I have nearly twenty more pages of the epic story of Eggsaberroar written, but not edited and in need of a good scrubbing before they get put out here. I have at least two days in the next week in which to work on my own personal frivolities, which include laundry, and I am going to designate a good portion of that time to putting out Chapter 2 of Eggsaberroar.
In this chapter you will get to meet Blinkweaver Spellshooter, a quarrelsome gnome with a passion for bright lights and explosions, and the love-struck but duty-bound cleric Colbert. Ty and Rusty have only just begun their journey to Terra Regalia and already danger lurks hidden in every shadow.
-Rockit
Preview of Eggsaberroar Chapter 2:
...
Blinkweaver the gnome was older than Ty had imagined, thirty seven years old, though apparently this gave him about the same status in gnome society as Rusty had as an eighteen year old halfling, two young men going to prove themselves in the world. The gnome, as Ty had imagined was a magician, a wizard to be exact, looking for a place to learn the great secrets of the age. At least that was how Blink described it, among other bigger gnomish words that Ty couldn’t quite make out.
The gnome spent most of the day reading what looked like the same chapter of his large ratty book over and over again. Rusty had spent a good two hours the first morning begging him to show off his spells. The gnome had tried to explain something about the metal-for-sickle limits of a magicians strength, not to mention the dire casual cons and queen of needles tampering with reality, but Rusty had persistently countered this gnomish gibberish with "c'mon."
Finally Blink had grinned in such a way that Ty would have already been moving for cover, and suddenly the Halfling child was covered head to toe in a splash of many colors. He giggled like a sot and stumbled around the deck for nearly ten minutes minute rubbing at his eyes, before finally coming to his senses, his clothes still dyed all the colors of the rainbow. Rusty had started looking for other crew members to bother after that.
The only people Rusty seemed to avoid were the four guardsmen. Ty had learned that they did not work for Captain Kobashard, but instead had been hired to protect a precious cargo being brought from one of the dwarven islands. Every time the Halfling seemed to turn his back on them he would feel an uneasy prickling on his shoulders and hear mean snickering. They spent far too much time sharpening their cheap swords. A good warrior would know such a blade would grow soft, and fold in real combat.
Blinkweaver the gnome was older than Ty had imagined, thirty seven years old, though apparently this gave him about the same status in gnome society as Rusty had as an eighteen year old halfling, two young men going to prove themselves in the world. The gnome, as Ty had imagined was a magician, a wizard to be exact, looking for a place to learn the great secrets of the age. At least that was how Blink described it, among other bigger gnomish words that Ty couldn’t quite make out.
The gnome spent most of the day reading what looked like the same chapter of his large ratty book over and over again. Rusty had spent a good two hours the first morning begging him to show off his spells. The gnome had tried to explain something about the metal-for-sickle limits of a magicians strength, not to mention the dire casual cons and queen of needles tampering with reality, but Rusty had persistently countered this gnomish gibberish with "c'mon."
Finally Blink had grinned in such a way that Ty would have already been moving for cover, and suddenly the Halfling child was covered head to toe in a splash of many colors. He giggled like a sot and stumbled around the deck for nearly ten minutes minute rubbing at his eyes, before finally coming to his senses, his clothes still dyed all the colors of the rainbow. Rusty had started looking for other crew members to bother after that.
The only people Rusty seemed to avoid were the four guardsmen. Ty had learned that they did not work for Captain Kobashard, but instead had been hired to protect a precious cargo being brought from one of the dwarven islands. Every time the Halfling seemed to turn his back on them he would feel an uneasy prickling on his shoulders and hear mean snickering. They spent far too much time sharpening their cheap swords. A good warrior would know such a blade would grow soft, and fold in real combat.
...
No comments:
Post a Comment