SilmAwards - Most Magnificent Dragon Winner!

All is black. But the blackness feels big, as if the ceiling must be far overhead and the walls many spans apart. There is a rustling and the warmth of many bodies gathered in one place. Hushed whispers pass back and forth.

Then with a whoosh, torches flame to life and illuminate a massive cavern. Stalactites jag from the ceiling like great teeth. At one end, a stone slab is raised to serve as a stage, and the crowd of people are gathered before it.

"Greetings!" I shout from the stage, my voice echoing without the use of a microphone. "What a fine turnout we've had for the 2018 Silmaril Awards. Welcome to the final ceremony--today Smaug himself will award a Silmaril to the most magnificent dragon!"

Cheers resound.

"Before he arrives, just a quick recap in case you missed any of the awards ceremonies." I pull a list from my pocket. "This year's winners have included a very sportsmanlike but incompetent henchman, a collection of mischevous imps, a rather strange and sock-ish fellow, a not-so-little faithful friend, a beloved silver tongue, a wise and academically-inclined counselor, a glamorous villain, a princely hero, and a spirited heroine."

I gulp in a deep breath. "And now I do believe I'll pass things off to--"

A great rumbling fills the cavern. Guests look around worriedly.

"MY ARMOR IS LIKE TENFOLD SHIELDS," a voice booms from someplace unseen. "MY TEETH ARE SWORDS, MY CLAWS SPEARS, THE SHOCK OF MY TAIL A THUNDERBOLT, MY WINGS A HURRICANE, AND MY BREATH DEATH!"

Flames gush from a side passage. All at once, a humongous red-golden dragon bursts into the cavern and leaps onto stage. I sidestep to avoid the thrash of his tail.

"Smaug!" I say. "We were just talking about--"

"SILENCE!" he roars. "You have summoned me to present another Silmaril, and a Silmaril I shall present. Where are the worthy contestants?" He swings his head back and forth, luminous eyes scanning the audience. Everyone shrinks back in fear.

A much smaller, black dragon is the only one to chitter happily, a gleaming gem hanging around his neck.

"Ah, the toothless winner of last year," Smaug says. "I should hope this year's victor boasts a few more teeth than you, night fury."

Toothless grins, teeth rising from his gums to flash in the firelight.

I clap my hands together, lest these two dragons begin a fire fest, and call out, "Contestants, please come forward!"

Five figures venture out from another side tunnel and join us on the stony stage. I pull a scroll from my other pocket and unroll it so Smaug can read it. He lowers his head and peers at the scroll with one eye.

"In fifth place with twenty votes . . ." He glances at the contestants. "Kazul from The Enchanted Forest Chronicles."

Kazul bows her head to the audience and flies off the stage.

"Fraternizes with humans, that one," Smaug mutters. "I smell princess all over her. Ahem. In fourth place with twenty-two votes . . . Gem from The Ilyon Chronicles."

A blue and black dragoness flutters her wings in thanks, then joins Kazul on the ground.

"Do all these dragons make friends with men?" Smaug grumbles. "I should think such friendships diminish their magnificence, small though it may be."

"Not all dragons believe that magnificence is measured by gold and power," I say.

He snorts a plume of smoke and returns to the scroll. "In third place with thirty-five votes . . . Death-in-Life from Tales of Goldstone Wood."

An imposing dragon with black scales and glittering eyes shoots a tongue of flame. "Third place? How dare the hearts of men reject me!"

Smaug chuckles deep in his throat. "Now there's a more magnificent beast. Not quite so magnificent as myself, of course."

Death-in-Life storms from the cavern with a mighty shriek. By the relieved sighs from the audience, all are glad to see him leave.

"In second place with forty-four votes . . . Malcolm Blackfire from The Afterverse."

This time, boisterous cheers erupt as a great red dragon with piercing golden eyes steps forward. "Yes, yes, Headmaster of Warrengate Academy of Advanced Magic and all that rot. I must say, I am surprised to hear you cheering for me in this scaly form. Usually you prefer to see me in my natural state." Fire crackles and whirls around him, and he dwindles to a much smaller form. The blaze vanishes, leaving behind a tall, lanky man with grey-streaked red hair. He brushes an ember from the sleeve of his suit jacket. "Is this better?"

The audience whistles and claps all the louder.

Smaug thumps his tail, shaking the stone slab. "A dragon who is a man? Could your selection become any worse? Away with you, shape shifter."

"Careful, Volcano-Breath," Malcolm snaps. "In my dragon form, I'm really quite deadly." But he stalks off the stage just the same.

"Well," I say brightly. "It should be obvious now who the winner is. You may feel free to return to your Mountain now, Smaug . . ."

Before I can roll up the scroll, Smaug gets a glimpse of the final name. He spits a fireball, and I only just manage to let go of the scroll before it is consumed.

"WHAT IS THIS OUTRAGE?" He whirls around to face the last contestant, a small boy standing all alone with his hands behind his back.

The boy blanches under Smaug's stare. "Er . . . hullo, Sir Dragon. I'm Eustace Clarence Scrubb, but I'd prefer if you called me Eustace. Or Scrubb would do just--"

"A BOY?" Smaug roars. "I thought this award was to go to the most magnificent dragon, yet here the people have muddied the waters and voted for . . . for weak, incompetent, folly-some humans." Sparks fly from his large maw with every word, and the audience shuffles backward to put more space between themselves and Smaug's rage.

"He did receive a whopping seventy-three votes, Smaug," I say.

"Now see here," Eustace cries, "if you incinerate me, Mr. Dragon, I'll call the British Consul!"

I send him a warning look.

Eustace straightens his shirt and turns a little red. "I mean, that wouldn't be proper. You see, I was a dragon once."

"You?" sneers Smaug.

"Yes. And I'm all the better for it. It was a miserable experience, but thank Aslan I came out the other side of that ordeal a very different boy."

"Aslan?" More smoke pours from Smaug's nostrils. "And who, pray tell, is he?"

"Only the greatest king there ever was, the Son of the Emperor Across the Sea." Eustace pauses, and his eyes seem to tear up with memories. "He's a lion."

Smaug roars louder than ever and grit falls from the ceiling. "Enough! When you foolish folk decide to cease turning the Silmaril Awards into a circus, then perhaps you may call me to present again. I am through!" He beats his powerful wings and flies from the cavern, nearly snuffing out the torches in his wake.

I chuckle nervously. "Ah, he'll cool down before next year. In the meantime, Eustace, may I just say that I think you are a most worthy recipient of this year's Silmaril." I reach into yet another pocket and beckon him nearer.


