[Vodstok]

Words, that is. I recently read in an interview with R.A. Salvatore that he writes 1000 words a day when he is actively writing a book. sometimes more, especially if he is on a roll, writing a battle or something.

So i figured, i have a hell of a novel brewing in me, so i should give it a shot. 1000 words a day is roughly a page and a half a day, that is a complete 350 page novel i less than a year. Last night i wrote 1015 in less than an hour. That is a career i think i could handle.


I also decided i would paste what i wrote here just to show off and get some feedback. Anyone who read my story Emberwind last year, this is set in the same world.

A cookie to whoever can identify the reference to classic horror in this:

The half moon created shafts of pale light through the trees surrounding Willowbough Keep. The entire area appeared in shades of grey, save for a single window lit with the yellow light of many candles. The servants had taken their rest for the night, and only the night guard and a single noble were stirring at this late hour. The entire valley was swallowed in mist, as it was every clear night, starting in early spring and lasting through the mid fall.

Ehrvis Svartendelikt flipped slowly through the yellowed pages of a tome his assistant had a acquired for him, absently eating either sliced apple or strong cheese from the platter the servants had brought to him that evening, or sipping the fine red wine from the local vineyard. He perused the pages casually, as one might browse a book of pictures. This book, however, contained much more than simple pictures. It contained incantations, sigils, and recipes, all revolving around the study and art of necromancy.

Ehrvis paused on one page, setting down his wine after a partial sip, his eyes scanning the words of the page. He gulped the little bit he had in his mouth then let out a low, pleased whistle. This particular spell would allow him to crush the heart of a victim simply by uttering the words and crushing a parchment cutout of a heart. He reached over and pulled a strand of cut silk cloth to mark the page before continuing on. Oremorag had done well in procuring this book. It was filled, gilded cover to gilded cover, with powerful spells and enchantments. It was rare that one as practiced in the mystic arts of death as Ehrvis could find something truly new, and so far this tome had not one thing that he already knew.

Orem would be rewarded handsomely for this.

The Necromancer’s thoughts drifted away from his new book and his loyal henchman to Orem’s apprentice. Shan had been missing for weeks now, and Ehrvis could only conclude that he had failed to get out of Deep Fire’s dungeons alive. It was a shame, he thought, but no great loss. Shan had been ambitious, and was actually quite a talented wizard, but he was an evoker by trade, attempting to break into the school of necromancy. But his skill in the black arts was lacking. It was one thing to learn how to wiggle one’s fingers and shoot balls of flame, or blasts of lightning, it was quite another to meddle with the very essence of life and death itself. It required discipline, and above all patience.

In Ehrvis’ mind, necromancy was an art, and only the truly talented could become accomplished in it. Orem was a prodigy. Ehrvis had discovered him early, and the young man, back then, had a true knack for the dead. No one he had ever met had more skill with raising the dead. Give Oremorag access to dead bodies, and he could conjure up zombies, and walking skeletons. Given enough time, he had even shown Ehrvis how to mold several bodies into a single, hulking undead abomination.

Ehrvis had a black heart, devoid of any feelings of warmth or empathy for any other, but he had a small warm corner for Orem. He truly loved him like a brother. Orem had agreed to taker Shan on as an apprentice, mostly because Ehrvis had convinced him that he could be of use in doing away with the little Willowbough wench, Vildree. The plot had been simple enough; Orem and Ehrvis had previous dealings with the dark dragon Deep Fires, a black beast from the deep underworld that fancied itself a god, complete with a cult of zealous followers. The two necromancers had amused the creature with undead “toys” as it called them.

They arranged for Vildree Willowbough, the only child of the widow Shandrelle, the new bride of Ehrvis, to be kidnapped by the cult, for mutual gain. The cult would sacrifice the girl in one of their rituals, to the greater glory and pleasure of their god figure, and remove the only heir to the Willowbough duchy. Some clever charms had helped in getting Ehrvis married to the widow in the first place, though it hadn’t been easy; she had been an accomplished sorceress herself. It had taken a great deal of work and time to manipulate the woman after the disappearance of her daughter to transfer the inheritance to her new husband, but not too difficult. Ehrvis played the role of the doting husband well, and never let on about his necromantic pursuits, going so far as to avoid practicing or even reading about it once he was living in her home, to erase any possibility of suspicion.
He had been patient, gaining the trust of her and her daughter, not to mention the many servants in the household. Once the girl had been taken, and his position had been solidified as the living inheritor of the duchy, the duchess had suddenly fallen gravely ill. Her loving husband waited on her during the short, painful run of the disease, and even wept openly at her funeral.

He maintained a somber attitude in front of the helpers, not wanting to let on his elation at the woman’s demise. In less than two years, he had moved his position from a petty viceroy of an outlying protectorate to the Duke of Willowbough’s lands, an official member of the government, with money land and power.
Shan’s disappearance had him a little concerned, however. He had been sent out with a rather formidable group, hired to bolster the illusion that he wanted his dear stepdaughter back at his side, especially with her mother so ill. Had Shan been caught and summarily defeated by the group? Perhaps, but he was confident that the mixed group of a human, half elf, dwarf and their wolf was not equal to the task of rescuing a girl from a band of bloodthirsty cultists and a dragon that drew its might from the very darkness of the underworld.