Our newsletter host had some issues last week. We hope our adventure arrived safe and sound in your inbox, but if it didn’t, you can catch up here. We’ll wait. 😉
We can neither confirm nor deny whether our Newsletter-Dragon had anything to with those issues because we can’t find her.
She was moving her horde (our precious list!) around to safeguard it when this all went down. So we’re not sure exactly where she is in cyberspace right now.
Worry not, wherever she is, you can count on her. Your email address is safe in her claws. Well, I guess this explains her dramatic departure from the newsletter narrative two weeks ago. She must have sensed a digital threat looming on the horizon. Maybe her 1s and 0s were tingling.
And all this time, I thought it was something I said. I did comment about her size, cuteness, and general unhelpfulness during multiple episodes. What? She so was. You witnessed it.
And this’ll come as no shock, but we’re not going to look for her. She’s tiny but scary when she breathes fire at us. No thank you. I like my Papa whole and unsinged.
(This is Ran, by the way, his lovable son and publicist. ;))
We hope you had a great week. Since you last saw us, we dove deep into the land of 3d. It’s official. Our scribe is hooked on generating 3d imagery. While she did that, we, (Papa and I), embarked and a couple of mini-adventures with and without scribal approval:
- Battle for the Light
- Are we epic, or are we EPIC? (cover test #?)
- We get Chiascuro’d! (cover test #??) <—the light attacks this one in retribution for the first side quest. I wish I were kidding.
- Back in the 3D Habit <—cover test #???)
We made one more attempt, but I disturbed the great and terrible PC and somehow that killed the render. It didn’t save either which is really annoying because it’s supposed to render to a file. It was 71% done too, which is the furthest we’ve gotten so far. 😦
No matter, the PC is rendering a new image right now while you read this. We’ll post it on our site and share it around 9 pm eastern. By then, it should be done, and our scribe should be home from work. Fingers crossed!
I don’t know about you, but I think we’re getting close to a real cover. I think the last cover test just needs some tweaks to the pose and lighting.
We look like they’re related to the faces the pro used on the boxed set cover. And we should since we’re the same characters.
Those characters don’t look like our scribe sees us, but we’ve become fond of them.
So what do you think? Are we getting closer to what you see in bookstores? Inquiring characters would like to know. 😉
…. And now for today’s installment of our ongoing adventure:
– – –
(Papa fell last week leaving me with J.C. on the spine of a flying book. I did not appreciate getting left behind like that.)
– – –
Meanwhile, high above, perched on the spine of a flying book, I screamed. Tears blinded me when green stars exploded in my sight.
“Papa! Save him, you have to save him,” I said through tears.
“I’m working on it,” J.C. said. “Books have only one speed. This is going to be close, so hold tight.” He tightened his hold on me.
I nodded and clutched his waist, and I squeezed Bear for good measure, hoping he’d wake up and talk to me. Bear did so earlier, but he’d been quiet ever since. I hoped he was plotting some dramatic rescue.
With the wind shearing past, making my eyes sting and water, I couldn’t tell if there was a gleam in his button eyes. He might have gone dormant again to evade my questions. I have so many, and he has yet to answer any of them.
“Either it’ll be okay, or it won’t be. There’s no sense worrying about it until you know which it will be,” Bear said in that quiet way of his right into my mind, startling me out of my funk. His thought-voice tickled me even though his words weren’t very reassuring. But they never were.
Green light washed over us before I could call him on his frequent absences. I squeezed my eyes tight shut and stretched out my arms to that familiar glow. Bear could hold to me for a change.
The book wobbled then vanished from under us. We fell. My scream trailed behind me, but it morphed into a shout of joy as magic wrapped around me, warm and soft as a blanket. I embraced it seconds before a pair of strong arms caught me like they always did.
“You’re okay, now,” Papa said as he lowered me into a proper hug.
I turned my head into his chest and curled into him. Another hand patted my back daring me to lift my head. It was Melinda. Our scribe was okay. We’d saved her at last.
“Please don’t get kidnapped by any more books. I’ve had enough. Oh, and you’re glowing. I didn’t know scribes could do that.”
“What are you talking about?”
Melinda held up her hands and stared at them. Indeed, they were glowing a soft white. Magical rays twined around her fingers like threads of light.
“What are you weaving?” I touched the pattern, and it shimmered like sun-lit raindrops on a spider web.
“I don’t know.”
“Stories, because that’s what scribes do,” J.C. said from where he sat on a fallen log looking none the worse for wear. “The boy is right though. That was too close.”
“What happened?” Melinda looked at us.
She was a little singed in places, but other than a persistent cough and a few scorch marks on her jacket and snow pants, she looked okay. Apparently, our scribe was more durable than she looked. But she had to be so she could follow her stories wherever they led.
“Other than the falling thing? I’m not entirely sure. My magic took the brunt of the fall, and I think our story righted itself when we landed.” Papa shrugged.
“That would explain the light show.” Bear dusted his fur off as he ambled over.
He shot me an aggrieved look. I might have dropped him when Papa caught me. It’s not like he can get hurt. He’s a spirit animal living in a stuffed bear. Only his cloth shell can take damage.
“So we were sucked back to where we belong? Is that what happened?”
I looked at J.C. since Papa was out of answers, and Bear didn’t look like he was in a sharing mood. Then again, he usually wasn’t. But J.C. was watching the horizon. Something burned on it, and it wasn’t the sun.
“What’s that?” I asked as I shaded my eyes. “This doesn’t look like home.”
Find out next week if it is.
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Until next time, dear reader
This is your host, Ran, son of Sarn, wishing you a great week!
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