I put the rating at PG for some violence. I'm so used to game ratings, now! It would probably be T for violence at that one.
This is my NaNo, pages 1 - 6ish. I edited spelling and grammar only through Word's spell check. This is more or less to deal with flow issues, if you like it or not, favorite parts, least favorite parts. Stuff like that. Nitty gritty stuff will be next month or so.
The clashing of swords drew the crowd. They flocked eagerly to the sounds of steel on steel, gathering around the public fighting ring with its floor of hard-packed sand. The fraying ropes were all that kept the dueling swordsmen inside. Some adventurous folk crept right up to the threadbare barrier in hopes of catching a better glimpse of the faces of the fighters full of a grim determination.
Ranlier Adelaide was one such adventurous girl. Her hands grasped the ropes, heedless of any long forgotten dirt or blood. The rain from the previous night had churned the ground inside the ring, turning it into a mess of mud and loosened sand. It made for a precarious surface on which to trust fancy footwork. Ran was curious as to how each swordsman would react in the wet sand.
"Come on, Grid, lay him out! Knock that pretty smile right off his face!" she cried, shoving a fist high into the air. Her dark eyes, a rich brown like deep soil, were alight with the thrill of battle. She took in each dodge and weave of her chosen champion, watching the mud slide off of his cloven hooves.
"Those minotauram sure know how to fight, don't they?" a neighboring spectator asked idly.
"Grid is certainly among the best," she returned, eyes glued to the snowy coat of the beast in the ring. "They can use their horns to knock opponents aside. In fights like this one, Grid doesn't use all of his strength. If he did, that preening peacock would have been dead a long time ago." Her thin lipped mouth opened as if to go on, but Grid managed to knock aside the man's sword and come back in with his buckler, landing a hard blow to his temple.
"Careful, young lady," Ran's neighbor cautioned as he rubbed his full beard, "one may be apt to think you are all about that ram. Abram there is rather a good swordsman." The sun fell on his sun-streaked brown hair, blue eyes flashing as they settled on Abram.
Ran's face flushed a bright scarlet, turning her head away from the man. She tiled her neck a little, layers of honey blonde hair cascading like a waterfall to curtain her face. "That's ridiculous," she said at length. "He's my teacher. Besides, he's half ram and half man." Lifting her face, she squared her shoulders, indignant.
Abram lunged toward the great hulk of Grid, heedless of the man-beast's two feet towering over him. His plain linen shirt flapped in a chill, early autumn wind, sword cutting through to come dangerously close to Grid's right thigh.
The minotauram fell back, a frown tugging the corners of his mouth. Abram apparently had skill. Rolling his shoulders, Grid tossed his large head, sunlight flashing off of the massive ram's horns on either side of his furred head.
"I take it we are done with this game?" Abram asked, an arrogant smile twisting his thin lips. He flipped his dark blonde ponytail behind his broad shoulder before he crouched into a low stance, guarding himself from the powerful blows of the minotauram.
Grid tugged on his billy-goat's beard and adjusted the stance of his hoofed feet. His sword hand brushed the leather of his trousers where Abram had nearly struck him, testing to see if they had sustained any damage. Once satisfied, he grinned, baring his teeth in a snouted snarl.
"Get him, Grid! Make that dandy boy wish he'd never stepped into that ring with you!" Ran shouted as she twisted the cowhide bracers on her forearms. Truth be told, she was quite nervous for Grid after seeing Abram's near miss. Her slender hands tugged the hem of her cinnamon-colored tunic, bending each leg before settling her soft sheepskin boots back onto the grass that circled the fighters' ring.
The auburn man next to her smiled as he cleared his throat. "I'd like to have that bastard Minotaur's head mounted on my wall, son," he called affably. "See that it's done, would you?" He brushed his pale gray kidgloves together, turning his head to sneer at Ran.
She gaped. She had been standing next to Harnem Pernnovath, the father of Abram Pernnovath, the visiting duke from the neighboring city of Rollandell? The deep tan of her skin faded a little, knuckles pale as she gripped the itchy ropes, paying no mind to how parts dug into her palms.
"I see you are speechless," Harnem hissed, leaning his face toward Ran. "I believe it would be rather poignant to point out that it fits you, Ranlier Adelaide."
