aybara he/him]

I like it, Gabriele. It's pretty good. i'm relatively new here, and only found out about NaNo after it was over . When I say relatively new, I mean that my grandpa had an account made for me last year and I didn't know about it until three weeks ago. 

 

I'm a writer, too. Is there some sort of organized writing group in these forums, and who are the members? Also, what's the policy on reading excerpts and stuff? Is it possible for somebody else to steal a work that I write?