#So we got a snippet from my WIP for the Nesahara ship I have with a friend

[old-archivist]

find a word: glow/glowing/glowed

I have two docs where Glow, Glowing, and Glowed shows up. One WIP has all three so I’mma share all of them.

Glow

WIP 1

Throwing open the doors, she crosses the room with quick strides. Strides that come to a halt halfway across the study. Dark splotches stain the rugs at the foot of the next set of doors. Doors that were ajar, the emerald glow of the Amber Room’s veilfire flickers through the slim opening.

Ashara’s nose wrinkles at the mixed odor of wet furs, rusting metals, and brackish mud clinging to the faint odor of sweat stained leather. A malodorous odor carried by the lazy summer breeze as it smothers the soft scent of ink and parchment. Ashara glances towards the balcony, the large windowed doors stretched open.

WIP 2

Their attention locked on the Avvaran Shaman who sat at the head of the fire. Tall flames licked the air, the smoky haze altering his painted features. His eyes shone like glass with a heated glow, blown wide as his gaze flickered across his audience.

“This hold has a warning we used to tell to all our new hunters and tradesmen we welcomed. A warning from when we had neighbors so fierce not even three tribes united in battle could contend with their might.”

The Shaman locked eyes with her in that moment. Holding her gaze as his voice dropped into a chilling rumble, voice echoing as if it were three.

Glowing & Glowed

WIP 2

The words left a chill in her.

“There are spirits who still speak of them; the fierce warriors who were once our neighbors. A clan of crimson crested elves, with eyes that glowed of moonlight with honeyed tongues.”

Isala is aware of the eyes turning to her, looking her over with speculation as she settles between Bull and Varric with her meal. She was unsurprised that the shaman knew of her clan, that Stonebear hold held history with her clan. Her clan had once called the mountains home.

It had however, caught her off guard, to find others still alive who knew of her birthclan. Being thrown off balance was not something she was used to anymore, not with the constant battle, Red Templars, Venatori, and demons cropping up at random when she turned a corner. She had come to expect even the most absurd things. Just not this.

“Their might cowed many Avvar, their hold on these mountains as tight and strong as a glacier in the deepest of winters.”The air shimmers as the shaman waves his hand above the fire, embers hang suspended in the air before swirling and changing into an icey blue. Forming an eerie illustration from the glowing specs. “When they first arrived they were of no consequence to our hold. A small group of hot blooded young warriors. We saw them as the young fools they were, ones who were exiled from their clan in the lowlands. We did not expect them to last even half a winter here.”

The glowing picture swirls, changing into a tall peaks then an unsettling forest with a haze hugging the trees.

“They settled in the higher peaks, peaks that the spirits had warned us from. We assumed their death would come in days, that they’re corpses would be consumed by the twisted forest. We did not know the woman who led them was a warrior to be feared. The master of blade both spirit and metal.”