Eustace approaches and kneels before me.


"Congratulations, Eustace." I pull out a gleaming red pendant, a jewel hanging from a satin ribbon, and loop it over his head. "Let this be a reminder of where you have traveled and what you have become!"


Eustace breaks into a grin and stands to his feet as the audience breaks into the most thunderous applause yet.

"And that, my friends, concludes the 2018 Silmaril Awards!" I shout. "Thank you all! I bid you all a very fond farewell!"

SilmAwards Voting Round - Most Magnificent Dragon

Wasn't that a delightful flurry of activity last week? It was such fun seeing the nominations come pouring in across all ten categories of the Silmaril Awards! I think my TBR stack has grown . . . *gulp* . . . a few feet taller.


Now comes the time for the top five nominations in every category to move on to the voting round. While tallying up the scaly critters flying and flaming across Adventure Awaits this weekend, I had the misfortune of getting in the crossfire of several worthy dragons all vying for a spot in the top five. There was, you see, a four-way tie for the fifth spot. Competition was fierce. I even sport the burns, claw marks, and singed hair to prove it. But it's a small price to pay as a SilmAwards host.


So which dragons wrangled their way into the voting round?

Malcolm Blackfire from the Afterverse by Kyle Robert Schultz

Ancient. Mysterious. Sarcastic. Scottish. (Well, Caledonian, if we’re being technical.) Malcolm has little patience for humanity, and is not above immolating those who annoy him. However, when great evil arises in the Afterlands, he will ultimately fight to save humans--even though his methods cannot always be described as “heroic”. Plus, while he will never admit it, he has a fondness for the pathetic non-dragons, so long as they don’t try to pilfer from his hoard. His ability to shift into human form has allowed him to wear many hats over the centuries: military general, archaeologist, and even headmaster of a magical school. But all the same, he doesn’t feel truly himself unless he’s curled up on a pile of gold. Or soaring above the rooftops, shooting fireballs at peasants, but he doesn’t get many chances to do that in this tiresome modern age.

Gem from the Ilyon Chronicles by Jaye L. Knight

This non-speaking female dragon with blue and black scales is brave in battle and seems to understand her new rider's fear of heights. After her previous rider tragically perished, she was hurt and depressed until her new rider nursed her back to health. Now she is his faithful dragon.

Eustace Clarence Scrubb from The Voyage of the Dawn Treader by C.S. Lewis

Although not a dragon by nature, this petulant young boy spent some time in dragon form during his adventures aboard the Dawn Treader. It was a rather disagreeable experience, but the very scales that hardened his skin turned out to soften his heart. Eustace was never quite the same again (and you can be sure his cousins were most grateful for the change).

Kazul from the Enchanted Forest Chronicles by Patricia C. Wrede

Kazul is fairly level-headed, for a dragon, though sometimes she can let her dislike for wizards overwhelm her... she's been known to eat more than one, especially if they are found inside the borders of her realm (she is King of the Dragons, after all) or messing with dragonsbane, a plant toxic to dragons. A while back, she agreed to take a princess who volunteered to be captured by a dragon, and the arrangement has been beneficial to both of them, as Cimorene's ability to bake Cherries Jubilee and organize her treasure room leaves Kazul with the ability to focus on the more difficult aspects of ruling her subjects.

Death-in-Life from Tales of Goldstone Wood by Anne Elisabeth Stengl

Whether he walks as a tall, pale-skinned man or a massive, black-scaled dragon, Death-in-Life has been known to strike terror in the hearts of many. The lives of men mean little to him, to the point that he gambles with his evil sister for their souls. Deathly poison clouds any place he settles. With a kiss on the brow, he steals the hearts of the unguarded and turns them into dragons themselves. He is so feared that his name has become a curse.

Remember, the voting period is open from September 10-14!

Use the voting form below to cast your votes for all ten categories! Note: you only need to vote once, but you may want to visit all ten participating blogs to read descriptions of the contestants.


CLICK HERE TO CAST YOUR VOTES.


Least Competent Henchman // Jenelle Schmidt

Most Nefarious Villain // Kyle Robert Schultz
Most Epic Hero // E.E. Rawls
Most Epic Heroine // Madeline J. Rose
Most Magnificent Dragon // right here!
Most Faithful Friend // Savannah Grace
Most Mischievous Imp // Abbey Stellingwerff
Strangest Character // Zachary Totah
Silver Tongue // DJ Edwardson
Wisest Counselor // Deborah O'Carroll

SilmAwards - Most Magnificent Dragon Nominations

Welcome, my friends, to the third annual Silmaril Awards!

The Silmaril Awards are like the Oscars for fantasy characters. And you get to nominate (and later vote) for your most beloved heroes, villains, sidekicks, and more! I look forward to this time every year. There's such an outpouring of energy and enthusiasm among fans as we chat about our favorite fantasy books and the characters who live within.

Rules

We have a shiny new website officially set up this year, with the full rundown on rules and past winners right HERE. Here's a brief explanation of how the awards work:

• You may nominate as many characters as you wish.
• You may also second as many characters nominated by others as you choose. The more "seconds" (and thirds, fourths, etc) a character receives, the more likely that character will move on to the voting round, which will be the top five most nominated characters from each category.
• Nominations are allowed for fantasy book characters only! (Movie characters are not allowed, unless the book came first).
• The Silmaril Awards are "lifetime" awards. Characters who have already won a Silmaril in previous years are not eligible to win the same award again (though they may win other awards.) For a list of past winners, please visit silmarilawards.com.

Important Dates

Mark your calendars so you don't miss out on anything!

Nominations run from September 3-7 // This is when you throw alllll your favorite characters into the ring in hopes they'll get seconded/thirded/fourthed/etc. by others.

Voting runs from September 10-14 // This is when you pull out your hair and scream into the void over the impossibility of choosing between the top five nominations in each category.

Awards ceremonies take place September 17-28 // This is when you wait with bated breath for the winners to be announced! A coveted Silmaril will be awarded to each winner by one of Tolkien's famed characters.

Speaking of Tolkien, his characters are not eligible for the awards! Why, you ask with a gasp? Because his works set such a standard for the fantasy genre, and because they are beloved by so many, we thought the characters of Middle Earth deserved to be presenters of the awards rather than contestants. (Or else they'd steal the show!)

Awards Categories

Head over to each stop this week to nominate characters in all the categories!

