cr: sweetspring

So I want to run something by you guys.

As I have mentioned once or twice before, I’m co-writing a book series with my dear friends diaryofawriter and merrilyfalling. Most of the series will be centered around my wizard, Kiran Vinayak, and MF’s spitfire princess Rose Red. But there’s an arc later on down the line that will involve a different character, a paladin named Alberich Sunshadow, who travels to Rose’s kingdom to help rid it of a plague of undead monsters raised by corrupted magics.

Because I adore Alberich, because I can’t wait to write him, and because I have had this idea for a few months and had the insistent urge to start writing it tonight, I started writing up this story. I got the first portion of it done and want to see what you guys think.

Constructive criticism greatly appreciated. Don’t worry about proofreading/typos, I’ll take a second look at all that when it’s not getting towards one in the morning. But this is serving as an early draft of a piece I want to publish someday, so I want a sense of what you guys think. Please leave feedback in a reply, a reblog, or in my ask box!

Sweetspring

A Tale of the Sun’s Shadow

“And in thy name and thy service, Sunsword, I pray that you grant my allies with clear sight, so that even in the darkness of deep night they may be able to strike down those cursed beings that stalk by shadow, to cleanse the land of this plague which besets it. In thy name and service, Sahar-Sunsword, so mote it be.”

The late afternoon sun seemed to shine a little more warmly on the clearing, gilding the armor of the men who broke down their camp so that for a moment each metal plate and ring and buckle seemed to be wrought of gold rather than steel. Alberich did not see this as he lowered his head, having kept his eyes closed as he faced the sun during his prayers, but he felt the gentle, reassuring warmth that told the paladin his goddess had heard and granted his request. He kept them closed until he slid the goggles he wore back down over his eyes. Only once the dark lenses were in place did he open his eyes and survey the clearing.

Thirty men- twenty warriors, nine squires, and a single anxious-looking farmer, bustled about the clearing, folding up bedrolls, stowing supplies, saddling horses and a handful of pack mules, and extinguishing the two small cookfires. It was the last man on which Alberich’s gaze settled.

“Wilhelm,” he called. “A word, if you please?”

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