A place for writing, inspiration, and other authorish things.
I kinda flitted between stories today, but I made it! I’m somehow keeping up with nano this year despite it being, well, 2020. Today was mostly Eral, though.
Words: 1828
Excerpt:
Eral turned an almost bemused look up at him as he leaned in a bit to observe the cage. “Did you just tell me not to be peeved that I’m soaked in whiskey, drunk off my ass, and stuck in a birdcage?”
The man grinned. “Two of those things don’t sound all bad, actually.”
Today’s been somewhat productive! I got a lot of work done on a couple smaller stories, and a bunch on Bottled Rage! Eral gets to be the star of the excerpt today.
Word Count: 1993
Excerpt:
“Izzat … a pixie in there?!“ the smoky-voiced one asked.
The barkeep’s voice was as smug as ever. “Pixie, alright. This one was bragging up a storm at the bar. Been in a few scrapes, so he says.”
Eral scowled. “It’s not–! It’s not bragging if I actually did all those things,” he challenged, though he stayed slumped. “Just ‘cause you don’t believe it doesn’t mean it’s not true. Get a little perspective, man!”
I decided not to do a post yesterday because I kept bouncing between different stories and didn’t have a good excerpt out of any of them. And then today, I was going to write a bit more, but I got a cool number for my word count and couldn’t resist! Today it’s Eral, in a different story called Bottled Rage.
Word Count: 2222
Excerpt:
“Awww, ‘runt’, godsdamn, I have never ever heard that one before,” Eral jeered. “What else you got?”
“I got plenty, twig,” the guy said gruffly. “But you best shut up now or I’ll just toss this bottle off the bridge instead.”
Eral blinked and his angry words did stop for a moment. He had to weigh what he thought the guy wanted him for against the chance that he actually would sink him in the river.
Not that the possibility truly scared him for long. “Just try it, shit heap,” he slurred, slapping the glass again. “If you think that’s all it takes you got another thing comin’! It’s shaped like my boot in your face and my sword in your eye!”
One story I like to work on from time to time is another short featuring Elias Dawn and Eral the Arbor Pixie, entitled Bottled Rage. It’s a fun little foray into the way Eral acts as tough as anybody when he’s drunk–a task that takes quite a few thimblesfull to achieve.
He still likes his demigod buddy well enough, but good luck getting him to admit it.
Bars were great. One of Eral’s favorite places to be after a successful quest. And before. And during, if there was time.
Elias was off chatting someone up. He had all the luck with the ladies (or guys) he happened to pick out. Eral just wound up being called cute most of the time. He didn’t try to be too friendly, unless he was angling for someone to let him borrow a thimbleful of their drink.
Drinking put a warm feeling in his gut and a lightness in his steps. For a pixie, the world could be heavy sometimes. Eral didn’t mind the help. The more he had, the easier it became to follow along with drinking games, anyway.
He had already had to regale whoever would listen of his adventures. Before Elias sauntered into his life, Eral had accomplished plenty on his own. Strangers didn’t chuckle at the notion as much as Elias did, but then the damn demigod never took anything seriously.
“Idiot thinks ‘cause he got um, them tattoos on’s arm that he’s the best at … at doing the thing and getting the reward shit,” Eral complained. He had a seat on an overturned shot glass, and a few of the bar patrons laughed along with his bluster.
“Whassis tattoos mean?” someone asked. Eral squinted to focus on who said it, and then glanced around the place. Elias had a corner booth with a couple of hangers-on around him. His sleeves were rolled up casually to reveal the curling runes in black ink on one arm. Still there.
“Fucked if I know,” Eral said, slopping some beer from his thimble when he used it to help his dismissive wave. “Buncha temple shit I think. Told me once an’ I damn forgot.”
A wavering hand descended slowly from above. Eral glanced up as its shadow flickered, and then he took a drink from his thimble. The hand came to rest next to his seat. “Shit,” the human slurred. The hand tilted and a finger tapped Eral’s back lightly. He almost spilled more beer.
“Atta … atta pixie,” the human said with a grin. “Who needsa bard anyway?”
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