Least Competent Henchman // Jenelle Schmidt
Most Nefarious Villain // Kyle Robert Schultz
Most Epic Hero // E.E. Rawls
Most Epic Heroine // Madeline J. Rose
Most Magnificent Dragon // right here!
Most Faithful Friend // Savannah Grace
Most Mischievous Imp // Abbey Stellingwerff
Strangest Character // Zachary Totah
Silver Tongue // DJ Edwardson
Wisest Counselor // Deborah O'Carroll

Most Magnificent Dragon Nominations

With that said, I am ever so pleased about hosting the Most Magnificent Dragon category! After hosting Wisest Counselor and Best Riddling and Poetry*, it seemed only natural to let my favorite scaly creatures invade Adventure Awaits.

*which was later renamed to Silver Tongue, FYI


What sort of dragon are we looking for? Why, the most magnificent kind, of course! That could mean the humongous dragons with infernos in their bellies . . . or the miniature, kitten-like dragons with big personalities . . . or the clever, gold-hoarding dragons with a gleam in their eyes. It could be the dragons that make you cower under the blankets in fear, the ones that make your heart swell with noble happiness, or the ones that make you want a dragon for your best friend. Talking dragons, non-speaking dragons, good ones and bad ones and in-between ones--we want you to head down to the comments and nominate your favorites! (As many as you wish, remember!)

It's up to you. Those winged beasts of terror and majesty aren't going to nominate themselves!

P.S. Don't forget, last year's winner of the Most Magnificent Dragon Silmaril was Toothless, so he's no longer eligible.


P.P.S. Share on social media and grab all your fantasy-loving friends to come nominate characters too! Use #SilmAwards or #SilmAwards2018.


P.P.P.S. If you have any questions about the awards or how they work, ask away in the comments.

Autobiography of a Fantasy Character - A Refuge Disturbed

Three things before we begin! Number one, I apologize for disappearing last Saturday without warning. I hadn't meant to take an unplanned week off blogging, but school caught up with me and had other plans. Number two, I might be slow to reply to your comments this week as well because of final exams. And number three, please thank Blue @ To Be a Shennachie for reminding me that it's been much too long since we heard from our beloved Fantasy Character, aka Hero, aka Chosen One! I hope you enjoy the next leg of his journey.

* * *

Fantasy is my favorite thing to read and write, but every genre comes with its own suitcase of tropes. In this blog series, we poke some fun at our beloved stories and at ourselves as fantasy lovers.


If you haven't yet read the first two instalments, check them out:


Origin Story (in which Hero grows up in Quaint Village, Mentor is mysterious, Incentive dies, Villain's backstory is disclosed, and Hero discovers his singular purpose: to save the world.)


The Journey Begins (in which Hero and Mentor set off to save the world, horses are invincible, Hero is wounded, Mentor is characteristically mysterious, and they take refuge with the elves.)

I scrambled up in bed, speechless at the sight before me. This elven girl was golden sunshine, icy rivers, and heaven itself personified.



"Who are you?" she demanded.


I scanned the room, casting my gaze from the mossy floor to the wooden walls to the fern-frond curtains as if I could find the answer there. At last I said, rather dumbly, "Hero."


"Well, it's about time you got here." She shoved a bundle of clothing at my chest. "Get dressed. The Feast is about to begin." With that, she flounced out of the room.


It occurred to me that I never got her name. Moving carefully, my shoulder still tender, I donned the outfit she'd left me: a green jerkin, brown breeches, soft leather boots, and a shimmering cloak the color of cobwebs. Every piece of clothing felt light as air, yet when the corner of my cloak caught on the bedframe, it didn't snag or rip. Perhaps it was stronger than it looked.


My bedroom's doorway opened onto the landing of a staircase, which spiraled down the inner core of a gigantic oak tree. Other landings carved into the wood led to doors and knothole windows. What marvelous people, to create such a home in the heart of nature. Eyes wide, I hurried down the stairs to the bottom and ventured out into the late afternoon sunlight.


"Ah, Hero!" A tall, willowy elf with hair down to his waist and a longbow strapped to his back beckoned me over. "Come and join the Great Feast. I have a seat for you. Mentor is already there." He guided me across a grassy lawn to a pavilion formed from slender saplings intertwined to create a leafy canopy. Beneath the flowers strung in their bows was a long table groaning under the weight of platters of food. Elves were seated all around, each looking solemn and noble, all with flawless skin, smooth hair in varying shades of gold and chestnut, and forest-colored clothes. Several elves with flutes and stringed instruments struck up a silvery aria in one corner of the pavilion.


The elf-man sat at the head of the table and gestured for me to sit on his left. Mentor was already there on my own left. And across from me sat the beautiful girl.


"Hello, Father," she murmured.


Good heavens, she was some kind of elf princess! And this elf-man was a king. I blushed.


"My people!" the Elf King shouted. "The prophesied Hero is in our midst at last! He is the one who will restore the keys to their rightful place and save the world!"


Cheers erupted--but not the raucous whooping and hollering I might hear at home in Quaint Village. No, these cheers were like music, like a chuckling brook, and I suddenly felt very clumsy and oaf-ish in the presence of such genteel folk.


The Elf King produced two pendants from within his cloak, each of them a brilliant blue gem on a golden chain. "To signify our support, I present Hero and Mentor with elven ward-gems." He hung them over our necks. "These ward-gems will guard you against poison and disease." He smiled and gestured to his daughter. "El'liaennwil will now sing the Ballad of the Hero."


El'liaennwil rose from her place without looking at me and began to sing with the voice of a lark. She sang and sang many sweeping, somber lines that told of a darkness under the earth and an orphaned boy destined to conquer it. I suppose she meant me, but I wished with all of my heart that she would look my way at least once. She did not, though the ballad lasted an hour. When at last she sat down again and we began to eat, the food had gone cold. Which was just as well, since everything was either bread or fruit, with nary a nip of protein to be seen. Yet even this light fare filled my belly with warmth.


Throughout the proceedings, Mentor said very little, but seemed to be thinking quite pensively.


By the time we had finished the Great Feast, twilight was dressing the forest clearing in dusky shadows. El'liaennwil finally looked at me. "Come, Hero," she whispered. "There is something I must show you."


She whisked away into the darkness, and I hurried after her. Down a winding path through the trees she led me, her golden hair muted in emerging starlight. I thought in that moment I might follow her anywhere. We stopped at the bank of a narrow brook. El'liaennwil took my hand, causing my heartrate to trip. "Look."


I followed her gaze to the ferns growing by the water. But rather than gleaming green and lush, they were blackened and curled with rot. "What's wrong with them?"


