Join the Sentinals as they navigate their way through a new writing challenge! Keep reading for my Day Three truth or dare!!
Admit Achilles heel OR Stand on Stand up and do four cartwheels in a row
It’s another Turvy-inspired #WritingChallenge! This time the stakes are raised: #TurvyTruthOrDare! AND this time it’s an easy-peasy 7-day mini challenge. So they say!!
Follow all the participants on Instagram.
You can find me at: https://www.instagram.com/helengarrawayauthor follow us and join in the fun!
The #TurvyTruthOrDare runs April 1–7 and is hosted by:
❄ @nimmisheikhauthor –Writing a New Adult, sci-fi murder mystery trilogy planned for 2023 release: #Frostieverse
👻@saffron.amatti –Writes the spooky, ghosty, and oh-so-twisty #LucasRathboneMysteries
🐾@sharitmitchell –Writes the thrilling #MarnieReillyMysteries with canine companions and haunting spirits
🎩@writertracybrown –Writes the quirky #DoorToDoorMysteries + 🔥#BelleroseWitchline fantasy series
#Writers, whether your characters are in a published book or percolating in your WIP, this challenge is for YOU!
Day Three – Time for a truth!
King Benedict observed Jerrol as he entered the study followed by Birlerion. The young Sentinal had been absent for a few days, but he was back behind Jerrol’s shoulder as if he had never left it.
An air of mystery preceded them, the silver-green uniform the two men wore giving off an archaic feel that was out of place in the city of Old Vespers. Birlerion towered over Jerrol, tall and straight with silver eyes and ancient weapons, people noticed whenever a Sentinal was present.
“I heard a strange story about some Sentinals in town,” the king said.
Jerrol rolled his eyes. “Someone thought it might be a good idea to try and impress the townsfolk. It seems they went to extremes.”
Birlerion huffed. “They were eager enough for a hug.”
“But not to see all that you offered,” Jerrol said, trying not to smirk.
A slight blush stained Birlerion’s cheeks. “At least they won’t take us so seriously anymore.”
“And why is that a good thing?” the king asked.
The ghost of a smile flitted over Birlerion’s face. “We’re trying to fit in. They won’t be so scared of us if they see us making fun of ourselves.”
Benedict pursed his lips and nodded. “I see. Though my preference would still be that Sentinals are treated with a healthy respect.”
“I don’t think you need to be concerned, sire,” Jerrol said. “Most of the sentinals are a serious lot. It seems we got the enthusiastic ones here in Old Vespers.”
“I’ll have you know we are all serious when it matters,” Birlerion said, “It doesn’t hurt to have a little fun now and then.”
“I’m sure,” Benedict murmured. He leaned back in his chair. “What is your weakness, then? Is there something I should be worried about?”
Birlerion twisted his lips. “We are not superhuman, Your Majesty. Just touched by a goddess. But she took all her magic with her, and we are no longer able to wield her power, only use the skills we’ve learnt.” He fell silent for a moment and then sighed. “We are formidable but not invincible.”
“And not very good at holding your ale,” Jerrol muttered.
Laughing, Birlerion shook his head. “Your ale is potent. I am not one for drinking. Tagerill would call Serillion and I lightweights. No matter how much he tries he cannot toughen us up. I think we’ll let him explore the taverns on his own.”
King Benedict grimaced. “Now that sounds like a disaster waiting to happen.” He considered for a moment. “I think it’s best we sustain the Sentinals’ reputation for now, at least until we know what is going on. Try and avoid any further revelations to the townsfolk. There will be plenty of time for you to make friends once we understand who our real enemy is.”
Birlerion exhaled, but nodded in agreement. “Of course, Your Majesty. I’ll pass the word.”
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Helen Garraway 