Anyway, back to business. I wasn't able to write on my novel much at all this whole holiday. Why? Because I arrived at a dead end. No matter what I tried, either I couldn't shake off the feeling my novel is going the wrong way or that I've writted myself into being unable to continue. So, I've decided to rewrite the whole thing. Yes, the whole thing itself, from the beginning. I'm using my old copy as a reference in case I forgot the plot, but most would be changed from then on.
And I've been wanting to share at least the first page with you guys. So, here I will be doing it. Please mind that I can't seem to put indents (if you even can?), so I've altered it a bit to fit with the format. More news: got Harry Potter, the full series; watched several movies; played and completed several games; maybe more reviews.
Night howled before the sky of Seriquas.
Only a few hours before the new year. Only a few hours before they arrived. Only a few hours for her to strike, which may be her last chance at it.
Shrouded in a cloak as dark as the mist of Ink Woods, she hastened through the forest—trees and brushes all specked with thorns and rotten beyond death. Dried leaves and branches crunched with every step. She treaded carefully through the blinding pitch black mist; one little misstep could tear right through her cloak, skin, and flesh.
She had to get to the tavern near the edge of the woods. Rumors circulated that one of the major familias were plotting to toss the kingdom into chaos—and she knew who they meant. And she wanted to stop them.
Trees and trees later, she could see dim flickering colors of purple and orange mixing into the mist. Not long after, she stepped into an open field surrounded by purple thorns and brambles, and there it was—the tavern, The Witching Hour. More or less, it looked like a nondescript and derelict shack left to the mercy of the weather. Small holes covering the mildewy wooden planks whistled as drafts flew by. Seemed like no chaos ensued yet. Good.
Which also meant that they'd arrive in no more than a few minutes. She should best be prepared.
She stepped toward the entrance of the tavern, one hand clutching the cloak over her body and—
The bell above the door chimed as the door creaked open to reveal the interior of the tavern. Witches, gargoyles, ogres, imps, goblins, orcs, and a red-skinned troll paused and turned to look at her before resuming their activities, unconcerned. The troll behind the counter bowed at her entrance while cleaning a beer mug. She tried her best to act natural—but she hadn't been around with these kinds of people for a while.
But all should be fine, she hoped.
The tavern was much more lively than it was outside. Ogres at the counter chugged down beer mug after mug, bubbles frothing around their mouths. A gargoyle and a goblin were pitted in an arm-wrestling match as the others cheered on their sides. Some of the dead drunk people lied on the floor and seats, utterly unconscious. Witches, down at the far corner of the bar, brewed up random concoctions and throwing them at one another. Different sounds flooded into her ears while the smell of liquor filled her nostrils.
She thought she looked out of place, considering how she was dressed. A casual periwinkle dress with a floral motif, fitted on with a velvet black-stringed corset. Its veil-like sleeves fell from her arms and to her thighs. Her hazel brown hair was tied into a bun. Just like how a typical Evrysan woman would look like in her early twenties. Just like how a person such as her didn't belong in a place like this. But the people here couldn't care less, in fact, they weren't reacting at all.
And to think she needed to keep a low profile.
Thank you for reading, my apologies for being inactive for so long. To you critical people out there, all criticisms are appreciated and encouraged. See you soon!