“As soon as Queana and Arielle passed the temple doors, they shut soundlessly. The floor of the temple’s entrance hall was white marble, the wall gold and pearl. The hall was lit by hovering spheres of golden fire held in silver globes that hovered six feet off the ground. A fountain stood in the center, an Elf-sized white marble sculpture of Alleaden its main feature; clad fully in gold plate armor emblazoned with runes that shimmered with a soft white light, the god held a golden diamond-bladed spear in one hand; the other was stretched skyward, and streams of water flowed from the statue’s upturned palm into the fountain pool below. Above the fountain was a golden tile sun mosaic that seemed to glow with light reflected off of the fountain.
Though Arielle and Queana faced four doors, they only cared about the two directly across from the fountain—they led to the sanctuary, where prayers were conducted and where the one they sought was at this hour— that happened to be closed; the other two led into the upper and lower floors of the temple respectively, where the clerics of Alleaden and the Shadowslayer battalion stationed in Alavarion lived and trained. Cut from blocks of white marble, the sanctuary doors were engraved with gold runes, and the door handles themselves were crafted from white quartz embedded with gold. However, as Queana could hear the rainstorm begin to stop, she looked at the sun mosaic—it doubled as a specially enchanted clock, the amount of light present in the sun indicating the time—and noticed that it was an hour past twilight, which meant that although there would be no worshippers in the sanctuary, the one they were seeking was probably within, deep in meditative prayer. The moment she began to tell Arielle that maybe they should leave a message with a Shadowslayer or a cleric of Alleaden, the sanctuary doors opened, and a golden light emanated from within. “Come in, Commander, Archmage; I’ve been expecting you.” Glancing at each other in surprise, Arielle and Queana walked into the temple sanctuary.
As grand as the temple’s entrance hall was, its beauty was far surpassed by that of the sanctuary. On each side of the main doors was a row of white marble benches edged in gold. Flanking the aisle side of every other bench was a gold and marble statue of Alleaden; the statues were similar to the one in the fountain, but where the fountain statue’s left hand poured water back into the fountain, the left hand of each statue in the sanctuary was lifted before and above the god’s body, palm upturned; a globe of golden magical light floated above the statue’s upturned palm, each working to illuminating the entire sanctuary. Past the nave of the sanctuary, Arielle and Queana saw an elegantly carved white marble altar sitting on a marble riser, draped in a golden cloth woven with solar symbols, with a single unlit golden candle at its center. A large gold brazier stood in front of the altar and it too was unlit. Through some exercise of divine power, a solitary sunbeam split the twilight sky, shining through the temple skylight to illuminate the altar and the space behind it. Their vision aided by the sunlight, Queana and Arielle could see, holding a spear similar to that held by the statue in the temple entrance hall, a solitary Eldari woman standing before the altar and looking towards the immense statue of Alleaden that dominated the sanctuary and was identical to those on either side of the benches. The woman was singing, her soprano voice filling the sanctuary with ancient power. Clothed in a gown of shimmering gold and white silk, the priestess’s eyes were closed as she entered communion with her deity, seemingly through the sunbeam that touched the altar before her. Cradling her spear in her arms like a musical instrument, she began to twirl it around her body in an elaborate dance that seemed impossible given considering she was wearing a full-length gown that should have at least somewhat constrained her movements.
The brazier in front of the altar sprang to life, igniting in an explosion of golden fire, though it contained no coal or wood. Suddenly, the woman stopped singing, turning abruptly towards the fountain behind her; a fierce golden light began to glow from behind her eyelids as she extended the spear’s gold blade towards the entrance hall fountain’s sparkling pools. The blade began to glow with an auroral radiance of its own as a beam of pure white light issued forth from its tip, lancing past Arielle and Queana, curving and arcing into the fountain instead of hitting the wall of the temple antechamber. The clear water began to glow with a supernal light that filled the antechamber with a pale glow. The woman, eyes still closed, relaxed and lowered her spear, murmuring a soft incantation; as she extended her hand towards the sanctuary doors, the globes of light above the statues’ hands vanished, and the candle on the altar flared with sudden vigor, lining the woman’s face in soft light.”
—
Ok, so that’s obviously some kind of excerpt from some kind of book which may or may not involve words on a page. I’ve been working on it since sophomore year of high school – for about 4 years, it was mostly a relaxant, so I didn’t get very far on it, maybe 40ish pages. But since junior year started, I’ve felt an explosion of zeal to write, so I took fingers to keyboard and got on it – now I’m up to around 111 pages and nowhere near to finishing, but I feel like I really know where the book’s going.
So, some challenges I’ve gone through are specific to this kind of book. It should be clear that the genre I’m writing in is high fantasy, explaining the use of Elves and medieval-esque setting. But beyond that, what I’ve done that I’m very proud of myself for is the construction of a language. I based it around French, Finnish, and Gaelic, with a smattering of ‘I don’t know what language this would be from, but it rolls off the tongue’ thrown in for good measure. When figuring out pronunciations, I looked at the word itself, and its connotations, to figure out how I’d want to pronounce it. Take, for instance, the word for ‘sword or blade,’ “Ythaïn.” It’s (at least I think so) very smooth in terms of how it’s said, just as, for expert fencers/sword-fighters, battle is more a dance than violent action. But in contrast, the word for death, “Druchaï,” is much harsher. It hits your ears a little harder, symbolizing the crushing effect death can have on the psyche and its ability to tear asunder the lives that are left behind.
Obviously, I don’t know when this book is going to be finished, or even if I’m going to finish it. But I’ve enjoyed writing it so far, exploring how the characters are turning out, and getting really excited about sharing it with people.
-Brenndan
The Neon Manifesto 