No, no! Don’t MAKE me stop!

Then again, if that’s my mood on looking at the clock and seeing that my time is up, hey, it’s a great thing. I started this morning in a bad mood, which usually affects my writing negatively due to lack of focus. The other challenge was that this ‘editing’ is actually writing a new scene to tie some pieces together and deepen the religious and cultural aspects of the war.

1100 words later, and I’m loving it. A new concept for a ‘gifting’

Sviera’s songs had awakened many a latent gifting in the people of Jastu, and impromptu schools were hastily organized for them to learn how to use their power. The largest of these was in Senestri’s temple, an austere structure of gray stone that served also as an armory. As Amarog ascended the last stair and stepped into the court-yard, the war-masters were schooling their apprentices in the arts of their gift. Motioning them to continue, Amarog leaned against a pillar and watched.

a new aspect of Jastu’s military training

Each movement could be broken down to its base components, each symbolized by a piece of a word, a word that meant nothing on it’s own, but everything to the trainers and students.

a temple

Amarog silently led the way into Senestri’s hall, a place without statues or icons. The trophies claimed off of defeated opponents were collected here, tokens left by those who had lost families or lovers in war, those were both icons and offerings to Senestri. The priests cleaned each thing, kept candle burning and incense smoking.

history of a slain sister

“There are curses, terrible curses on anyone who sheds a dragon’s blood, and on their children and the rest of their line, marking them for vengeance.” He seemed to have forgotten Berikao, who had been only a common soldier in those days, but who knew these things as well as his own history. “The demon wouldn’t raise a hand to kill her himself, but watched as she battered her life out against the cliffs, her wings trapped by the steel nets. Then they butchered her, made weapons out of her bones and armor out of her skin, turned her into a hundred foul things and mounted her rotting skull on seven poles and their slaves bore it into the next battle, her tongue still dangling from her jaws.

and to cap it off?

“I want you to organize a summoning. Find the avatars. You know what to look for. Have them ready for my return.”
“Where are you going lord?”
Amarog caressed the cheek-bone with the pad of his thumb, his eyes rising and focusing on the north. “I go to speak to my goddess and ask for my power back. Four avatars will ride to war.”

The next part is where Amarog gets his first glimpse of the final Avatars, the Marasran who herald the “Ragnarok” of their race, a war that will decide the course of history and the future, and where he learns whether or not he will succeed in his missions. Those scenes are ones I love, and this entire section of the story is fun for me to write!

Now, hopefully my truck is actually fixed, my boss doesn’t hate me too much for being , and my allergies won’t act up today. It was a lousy start to the morning… Until I started writing, and now I’m in a good mood again.

THIS is why I write!

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