"The keys," she said. "Ever since they were ripped from their resting place, the forest has been dying. I fear even the great oak in which we live could topple before long."


Looking into her shining, solemn eyes, I vowed then and there to ensure that never happened.


The next day, Mentor was the one to rouse me from my slumber. "How is your shoulder?" he asked.


"It feels great," I replied. And it did. Something about the fresh air and elven food--and perhaps the effects of my elven ward-gem--had completely healed my wound.


"Then we will train. The Elf King can teach you things that I cannot."


So Mentor and I joined the Elf King in another round clearing not far from the oak, where we spent hours upon hours discussing philosophy, nature, the wind, heroism, the significance of insects, and how to get in touch with the power running through my veins. The Elf King taught me how to find it and harness it, and soon I could release blasts of power so large, they shook the highest trees.


"But beware you do not let it get out of control," the Elf King said soberly. "For it is your uncontrolled powers that catch the attention of Villain's dark warriors, and they will be able to track the echoes of that power straight to you. They seek to destroy you before you can return the keys to where they belong."


I nodded. "Yes, sir."


I still had much to learn, so after another long night of feasting and ballads, we trained the next day, and the next. The Elf King had other business to attend to, so El'liaennwil took over my training alongside Mentor. Together they taught me much. With every swipe of my sword and blinding blast of light, I felt more and more ready to take on a whole army of dark soldiers. Especially with El'liaennwil sending me tiny nods of approval when she thought I wasn't looking.


"Careful, Hero," Mentor cautioned. "That last strike was nearly too much."


"Don't worry, Mentor," I replied. El'liaennwil and I were facing off with swords in the middle of our circular training ground in the woods. "I have everything under control." I twirled my blade and reached for the power thrumming through my bloodstream--reached deeper than ever before and felt it swarming under my skin, building like a tidal wave. Light surged from my sword, my eyes, my hands, and I brought my weapon crashing against El'liaennwil's sword with a resounding CRACK!


A cylinder of white light shot up all around me, sending a beacon soaring into the sky.


El'liaennwil stumbled back, her blade cloven in two. "Hero, stop!"


But try as I might, I couldn't close the floodgates and turn off the pure energy beaming through me like a miniature sun.


"Hero!" Mentor yelled.


The grass at our feet shrivelled to brown, then just as quickly sprung up again with spring green. The trees lost their leaves in a dry rattle, then put forth fresh buds. Black slime oozed out of the ground. Sparks of light bounced from my sword and set fire to the sludge. I shook with the force of power, every bone vibrating. "Help!" I shouted. "I can't stop it!"


That's when the dark soldiers streamed in on every side. Dozens of them. El'liaennwil drew knives from the folds of her tunic and slashed her way into the fray. Mentor swung his staff. "GHAOWOUSHAL!" he shouted, just like last time. And just like last time, light shot from his staff and sent enemies bowling over.


But I continued to quake in the middle of my own firestorm of light.


Mentor dashed to my side and grabbed my shoulders. "FALKSOWFALLEN!" With that magic word, my power stopped.


I crumpled to the ground, deflated. The world swam before my eyes, fading in and out. In the haze, I thought I saw Mentor as I had in my vision--mysterious and powerful and full of secrets. He repeated the word, but instead of "falksowfallen," I heard, "May the prince of light be contained."


Then the vision left and my eyes cleared.


"Get up." Mentor hauled me to my feet. "They're recovering!"


The dark soldiers were rising to their feet again, weapons in hand and murder in their eyes.


El'liaennwil downed two of them with expert slashes before running to us. "To the Falls! Hurry!" She tore into the woods, and Mentor yanked me after her. We blazed through the trees, the sound of crashing pursuit growing closer behind us.


"We can't lead them to the oak!" I panted. "Your home--your people will die!"


"That's why we're going to the Falls," El'liaennwil snapped back. She leaped over a fallen log and led us ever deeper into the forest.


At last, when my lungs felt they were about to burst, we broke out onto a rocky cliff. A roaring waterfall gushed over the side, the bottom wreathed in white spray. "What?" I yelled. "Do you want us to jump?"


Behind us, the dark soldiers reached the treeline.


El'liaennwil peered over the edge of the cliff and loosed a piercing whistle. Then she tipped over the side.


"El'liaennwil!" I screamed.


Just then, a flash of red with wings zoomed past, El'liaennwil on its back. A dragon! "Jump!" she called.


The dark soldiers charged closer. In a second, their swords and clubs would be upon us.


Mentor and I inhaled deeply, nodded at each other, and took a flying leap off the cliff into empty air.

To be continued . . .

Autobiography of a Fantasy Character - The Journey Begins

Fantasy is my favorite thing to read and write, but every genre comes with its own suitcase of tropes. In this blog series, we poke some fun at our beloved stories and at ourselves as fantasy lovers.


If you haven't yet read the first instalment, check it out:


Origin Story (in which Hero grows up in Quaint Village, Mentor is mysterious, Incentive dies, Villain's backstory is disclosed, and Hero discovers his singular purpose: to save the world.)

Mentor and I set out the very next day for Distant Land. We packed light, for everyone knows that heroes aren't supposed to look like burdened pack ponies. Taking too much food or supplies would ruin our appearance. Astride our gallant steeds, we bid Quaint Village farewell and rode out into the mountains.


My heart pounded like my stallion's hoof beats. I'd never left the valley before. Never seen the world before. And Distant Land was many, many leagues away, with untold wonders and dangers in between. Suddenly I felt very small.


As we rode, the prophecy ran through my mind.

Darkness watches the chosen one

Many wrongs have been done

When the final note has been sung

And night is day and old is young

Seize the keys that Villain flung

What could it all mean?


Mentor and I rode in silence all day, upslope and downslope and up again, through winding passes and over steep crags. Our horses never tired. We stopped once to eat, but never to relieve ourselves or feed our mounts. Heroes are invincible to normal human needs, you see. That night, we took turns keeping watch and sleeping under the stars. The rocky ground did not disturb my slumber, and I awoke feeling rested.


Our second day of travel continued much as the first. So did the third, the fourth, and the fifth, the mountains growing shorter every day. We could have used all this monotonous riding for discussion--Mentor could have explained more about his past or about my crucial role in saving the world--but where's the fun in that? Better to go into the big wide world with only the bare minimum of knowledge.


We did, however, spar together every night to keep up my training, and I even practiced using my powers. I learned how to start a campfire with a snap of my fingers, move a rockslide out of our path with a blast of light, and probe ahead with my mind to search for living beings.


