First Things

Yay! I'm actually awake and typing. I want you to know, it is not even 5am yet. Anyway, I thought I'd start by laying out what, precisely, I hope to achieve from this exercise.

First and foremost, I want to establish a habit of making time to write around my somewhat unpredictable schedule. To that end, I'm less worried about content and more concerned with consistently putting something down. I'm hoping that as I progress, these morning sessions may act as a sort of 'warm up' so that I can write something actually useful in the evening.

Secondly, I still really need to work on the whole self-editing thing. As in, not being obsessive about it. Therefore, I am not going to do more than a cursory once over before posting. Typos, clunky words, misused words, these are all things I am graciously allowing you to be a part of. Aren't you lucky.

Now, let's see...





Crash!

Clunk!

Griiiiiiiiiind

TWANG!


Roderic stared across the practice yard where his sword was quivering, upright, in the packed dirt. He panted a moment before trudging over to retrieve it. This was the problem with being the best. You outstripped all your peers so the Master at Arms became your sparring partner, and you got to feel like an uncoordinated adolescent all over again.

Master Ballard grinned widely underneath his misshapen nose. "Hurry along Rod! Naught's bruised but your pride. You may beat me yet!"

Ignoring the cheerful taunting, as well as their chuckling audience--those peers he had been so determined to best--Roderic retrieved his sword with a grunt. He returned to his position before Ballard and adjusted his grip. Well enough. This time, he would wait for Ballard to move.

The Master at Arms was two full hands taller than Roderic, covered over in thick muscles, and all his hair seemed to have migrated from the top of his head down into his riotous beard. His nose was large and largely crooked from countless breakings, and his eyes were small, dark things. Everything about him said: powerful, but slow.

And it was a gods cursed lie. The man was snake-quick and had the habit of being absolutely still until the moment he burst into movement.Roderic would catch him at it one day. No one was that still, every fighter that breathed telegraphed their movements somehow.

Thump

Slip

Crash!

THUNK!

Roderic wheezed and waited for his vision to clear, flat on his back. Ballard's hand drifted into his field of vision, offering to pull him up. Roderic waved it away. Really, he would just lie here a little longer.

"Well, I think that's enough for now, Rod," Said Ballard. Roderic graciously ignored the note of amusement in his voice. "King wants to see you anyhow, so don't lay about too long."

Roderic groaned as Ballard strolled away. An audience with the King. Perfect.