Her skin flushed dark as she lifted her voice to cry, "Send him home in tears, Grid! Show all of us what pompous windbags' sons look like on the inside!" To the roar of laughter from the crowd, Ran looked over to Harnem, a mocking grin plastered on her dark face. "And that shade of pale looks dashing on you, Duke Pernnovath."
None paid any mind to Harnem Pernnovath as he turned, light cloak swirling, and headed off with calculated steps toward the temple district of Rowansford.
"Ran, I just can't understand why you would feel so compelled to insult a visiting dignitary in such a fashion. It's not like you to publicly humiliate anyone, let alone Duke Harnem."
Thormilan Adelaide sat behind a large desk of heavy maple, dark-skinned hands folded atop its bare surface. An aubergine light tumbled through a window of stained glass depicting a dark violet colored dragon in flight, a blue orb beneath it. The light cast a purple sheen on Thormilan's short black hair.
Ran bit her tongue to keep from placing the blame on the duke himself. "Papa, I didn't know who he was. Well, not at first." Her strong voice faltered in the small, cramped room.
Thormilan sighed and stood, circling the desk to stand near his daughter. "You are in the temple of our god, my daughter. Even I know you were never able to lie with the eyes of Lornel upon you." He settled a strong browned hand on the thin shoulder of his child. "Duke Harnem asked that I punish you for your insult. I think it a rather apt idea, Ran. Don't you?"
A rebellious glare fell across her face as she made to contest the decision. A meaningful look from her father quelled the fire in her chest and doused the flames in her eyes. "What would you have me do?"
The priest's hearty laugh bounced off of the walls of the room. "Don't sound so defeated, Ran. I do, however, hope that you enjoyed your time at the sparring circle. You are to stay well away from there for a fortnight. Perhaps keeping your eyes off of those fighters will clear your head enough to use it before you insult our king next." His peaceful smile told Ran enough.
The conversation was over.
She bowed stiffly and turned to go. The iron handle was no sooner in her hand when she heard Thormilan call out, causing her to turn her head.
"Who did win, by the way?" the priest asked, rounding the desk once more to seat himself.
A smile crept onto Ran's face as she looked from her pious father to the window above her head. "Grid," she said simply before she left, letting the heavy door close behind her.
Once the door closed, Ran heaved a sigh and turned into the room where her father prepared before each service he gave before the town's congregation. Instead, she ran into someone else.
Slim hands shot up to catch her by the shoulders. "Ran, I'm sorry. I was coming to see how you were doing." Eyes of the same rich soil color sparkled with mirth as Rinleir Adelaide released her sister.
"See how I'm doing? I guess it's all over town that I knowingly insulted Duke Harnem of Rollandell. He deserved it. He and his peacock of a son," Ran spat, giving a habitual sharp tug on her tunic. The cinnamon set off the golden yellow of her leggings, knee high sheepskin boots seeming out of place.
"I don't pay much attention to the gossip, dear sister," Rin replied, turning to guide her sister into the preparation room.
The heady scent of sandalwood had permeated each religious article in the room. Rin lovingly fondled a particular robe of a royal purple, lifting the sleeve to bury her face in it.
"If you didn't hear people talking about it, how did you know where I was? Are you secretly some scandal monger, Rin? Not as chaste as everyone thinks you are?" Ran reached back and began to braid her long hair, eyeing the glistening ebon locks of her elder sister's.
"Oh, it's nothing so dramatic as all of that, Ran," Rin laughed, releasing the sleeve to arrange a medal of a blue circle on a cotton cloth of golden yellow. "As a third of a whole, I was hoping you could guess. But, I suppose without Mirdoch, we're only twins." She laughed at Ran's exasperation, turning to sit on a stool.
"You should have seen Duke Harnem sneering at Grid," Ran groused, seating herself on the hard wooden floor next to Rin's stool. "I think he's one of those men that don't like anything but humans. He wanted that arrogant Abram to get him Grid's head to mount on his wall. I mean, honestly! Treating such a stately minotauram like Grid like some common mountain goat."
Rin leaned forward, letting her arms dangle between her knees, knuckles resting on the floor between her feet. Her short-cropped black hair glistened in the low light of a simple oil lamp on the small table to her left. "It was Grid that told me about it," she admitted.