But my abilities did not warn me of the dark soldiers following us. We had just reached a wide plain that stretched as far my eyes could see, when the enemies attacked from behind. A flurry of crossbow quarrels landed all around us. One struck my shoulder. I cried out and turned my horse to blast our attackers with a frenetic spray of energy. Several faceless soldiers died, but I missed four of them. They ran closer, crossbows taking aim again.


We didn't gallop away to escape their shots. We stood our ground. Heroes aren't supposed to run away from a fight, you know. So when the soldiers fired again, Mentor and I came within inches of death . . .


But Mentor raised his staff and shouted a mysterious word. "GHAOWOUSHAL!" Blinding white light shot from his staff like an exploding star, knocking the quarrels out of midair and searing the enemy soldiers where they stood.


Then we turned and ran.


My shoulder burned with pain. Every hoof beat seemed to drill the quarrel deeper. All I could compare the pain to was fire. Coals on my skin, heat in my veins, fire, pain, fire, pain. (Although I'd never been burned before, so this was all hypothetical.)


Mentor led the way over the grassy plain. We rode hard for several leagues before finally veering into a forest. By this time, I was nearly fainting with the fiery, burning, crackling, searing pain. My vision swam. My thoughts dispersed like fog burnt away by the sun. Mentor pushed his horse through the trees, and my stallion followed.


Just as black crept around the edges of my vision, I glimpsed a massive tree with faces peering out of windows carved in the trunk.


At last I fell unconscious.

* * *

I don't know how long I slept, passing in and out of a feverish haze. Blurry faces hovered above me. Words in a flowing language passed between them. Cool hands touched my burning wound. Somewhere in the back of my muddled mind, I deduced that the quarrel had been poisoned. No ordinary crossbow bolt would make my whole body feel as weak as wet paper.


As I slept, my mind was plagued with more visions of terror and death. I saw cities burning and fields slicked with blood, and a haunting aria of strings seemed to play in the background. I tossed and turned, too weak to rouse myself to wakefulness.


In one vision, I saw Mentor with his staff raised again. He shouted that gibberish word, but this time I understood it. "Cease and desist, by the Light that Blinds Enemies and Burns their Wicked Hearts!" Apparently much could be said in a single word. But understanding its meaning did little to answer my questions or bring peace to my troubled mind. Instead it added to my confusion. Who was Mentor?


When at last the fever broke and the fire in my shoulder eased, I opened my eyes and found myself nestled in a soft bed. Sunlight streamed through a window to illuminate a cozy room carved out of wood. Moss grew on the floor and flowers dressed my bedside table. Was I inside the huge tree I had seen? Whoever chose to live so close to nature must be noble folk indeed.


But what arrested my gaze was a pair of brilliant blue eyes staring down at me. Ruby lips turned downward in a frown. Pointed ears peeked out from waves of golden hair tumbling down her shoulders.


Standing at my side was the most gorgeous girl I had ever seen. And she was an elf.

To be Continued . . .

Autobiography of a Fantasy Character - Origin Story

Fantasy is my favorite thing to read and write, in case you hadn't yet caught on. But every genre comes with its own suitcase of tropes. I thought poking some fun at them (and at ourselves as fantasy lovers) would be entertaining, so welcome to the first post of a potential series: Autobiography of a Fantasy Character!

[image via Unsplash; graphic mine]

Once upon an unspecified time, I grew up in Quaint Village. It was a rustic, homespun sort of place where everyone was honest and hardworking and appropriately naïve about the greater world. The village lay nestled in a valley protected by mountains on every side, sheltered in every sense of the word.


When I was a very young boy, my parents died in a fire, so I lived with my uncle on his farm and spent my days herding sheep. Absolutely nothing else of note happened during my childhood.

Then I turned sixteen . . . and everything changed.

I began receiving visions, images of bloodshed and suffering that plagued both my sleep and my waking moments.


I also began manifesting mysterious powers. My fellow villagers were frightened and prepared to cast me out for witchery, when a hooded old man--


Oh, right. Allow me to back up. The only other notable thing about my childhood besides my orphan status was the old man who lived at the edge of the valley. He kept to himself, causing wild rumors about his past to circulate amongst the village folk. No one knew who he really was or where he came from, but his cloak and his staff made him look Very Important, so people left him alone. Except for me. I had one run-in with him as a child, which scared me out of my wits and also served to foreshadow future events.


Ahem. I turned sixteen, manifested powers I didn't understand, and was about to be cast out by a mob of villagers, when the old man spirited me out of harm's way. We hid in his hut, where he explained in cryptic words that I was special. Chosen, in fact. The world beyond Quaint Village was in dire need of a Hero to save them--and I was the only one who could do it. Of course.


But before I could ask more questions (like, "Why me?"), sudden war descended on Quaint Village. It appeared that my flare of powers had attracted a horde of not-quite-human soldiers. Gasp! The horror! They charged in, swinging massive blades, yelling in a guttural language, and setting fire to homes. And then they did the unthinkable.


They killed a sweet but personality-less friend of mine. A person named Incentive.


"NOOOOOO!" I screamed.


Charged with sorrow and vengeance, I struck out with my mysterious powers in a flash of light. These powers spun out of my control and conveniently decimated the entire horde of enemies, but also injured some of the villagers, including a resident bully who had hounded me for years.


Half of the villagers praised my victory, while the other half glowered with suspicion. (None glared quite so darkly as the bully.) The Very Important old man leaned on his staff and surveyed the damage I'd done, then muttered more cryptic words, something ominous along the lines of, "The old darkness has awakened." And then he said, "Meet me on the mountain. Your training begins at sunrise."

[via Unsplash]

That was how I met Mentor.

Afraid and confused, I climbed the mountain the next morning, where Mentor promptly began to rail at me for being late--as all teachers must do--and then launched into a flurry of tests to gauge my control over my powers. I failed every one of them. But each day, I climbed the mountain again for another training session. Mentor was gruff and difficult to please, but he sprinkled the physical lessons with nuggets of grandiose wisdom. He taught me how to harness the energy within me, control the visions, and wield a sword within a week. I was a fast learner. Chosen heroes have to be.


Every time I probed into his past, he dodged my questions, letting only one or two characteristically ambiguous hints slip out.


Once I had gained a basic level of training, another disaster occurred to keep the story of my life moving. More of those not-quite-human soldiers came to the valley, but this time they lay in ambush on the mountain where we trained. In the skirmish that followed, Mentor and I slew every enemy. The last one, as he lay dying, gurgled a warning: "The darkness is watching you, Hero. The final note will be sung . . ." And then he died.


