Literature Quotes:
"I dream of you, to wake: would that I might Dream of you and not wake but slumber on; Nor find with dreams the dear companion gone, As, Summer ended, Summer birds take flight."	Monna Innominata by Christina Rossetti
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Yes I am aware that I missed the first day of Nanowrimo but it's just wrong to have the start date the day after Halloween! Hello parties. Anyhow I shared most of the day with my cat staring into mid-air because that was the level of my brain capacity at the time. WARNING: do not drink way too much alcohol and eat way too much candy it makes for one hell of a hangover the next day!!!

Below you can read my first day of Nanowrimo work (about 2hrs worth). I think it might actually become the beginning of the story. I am not quite sure yet. Anyways, enjoy this unedited and uncorrected rough draft of Fiore the Pixie!

Fiore headed slowly down the giant stone carved steps deep within the old tower. Her fingers automatically searched for the familiar nooks and cracks to keep her from tumbling all the way down the spiral staircase like the first time she had come here. The continuous scraping of a dozen chisels against the stone guided her easily enough. She had walked down these stairs a million times before to meet her Dwarven friends. She might have summoned a globe of light to aid her in the deep underground tunnels beneath the tower but she was never really good at magic and it usually backfired. The tribe elders had told her that her magic would become more stable as she grew up. But, Fiore did not believe them. It had been several years since and she was still unable to conjure the smallest amount of magic properly let alone fly. All the other pixies of her tribe around the same age as her mocked her continuously.
When she grew tired of all the whispers, she would visit the tower where a group of artisan Dwarves worked in restoring it. The tribe dislike them because of all the noise they created not to mention their huge fear of outsiders. Even Fiore had been frightened near death when she first stumbled upon them after her disastrous flight down the staircase. She had woken up to a large mass of bushy hair covering two swollen pink flesh strips asking her, in broken Fae, if she was all right and if she had been hurt anywhere. Her sudden and piercing scream caused Davben to leap backwards falling on his rear end. The clank of his chain mail hitting the stone reverberated throughout the halls.
“Gosh darn it, little one, that would scare the mightiest of gods back down its hole.” Spoke Davben as he tried to dislodge a small pieces of rock stuck to the leather of his pants. Not quite being able to reach with his arms, he twirled several times until Fiore began to giggle light-heartedly.
She had never seen such a funny creature despite his scary looks.

Today, she could hear Davben’s loud and pounding voice chanting to the rhythm of the chisel. It was a new story. Fiore had never heard it before. It talked of a great Dwarven warrior but that was nothing new all their tales resume the life of the greatest warrior and their axes, thought Fiore as her wide smile hid a burgeoning laughter.
“Good day to you, little one!” Hailed Davben with his pickaxe as soon as Fiore turned the corner of the tunnel. “Ale and bread time,” Davben called out to his brothers down the tunnel, “we’ve got the cutest little visitor too.” Davben waited just long enough to hear twelve chisels and axes drop loudly to the floor right before twelve pairs of boots stomping hurriedly along the tunnel before preparing the noonday meal. Davben set thirteen platters out on the makeshift table: a large rock, which he had carved square and rounded the corners smooth. Each platter contained some blue cheese that made Fiore wrinkle her nose and a bowl awaiting its portion of goulash and half a loaf of bread. As the twelve men arrived, they did not sit down at the table but lined up in front of a large wooden container. Fiore had been told that it was called a keg and contained ale. She had found this amusing because she drinks nectar from flowers not strange wood water. The dwarves had laughed so hard that the freshly cleared set of tunnels nearly caved in once more. The thirteen men cheered once before gulping down their mead and clanking their jug down on the table before sitting down to eat. “Did you cook in a ghoul again?” frowned Goran, Davben’s half brother, while fanning away the air in front of his face. Before Davben could bark a reply, the twelve men pleaded in unison to Fiore: “got some more of those tasty herbs?” Thus Fiore pulled out of her weed-braided sac a small pouch containing several medicinal herbs and began adding to each bowl a spec ginger root and some mint flowers for taste. When it came to Goran’s turn, he patted her gently on the head squishing her crown of flowers and whispered: “many thanks, little one, without these herbs the whole digging party would be down with stomach aches and none of the work would get done.”
“What’s ye speaking Goran,” asked Davben over-hearing Fiore’s giggle, “are ye making fun of me again?” Davben’s eyes narrowed to slits and he was frowning. He hated cooking but out of all of them he was the better at it. Everyone agreed.
“Nay, big brother, never! Exclaimed Goran and the whole company sitting at the table busted out laughing. Davben sat in silent eating his goulash and ignoring his friends until a breadcrumb hit his face. He stood up.
The whole company quieted fearful of going over his good humour limit. Davben turned his back to the table and readied to leave until Goran spoke: “Oh ye have some good fun with us won’t ye?” Davben shoulders began to shake as he tried in vain to hold back the laughter that would betray he’s acting. After all, he was annoyed with all the cooking jokes. Unable to resist he began laughing, which echoed around the table as each team member laughed holding high their mugs, merry for another good reason to toast.