Hey people, what do you do when you’re procrastinating instead of writing? You make your own book trailer of course. It’s only a minute long, but I tried to capture some of the feel of the book as best as I could. I hope you like.
In other PWP news, Chapter Three is up on Inkshares. This chapter introduces the B plot and a couple of new characters, including the main antagonist and her reluctant gnome priest. Here’s just a taste:
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Chapter Three
The crash of nearby thunder woke the tired old gnome from his uneasy slumber. He’d hoped that the storm was going to pass him by this time. His luck being what it was, however, he should have known better. His rickety lean-to of dead branches and dirty straw wouldn’t be enough to keep out the heavy rain, and that meant he’d have to take refuge in the temple.
He hated that place, preferring to face the cold nights bundled in rags and dead leaves rather than be near that evil altar. The shrine was what kept him bound to this ruined fortress and this miserable life. Countless generations ago, one of his ancestors had insulted K’lu Satal, a demi-goddess and powerful mage. She had bound his blood and forced him to serve as her priest in retaliation, a curse passed down through the family line to this day. He took some comfort that the suffering of a thousand years would end with him – he had no children to pass on his tainted legacy to – but the shrine was, as his old bones constantly reminded him, the only building in the fortress left with an intact roof.
He gathered the hot embers from what remained of his fire just as the clouds burst, and ran as fast as his frail legs would carry him into the temple. He took one last breath of fresh air before forcing the door closed to block out the wind.
The dim red glow was the first indication that something had changed. It was hard to see inside even at midday without the braziers being lit, and the money for candles had run out a decades ago. The chamber should have been pitch black.
On a dais opposite the doors, a ten foot tall statue of his mistress stood with arms outstretched toward the empty room. The pews and other furniture had been sold off or burned for warmth by his predecessors long ago, but no one had ever wanted the hideous lump of carved granite with the skeletal face. Not that the curse would have permitted him to get rid of it, but he always imagined it would make a most effective scarecrow. Especially now when it was glowing ominously with magical energy.
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You can read more at The Problem with Prophecy on Inkshares. Please help by following, recommending, reviewing, sharing or pre-ordering. You you can earn credits towards FREE BOOKS for things like reviews and recommendations on Inkkshares projects, or if you pre-order a book that sells over 2000 copies you get $10, so that’s like getting two for one. See the Inkshares FAQ for details.
Next week: Chapter Four
Crazed recluse and sociophobe who has taken up writing after failing at everything else. Send pizza.
Verbatim Gibberish 