Mentor looked shaken, which was unusual for him. Apparently the warning was the beginning of an old prophecy--about me, of course, as all prophecies tend to be. This is how it went.

Darkness watches the chosen one

Many wrongs have been done

When the final note has been sung

And night is day and old is young

Seize the keys that Villain flung

Mentor recited the poorly-written poetry with such doom and gloom in his voice that every word was branded perfectly in my memory after hearing it only once. I asked him what it meant, and all he knew was that the "keys" were said to be sealed in a vault far, far away in Distant Land. Or at least, they were supposed to be. The presence of these dark soldiers indicated that the keys had, in fact, been stolen. Nothing would be right with the world until they were restored to their rightful place.


"Who stole them?" I asked.


"Villain," Mentor snarled. He then proceeded to spend a chapter of my life explaining Villain's backstory.


Villain and his brother were princes in Distant Land, living in opulence and peace. But Villain's older brother always bested him at everything, causing a deep bitterness to take root in the younger brother. The more they fought, the more Villain desired the throne, for it would be the ultimate victory against his sibling. To gain the strength necessary to seize it, Villain began dabbling in dark magic and soon grew evil. He killed his father, his brother, and his brother's wife--somehow their infant child escaped his grasp--and seized the throne for himself. Now Villain reigned Distant Land with an iron fist. He enslaved his people and forged them into an army in the depths of the earth. And, Mentor told me, it appeared that he had snatched away the keys that kept the entire world in balance.


It was now my task to travel to Distant Land to find the keys, stop the Villain, and save the world.


If I refused, these dark soldiers would keep coming for me and endanger everyone I loved. I couldn't help but think of poor Incentive, killed in cold blood, or the visions of suffering that still attacked me, providing me with both the logical and emotional means to commit to my quest. So with unquestioned resolve, I swore to do just as the prophecy foretold.

My real journey began at that moment. But little did I know what great and terrible things lay in store . . .

To Be Continued, Perhaps . . .

Beautiful Books - "Snow White"

(Here I am, posting a day late again--sorry, everyone!)


So apparently I've been working on ECaPSSWR* for the last couple of months, but you'd hardly know it because I haven't properly introduced that messy little novella here!


*"Epically Confused and Possibly Schizophrenic Snow White Retelling." Not the final title. Ha.


But thankfully, Cait @ Paper Fury (who's publishing a book next year, hooray!) and Sky @ Further Up and Further In have Beautiful Books to help all writers everywhere introduce the world to their works in progress. Normally, the link up is called Beautiful People and focuses on specific characters, but from October to December it's all about the books themselves. Because it's NaNoWriMo season! (But you don't have to be participating in NaNo to do Beautiful Books.)


I'm not doing NaNo myself, so I'm something of a rebel in the writing community this month. I also missed October's BB post . . . So why not embrace that rebel identity, ignore the Beautiful Books rules entirely, and use last month's set of questions AND this month's set at the same time for double the fun? Right? Who's with me?


Okay. Fine. I wouldn't be that excited either. After all, nobody knows much of anything about this ECaPSSWR thing except that it involves Snow White. Well, I'm here to tell you that I don't know much more about it either. (Editing it this month is going to be so much fun. Heheh.)


Let's get on with it, shall we? Perhaps I'll gain some clarity along the way!

Beautiful Books October 2017

What inspired the idea for your novel, and how long have you had the idea?

I'd like to say something grandiose and romantic like, "I've had this story burning in my heart for ten years, and now I finally have the chance to tell it!" In reality, it's more like I want to enter the final Rooglewood contest, Five Poisoned Apples, and I've had this idea for about three months.

Describe what your novel is about!

Here's where I run and hide, because IT'S A LOVELY LITTLE MESS AND I HAVEN'T GOT A SYNOPSIS. But I'm a bold and noble writing warrior who never backs down from a challenge, so I shall try!

Ahem.

Skadi wasn't born a hunter. But when tragedy forces her away from her home clan, she falls in with the seven huntsmen and soon learns how to shoot a bow and skin a deer. Yet a piece of her never got the chance to say goodbye to her old life.

When a mirror from the past draws her back across the fjord years later, she follows. Along the way, the mirror's reflections tell stories. Stories spun into strange shapes that do strange things to Skadi's mind. Meanwhile, a legendary lindwyrm stalks the woods, with its hungry gaze set on her second home--the home of the seven huntsmen.

Skadi will never let them burn, but according to the mirror, that means she must stand in the path of the flames. Mirrors never lie, people say. That may be so, but this mirror doesn't reflect the whole truth.

A bit rough, but writing that blurb did help me sharpen my view of the central conflict!

What is your book's aesthetic? Use words or photos or whatever you like!

It just so happens, I have Pinterest boards for most of my stories. And they happen to all be private boards, because I'm not the greatest at pinning down my characters' faces (pun intended), and so I have probably a dozen different people for each character. Likewise for many different settings. Those boards are all fun little messes. Buuuut I'll let you all in to the Snow White board, even if it's still a work in progress, just because I'm nice like that! You can check it out HERE.

Introduce us to each of your characters!

Skadi (Snow White): She's a tough gal, rarely squeamish, the kind with dirt on her knuckles and callouses on her palms. She tends to shoulder more than she should bear. Underneath her armor of independence, however, is a heart quivering with the thought that she'll never be enough.

Torben (the Prince): He's the youngest huntsman and Skadi's best friend. In fact, he's the one who saved her from the aforementioned tragedy in the first place, back when they were kids. He's a good shot with the bow, and his lighthearted jabs keep Skadi's smile from hiding too long.

Hackett: Former huntsman and now the leader of the Weylyn clan. Walks with a limp. Gruff as a grizzly but intensely protective.

Bruni: Oldest active huntsman, second in age only to Hackett. Wise. Doesn't talk much.

Sigmund and Osmund: Twin huntsmen, constantly bickering. Os is large, with an impressive beard. Sig is average, with impressive eyebrows. Os has a knack for pointing out the negative. Sig likes to argue just for the sake of arguing.

Alfrigg: Another huntsman, but a rather rotund one. (Pretty much the Bombur of the group.) Happy. Likes simple things. Somehow manages to bring home just as much prey as anyone else, despite is ungainly size.

Kjell: Second youngest huntsman. Skinny as a twig and fast as a rabbit. Extremely extroverted; always asks for a pal when Hackett sends him hunting.

And then there's also Skadi's deceased father, mother, and stepmother. The stepmother still needs a name, and she's the one who's mentioned the most in the story. She could be best described as glacial.

