Writing Extract #2

12:00 pm

Photo by @adamexcell

An extract from the backstory of one of my Dungeons & Dragons characters. She's like a tiny Artful Dodger and I've only really had the chance to play her once. Maybe she'll come back. Maybe she won't.

Rowan Narvanmyr wasn’t your average half-elf, if there is such a construct as an ‘average half-elf’. The entire concept of being ‘half-‘ anything brings the whole idea of being into existence. Are you really ever half or whole of anything? But we’re getting off-topic. Rowan Narvanmyr was half-elf, half-human, her pointed ears and stubbornness coming from her ethereally beautiful mother (it’s an easy way to remember someone as ethereally beautiful when they’re dead) and her freckles and passion for adventure from her grubby father. Now just to give the game away to you, reader, Rowan Narvanmyr is an orphan, and your typical Oliver Twist one at that. Fingerless gloves, crinkled nose, and quick eyes. She’s a rogue. A thief. A cutpurse. She’ll steal your silver and give you a bow as you wander past, continuing with your day unaware of anything going awry. The important point is that she wasn’t your average half-elf, and that’s where our story begins.


Picture a cold and stormy night. This isn’t the cold and stormy night her mother died, or the cold and stormy night her father went missing. It’s always cold and stormy somewhere, so weather is unimportant. This was the cold and stormy night Rowan learned that there is more to the world than grubby humans, mysterious elves, and lots of trees to climb. This was the cold and stormy night Rowan met her first gnome, and this was the gnome who saved her life.


Now the thing that goes hand-in-hand with a cold and stormy night is snow. There’s a lot of snow in the North, particularly when you’re living on a frozen bit of glacier that’s broken off from the mainland that only connects to the coast on, you guessed it, cold and stormy winter nights. Everything is constantly in flux when you’re temporarily living in a frozen wasteland, the scenery shifting with each gust of wind, the ground constantly cracking under your feet. It only takes one shudder to force the walls around you to cave in and send you to an early (very early when you’re barely sixteen) frozen grave. Nobody would find her here, she thought, as the avalanche rolled towards her. But somebody did. Now it is important to note that for gnomes, food is the most important thing in their life. Food and spreading joy. They’re basically the more-friendly hobbits of this fictional universe. Small, hungry, occasionally hairy. Tolen Gakas was hunting around for a winter delicacy: ice turnips. He worked in food delivery, a common job for a gnome, and was famous for his high-quality produce. Every few weeks in winter he would venture out into the frozen wasteland with his pick, his rope, and his grapple all tucked away in his knapsack, hunting for the finest in root vegetables. ‘Who doesn’t love a root vegetable in winter?’ he thought to himself as his thick boots trudged through the ice.

You Might Also Like

0 comments