EVERWORLD ENTER THE ENCHANTED PDF

Vikings[ edit ] The Vikings are very similar to their real world counterparts, but in many ways are easier to relate to than other groups of people. A mixture of farmers, craftsmen and warriors that glorify battle, but are trustworthy allies. Among the peoples of Everworld they are easy to get along with and motivate into needed action instead of bickering amongst themselves. They are also the most cosmopolitan of Everworld humans, as they readily accept people of other races into their ranks African, Asian, etc. They worshiped Loki for an unknown period of time when he overthrew Odin and other major gods such as Thor and Balder disappeared. Aztecs[ edit ] The Aztecs , in their Everworld incarnation, are portrayed as an utterly savage and barbaric society.

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Start your review of Enter the Enchanted Everworld, 3 Write a review Shelves: young-adult , mythology-revisions , rereads , arthuriana , applegrant Ahhhhh, finally I feel like this series is hitting its stride! I also think the character dynamics are getting even more depth now, the group both tearing into each other and finally starting to offer real comfort to one another by the end. Sorry, I just had to mention it one more time.

Enter the Enchanted! I love Arthuriana, and Merlin. By the end, they finally come up with a plan and an idea of how they want to tackle Everworld. She puts on different roles to fit the situation, and taps into past acting experience to try to get by in Everworld. Have I mentioned how amazing she is? He wants us all to see him as some kind of direct, straightforward man-of-action type.

What he wills himself to be. But he wears his bruises and scars on the outside, out in plain view where anyone, at least any girl or woman, can see them. David thinks no one sees the insecurity, no one sees the uncertainty. Christopher keeps trying to convince himself that life is one big sitcom. The world is too complicated for Christopher. But he needs the world to make sense, and he needs it to fit, to be predictable. He wants the big pendulum to swing in a narrow arc, not too far.

Too sad? Kill it with a joke. Is someone too near to touching his heart? Push the person away with a harsh cheap shot guaranteed to alienate. Now, Jalil does do "theory. And of the four of us, he remains the most opaque to me. Also the most interesting. Jalil believes in nothing but a reality that can be demonstrated in a laboratory, written up in a paper, and then replicated in another lab. So he says, and I believe him. I have the respect for him that believers sometimes have for nonbelievers.

Real fear, not the artificial fear you get parachuting or bungee jumping. Real fear makes you want to beg and plead and pray, Please let me live, please, please let me live. It makes you lose control over your own muscles, over your own mind. It makes you want to vomit. It makes you so tired. After a while my loopy, feverish brain settled on a simple problem. How do I tell a legend that I have to pee?

He wheeled, pushed his face close to Jalil, rose as high as he could without standing on his toes. Is that straight up enough for you? But now it was Christopher, too. He shot a look at me, expecting me to intervene. Well, I was sick of them all. Sick of rushing around like a fire-woman armed with an estrogen bucket, putting out testosterone fires. Very enlightened. Are you high? Neither would you, David, except she has you whipped.

Galahad looked puzzled. Have you had a vision? Like, you happened a long time ago. Then slowly, hesitantly, he asked, "Was I real? In your world, in the Old World? Was I more than a legend, more than a tale? Was I a man? I remember bits and pieces. My mother, the Lady Elaine. I remember the sword in the stone. I remember taking my seat in the Siege Perilous, the seat that would kill all pretenders but me. I know of my great quest for the Grail, though even there I am confused, for Gawain recalls the same quest, as though we were two men doing the same deed.

But there are so many gaps. So many missing pieces. Perhaps I knew them once and over these too-long centuries I have simply forgotten them.

I want you to apply direct pressure with the palms of your hands. Of course on the wound. Direct pressure to slow the bleeding while Merlin is sewing. How are you doing, Mister Galahad? More worried about his modesty than staying alive. Did I say that out loud? Okay, get ready. No, left a little, David, on the wound, on the cut.

We held our positions, aching, straining, for an hour. Merlin never moved, never wavered in his attention. He was witnessing a miracle. Better: Something he could do himself, someday. I bandaged my elbow with freshly boiled rags.

I turned, looked, and yes, he was there. Pale but unwavering. His bare chest a mess of unhealed wounds and smeared blood. The Frankenstein stitches across his lower belly were a hideous grin. But if not, I beg you to do me the honor of letting me kill him for you. I shook my head. I just froze. I must have looked as though I were standing there like a rock, just me and my borrowed sword, ready for anything the trolls had. Not exactly the truth.

Sometimes fear did leave you with a sense of "go for it. Maybe there were different varieties of scared. Maybe I was somewhere past being scared, or just losing my mind, but part of me badly wanted him to lift me up onto his horse and ride away to some castle, or at least some Marriott.

He was a babe. Better, he was a man. He was a man that other men thought was a man. Sir Gawain had yelled his name like all the others. And here I was, the only non-witch woman within miles. And we were probably going to die. I was crying. We barely knew him. So why Why does it hurt me, him being gone? He was good standing up against evil.

He was the strong man defending the weak. He was brave when the odds were against him. What else is a man supposed to be? What else is he supposed to do? He held the sword out over the stones. Every time I thought I understood David, he surprised me.

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