How do you prepare to write? (Outline, research, stocking up on chocolate, howling, etc.?)

This time, I started with an undignified braindump in a fresh Word doc, in the form of bulleted lists and lots of crossed out words.

Then I discovered a way to outline that actually calculates the length of your story, thanks to author K.M. Weiland! I have this genius method to thank for finally staying under the contest's word limit! Even so, no outlining process is perfect, and my scattered thoughts resulted in a scattered first draft.

So let's commence that chocolate and howling.

What are you most looking forward to about this novel?

Fixing it!

List 3 things about your novel’s setting.

1. It's Nordic-inspired, but still fantasy, so I can make up cool trees, invent adorable creatures called burrowbirds, and say Groundsleep instead of winter or Groundwake instead of summer.

2. It's set in the same wide storyworld as The Brightest Thread! Just much further north, and decades earlier.

3. It's more primitive than any of my other fantasy settings, which is fun.

What’s your character’s goal and who (or what) stands in the way?

I think this is one part of the novella that's still a bit foggy. "What?" you exclaim. "Isn't the character's goal pretty much what THE WHOLE STORY HANGS ON?" Well yes. You're right. This might be why the story's having problems.

[Pinterest]

But I'm not entirely clueless.

First, Skadi wants to return to her home clan, Renshaw, to make peace with what she was forced to leave behind.

But then stuff happens--what she finds there isn't what she expected, and the mirror starts playing with her head--so then her goal changes to, "I have to defeat the lindwyrm before it decimates my other home."

Obviously it's the lindwyrm (a type of two-legged dragon) that stands in her way! Come on, guys. Did you really think I'd write a book without a dragon in it?

How does your protagonist change by the end of the novel?

She lets go of some of her pride and independence, realizing that it's okay to ask for help. It's okay to not do something alone. It's okay to need family.

What are your book’s themes? How do you want readers to feel when the story is over?

We tell ourselves a lot of lies, you and I. That's the heart of what this book is about. We too often swallow the lies other people say about us; but even worse, we adopt as truth the lies we spin about ourselves. And sometimes we can go for years without realizing it.

At the end of this still-untitled story, I hope readers have peeled back just one more layer of their hearts in order to confront their own lies and discover the truth.

Beautiful Books November 2017

Overall, how is your mental state, and how is your novel going?

My mental state is a cross between this:

And this:

What’s your first sentence (or paragraph)?

All stood still.

The birches, white branches stripped of most of their leaves, made not a rustle. No wind stirred. Even the hare in the middle of the clearing sat erect. Its long ears pointed straight up, and it was no longer chewing as it had a moment ago.

I held my breath. My whole body was strung taut as the bowstring I had pulled back against my jaw. The arrow's fletching tickled my cheek. I narrowed my gaze down the shaft and pointed the tip at the hare's furry white chest. One . . . two . . .

(Oops, that was three paragraphs!)

Who's your current favourite character in your novel?

Um, not Skadi, unfortunately. I think she will be once I've cleaned the manuscript up and given her personality something of a re-haul in the first half of the story!

Currently, I'd say Torben. He's not in the middle of the story much, mostly just the beginning and the end, but he's a fun contrast to Skadi's inner gloom. And he's kind of adorable and stubborn.

[Pinterest]

What do you love about your novel so far?

I love the Nordic setting because it's something new for me. I love the mirror's powers because I'm always up for story elements that play with the mind. (Plus mirrors are packed with so much imagery and interesting connotations.) I love having a motley family/crew of seven rough huntsmen, because it's a fun twist on the solitary huntsman of Snow White + the seven dwarves. I also love the  singularity of Skadi's journey. Whereas The Brightest Thread encompassed 100 years and a wide spread of characters, this story focuses on the journey of just one girl's heart.

Have you made any hilarious typos or other mistakes?

Probably some typos, but I haven't actually started editing yet, so I haven't found them. However, I did accidently forget to incorporate the poison apple element! WHICH IS KIND OF A BIG DEAL. So far, the only resemblance to the original fairytale comes in the form of huntsmen and an evil stepmother. I really wanted to add the apple in somehow, but throw a big twist into it. Good thing I've got some vague ideas for how to write that into the climax . . .

What is your favourite part to write: beginning, middle or end--and why?

In this case, I fell in and out of love during all three stages! Overall, I would say my favorite part to write is whatever part clicks right away. You get this feeling that you're on the right track, building off a decent foundation, heading in the right direction. Contrary to my complaining, I did have some of those moments. Now it's my job to go back, find them, and use them as a guide to hammer the rest of the novella into shape.

What are your writing habits? Is there a specific snack you eat? Do you listen to music? What time of day do you write best? Feel free to show us a picture of your writing space!

Snack? Music? Time of day? WRITING SPACE? What are these luxuries? I starve in silence at midnight in the corner of my dungeon!

I kid, I kid. In all honesty, I've been writing on the weekends once I catch up on homework. So the time of day is never ever set in stone. I will clarify that I write best when I don't have other things on my to-do list hanging over my head, and I prefer an earlier start over later.

I don't eat much while writing, although all the Halloween candy sitting around the house makes for good brain food. Tea is my usual choice, though! As for music, lately it's been the soundtrack from How to Train Your Dragon and Two Steps from Hell's latest album, Unleashed.

You don't want to see a picture of my writing space. It's a disaster.

How private are you about your novel while you’re writing? Do you need a cheer squad or do you work alone (like, ahem, Batman)?

Thus far, I've pretty much been pulling a Batman, which is weird for me. But now I'm finally, actually talking about this novella with you! Hooray! It kind of makes it feel more like a "real" writing project now.

[Pinterest]

What keeps you writing even when it’s hard?

A deadline. That sounds woefully uninspiring, but I LOVE the satisfaction of completing something on time! For this story, my hard deadline is December 31st--that's the contest rule. But my personal soft deadline is more like December 1st. I'd love to blaze through the editing process during the remainder of November, but we shall see!

Also lots of prayer. My family and I have been praying that I would find ways to balance my college schedule with writing and life and all those other good things. And so far, though it hasn't been easy, I've been surprised at how much writing can be packed into one or two days a week! The bursts of speed are definitely an answer to prayer.

What are your top 3 pieces of writing advice?

Top three pieces of writing advice ever? That's tough! Let's narrow this down to the top three pieces of writing advice I've been learning from this particular project.

1. Try new things, and don't be alarmed when you fumble around with them the first time or two. They're new. You haven't written this before. Keep at it, and you'll get better.

