Today I finally had some time to write. I was able to get a decent amount of words in, which is good because I work tomorrow.
It’s past due for me to share another excerpt with you. I’ve shared the first one, so this is the second one. This contains the confrontation I mentioned yesterday. It ended up being a lot shorter than I expected it to be. This excerpt is the entire chapter, and it’s a short chapter for me. Again, just like with all my excerpts, this is a vomit draft so please ignore any spelling or grammatical errors that may have gotten past my quick edit. Let me know what you think of it.
Symon and the other Mythic Clerics made it to the Cleric’s Tower in record time, due to their speed. Rachel was fine with them leaving her behind with Sir Pallow. They strapped on their Mythic Blades and left Symon’s house.
When they reached the tower, they found a decent sized crowd there. They were being held back by several guards, who were keeping them at bay and out of harm’s way. There were some Crown Paladins among them too.
In front of the tower, standing on the top step by the door was a woman. She was wearing a light blue cloak that covered her whole body. The hood was up, shrouding her face in darkness. She was tall and imposing. A strange figure. She almost looked inhuman the way she stood there.
The crowd parted for Symon and the other Clerics. When out in the open, Symon stopped and looked up at the woman who was still a good thirty feet from him.
“Hello, friend,” Symon said.
“Symon DeMyn, Mythic Commander of the Order of Faith and Honor.” Her voice was impossibly loud, it almost sounded like it was coming from all around them rather than just from the woman in front of them. It caused the crowd to step back a little. But it was also smooth and confident.
Symon stood his ground. His hand on the hilt of the Divine Blade, his hair blowing in the small breeze that passed by. “I take it you’re the Wayward Witch?”
“I am,” she said. Her face was still obscured.
“Then, I am placing you under arrest for your crimes against the city of Vastervale,” Symon said. He took a few steps towards her.
The Wayward Witch waved her hands and they ignited in flames. There was gasps from some in the crowd, and screams from others. She held her hands at chest level, the fire licking at her finger tips, but caused no burning. “And what of your crimes, Symon DeMyn?”
Symon stopped his advance when her hands lit up. “Crimes? What are you speaking of?”
“I have come here not to talk but to make a demand of the city of Kalvyn’s Crossing.” The fire in her hands turned from orange and yellow flames to blue, they flared. “This man,” she pointed at Symon, “is a scourge upon this world. His hands are not free of blood, death of innocent lives scream for his own.
“This is my demand: DeMyn’s sword, or Kalvyn’s Crossing’s blood. Resign or watch the city burn. Those are your only options. You have one day to surrender your sword to the Craven King and return to the hovel you call a village, if you do not, I will rend this city apart, and everyone who dies will be on your head. Let it be known, if by sunset tomorrow the Mythic Commander had not given up his position, he is responsible for the blood that spills.”
Symon drew the Divine Blade. “I will not be threatened by you, Witch!” he shouted. He rushed the woman, his blade posed to harm her rather than kill her. He wanted to question this woman. He bounded up the stairs in a blink, but she was gone. She had vanished. Her body, and the fire, simply vanished.
There was a gasp from the crowd again. Then another scream. The Wayward Witch was now on the street at the bottom of the stairs. Symon spun and jumped for her, but he fell right though her, as if she wasn’t even there. It was like she was a ghost. But her body still stood there, blue flames flickering from her hands. He hood was still up, and he couldn’t quite see her face.
“You are no match for me, Mythic Commander. My magic is beyond your understanding. You have one day. Do you want more blood on your hands?” She laughed, a high pitched, angry laughter. She then faded like a mirage in the desert. Her laugh died shortly after she vanished, and the square fell quiet. It was eerie.
Symon turned to look at his regiment. The Mythic Clerics were standing there with their jaws dropped, their swords loose in their hands.
-Excerpt from The Wayward Witch; Chapter 17, by Andrew Ronzino
There you go. Even though it’s short, I like it. I had no preconceived ideas of where that would go. And I like the way it turned out.
Current word count for The Wayward Witch: 35,169/50,000!
Until the next post,
Andrew Ronzino, Assistant to Mr. Scrooge