"Well, it's all true. I even told him to gut the duke's son like a fish." Her eyes fell closed as Rin's hand trailed over her blonde head. She could feel the anger at the duke and his child slip away with Rin's calming fingers.
"So it's even true that you called Duke Harnem a pompous windbag?" Rin asked as she shifted Ran's braid. The bell of her white sleeve brushed the yellow hair of her sister, dark eyes trained on her hand. When Ran nodded, Rin frowned just a touch.
“Even if he was such a thing, dear sister, you should never insult visiting nobility. Papa told me once that Duke Harnem gives generously in the winter months. Without that pompous windbag, we may not have food or anything.” Rin gave a soft tug on the thick braid as Ran moved to speak. “And before you go off and wave your pride like a banner, think of the poor here in Rowansford. Without the good Duke of Rollandell, they may have no food. We may be able to support ourselves, but I don’t think we could the entire town.”
Ran fell silent, worrying the thick laces of her boots. The scent of sandalwood seemed suddenly all too real; the needlepoint depiction of the dragon god Lornel, violet wings flared to show off the lavender membranes, all too alive.
“Do you think I should apologize to Harnem?” she asked as she released the leather strings.
Rin shook her head, raven bangs brushing her jaw. “No,” she said softly. “The damage is already done. As long as you honor whatever punishment Papa has given you, I do believe the good Duke will forgive your transgression. Only be careful in future times, my fiery sister. I can’t see Duke Harnem of Rollandell to be a forgiving man.”
Climbing to her feet wearily, Ran gave her tunic a sharp pull and adjusted the wide, black leather belt at her waist. “I guess I should watch out for Harnem’s son, too. I swear you’d think he was every woman’s dream the way he held himself.”
Rin chuckled good-naturedly, standing to allow her long dress to fall around her ankles. “Well, that would be the best idea if he vexes you so, my sister. I don’t suppose you should like to miss the upcoming tournament. Knights even from the elfin kingdoms will come for it. Papa hopes that many will be giving to the temple.”
“Maybe if you’d wear something other than those moldy old dresses, Rinleir Adelaide,” Ran returned, opening the door to the temple proper. “White is nice and modest and all, but Lornel was also other colors. A dark plum would really set your hair off.” The spunky girl tugged playfully at Rin’s woolen garment.
Bell-like laughter tinkled from Rin’s sinuous throat. “Perhaps for the tournament I may relish the other colors, dear sister. For now, I will enjoy Mother’s moldy old dresses.”
As the sisters descended the raised platform that held a small square altar of birch wood, a young woman in modest dress fled into the temple, a bonnet clutched in one white-knuckled hand.
Rin was the first to dash down the three shallow steps, soft-shoed feet thumping on the wood. “Maluna, what’s the matter?” she implored, arms extended to draw the stricken child to her breast.
Maluna shivered for a moment, chestnut hair windblown, a telltale sign of her haste. The hem of her misty grey skirt was damp and stained with mud, sheepskin shoes soaked through with rain water. She relaxed under Rin’s calming arms, feeling soothed as the older girl tried to situate her bedraggled hair.
“What happened to frighten you so, Maluna?” she asked, dark eyes turned down to the shaking child. “It must truly be something to stir you.”
Pulling away just enough to see Rin’s face, Maluna choked back her tears of worry, speaking around the lump in her freckled throat.
“Mirdoch,” she uttered, speech slightly broken. “He’s in the square. Sister Rinleir, oh, Mirdoch!” Maluna was unable to speak anymore as she dissolved, weeping loudly into her dirty palms.
Ran and Rin exchanged frightened glances, both of them thinking to worst for their third sibling in the triplet set.
“Go back into Thormilan’s office, Maluna,” Rin said, her own voice straining to remain calm. It was the taut calm of a string just before the inevitable snap. “My sister and I will go and see to Mirdoch. Please, Maluna.”
The weeping girl nodded and fled to the office of the priest, almost frantic in her haste.
Without a word, the sisters raced as fast as their legs could carry them, running for the square as if the generals of hell chased them on their steeds of shadowy hate.
I'll make sure to edit all of that, though.