2. They always say you should compete with yourself and no one else--keep improving on your own performance. There's a lot of truth to that, I agree, but I've found that comparing this wet, wobbly-kneed, barely standing novella with the full-fledged novel that I just wrote (The Brightest Thread) isn't helping. Rather, I have to keep reminding myself to play. Have fun. Writing is oftentimes hard, but if you're not having fun overall, there's something wrong. Deadline or no deadline, you need to relax enough to enjoy the process!

3. With every story you pen, put a little piece of yourself into it somehow, and let that shadow of you struggle and fail and win inside the confines of that story. Be real on the page, even if it makes you wince at the dark corners you try to forget you have. There's light to be had there too.

Thanks for sticking around! That was a double-whammy. Hopefully it makes up for posting late. ;) How many of you are fellow Five Poisoned Apples entrants? Any tips for liking your own protagonist?

Silmarillion Awards - Winner of the Wisest Counselor Silmaril

Me: Hello, everyone, and welcome to the final phase of the 2017 Silmarillion Awards! It has been a rollicking adventure indeed, and we can't thank you enough for your enthusiasm and participation this year. To kick it off, I'd like to welcome up a very special character from Middle Earth to present the award for Wisest Counselor. *peeks over shoulder* Um, a very special character from Middle Earth. *clears throat* A certain wise counselor . . . to present . . . Ahem, it appears our presenter has yet to arrive--


*a pointy grey hat pokes out from backstage*


Gandalf: Not so, you fool! *strides onto stage and snatches mic* A wizard is never late, nor is he early. He arrives precisely when he intends to. I was merely arranging celebratory provisions for later.


Me: Apologies, Gandalf. We're just happy to have you here. My friends, allow me to introduce Gandalf the Grey, also known as Mithrandir, the White Rider, Greyhame, and Stormcrow, among other names. He is certainly the wisest counselor anyone could meet in Middle Earth. *bows and exits stage*

Gandalf: Thank you. Now then. Where were we? Ah, yes, the time has come to award the Wisest Counselor Silmaril to the character deemed most worthy by all of you. *sniffs* You're a much nicer audience than I find in Hobbiton, did you know? Taller, yes, but rather less noisy.


Ahem. Five characters of great wisdom contended for this Silmaril, but only one may receive it. And the fellow who secured the most votes is deserving indeed. I shouldn't be surprised, really, but even the very wise cannot see all ends.


The counsel this gentleman has provided his friends has most certainly changed the courses of their lives, and perhaps even saved some. Like I always say, all we have to decide is what to do with the time that has been given us, and this man has decided to do a great deal of good with his. He knows that it is not our part to master all the tides of the world. Instead, he pours all of his strength and considerable heart into guiding the tides under his control, and surrendering the rest to his Master.


Though he has walked through times of sorrow and seasons of waiting, he has stayed the course. He is a beacon of light to those who follow in his footsteps. Others may claim the title of hero in his tale, but if not for him, the road would have taken a very different turn indeed.


My friends, may I present the winner of the 2017 Wisest Counselor Silmaril:

Professor Charles Hamilton!

*a smartly dressed older gentleman with wild grey hair rises from the front row and joins Gandalf on stage*

Professor Hamilton: *in a British accent* My, your fireworks get better every year, Gandalf.

Gandalf: I should say they do. Congratulations, young man. *hands over the Silmaril* This is yours to keep for a lifetime.

Professor Hamilton: Young? *smiles* Compared to you, perhaps. I am honored to receive such a prize, though I must that any wisdom I possess is thanks to the very Source of all wisdom. I merely listen to Him.

Gandalf: And that is precisely what makes you wise. Now, before we acknowledge the runners-up, I would like to take a moment to honor you, Professor, by calling up a scene from your past. *waves staff*

*translucent image appears over the stage*

The professor grasped [Excalibur] and limped toward the central pedestal. He knelt at Bonnie's side and placed the sword in Billy's hands, wrapping his own fingers on top and elevating the blade. Billy opened his eyes and tightened his grasp on the hilt.

"William," the professor said, softly, "what now is your weapon?"

Bonnie could see Billy's eyes reflecting the professor's shining face, enhanced by Excalibur's glow. She held her breath, waiting for Billy's reply.

"Truth," he whispered, his voice rasping. "Truth is my sword."

The professor nodded, his eyes now flashing, and his voice erupted in deep, echoing tones as if Billy's answer strengthened him. "And what now is your defense?"

Color returned to Billy's face, and his jaw tightened. His voice surged with emotion. "Faith . . . faith is my shield."

*image fades*

Professor Hamilton: *blinks back tears and beams at a row of young people in the audience* How well I remember that day.

Gandalf: As I thought. It was a turning point for one of your young charges. For using your wisdom to strengthen weary bones and direct wandering hearts, ladies and gentleman, I present to you Professor Hamilton!

*thunderous applause*

Professor Hamilton: *bows, then leans over to whisper* By the way, it is an honor to meet the namesake of a certain cat.

*sounds of a scuffle*

*a cat yowls and streaks away between chairs*

Someone in the audience: Walter! I told you to hang onto him!

*chuckling, the professor takes a seat*

Gandalf: I cannot forget the wisdom of four other magnificent characters, and I thought it might interest all of you to find out how they fared in the voting round. *pulls scroll out of his robe and consults a list*

Professor Hamilton from Dragons in Our Midst - 34%

Puddleglum from The Chronicles of Narnia - 23%

Albus Dumbledore from Harry Potter - 21%

Prince of Farthestshore/Aethelbald from Tales of Goldstone Wood - 18%

Beana from Tales of Goldstone Wood - 4%

*a marsh-wiggle, wizard, prince, and goat incline their heads respectfully from the front row*

Gandalf: To all who did not win this year, I will not say do not weep, for not all tears are an evil. You have all performed admirably. Once again, congratulations to the dear professor. *looks around* Now . . . what am I supposed to do? Just--leave? Introduce someone?

Me: *hurries back out* Not to worry, I've got it. Thank you, Gandalf! Make sure to follow along with the presentations, everyone. Tomorrow the winner of the Least Competent Henchman will be announced, an event you certainly won't want to miss. Happy Silmarillion Awards 2017!

[Note: excerpt taken from The Candlestone by Bryan Davis]

EDIT: For your convenience, here are the links to the award presentations! (Will be updated as they are posted.)

Least Competent Henchman

Silver Tongue

Most Epic Hero

Strangest Character

Most Epic Heroine

Most Mischievous Imp

Most Magnificent Dragon

Most Loyal Friend

Most Nefarious Villain