Day 4




https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/ ... =316562556

List of words

Arbitrary
Arcade
arcane
archaic
archetype
Ardent
Arduous
arresting
Arson
artful
articulate
artifice
artless
Ascends
ascension
ascertain
Ascetic
ascribe
Ascribed
aspersion
Aspirant
Assail
Assay
Assert
assertion
assertive
Assiduous
Assize
Assuage
Astray
Astride
astringent
astronomical
Astute
Asunder
attenuate
attenuation
Attire
Attune
Audacious
Augment
augur
august
Auspices
auspicious
austere
auxiliary
Avarice
avaricious
aver
Averse
Aversion
Avert
avid
Awful
axiomatic
Abysmal
applause
Adulterate




**The Ascension of Ashara**

In the **archaic** kingdom of Aerdwyn, where prophecies were **ascribed** to stars and fate felt **axiomatic**, the **ascension** of a new monarch was believed to happen only under **auspicious** signs — as predicted by the **arcane** priesthood.

Ashara, a young **aspirant** warrior-priestess, lived under the **austere** tutelage of the **ascetic** Order of Vatra. With **assiduous** discipline, she trained night and day — an **arduous** path, but one she followed with **ardent** faith. The Order saw her as the **archetype** of purity and strength, yet some whispered that her methods were **audacious** and even dangerous.

One day, an **astronomical** event occurred — two suns eclipsed the moon. The priests took it as an omen. Under the **auspices** of the eclipse, a trial known as the **Assize** was declared. The successor to the throne would be chosen not by bloodline, but by merit.

Ashara, dressed in modest **attire**, stood **astride** the sacred stone of judgment. She gave an **articulate** speech, asserting her right to be tested. Some scoffed. “A woman? And a priestess?” murmured the **avaricious** lords, whose **avarice** for power was well known.

In her first test, Ashara was led into the **arcade** of illusions — a magical labyrinth built to confuse and mislead. But her **astute** mind, sharp as an **astringent** blade, pierced through the **artifice** of the illusionists. Her perception, unlike their tricks, was **artless**, honest.

Next, she was made to **assay** a corrupted relic without **adulterating** its essence. Using ritual, she **ascertained** its purity and passed the trial. Meanwhile, political rivals tried to **assail** her reputation, spreading **aspersions** about her origin — calling her magic impure, her lineage **arbitrary**.

But Ashara was **assertive** in her truth. “I do not **assert** nobility of blood,” she said, “but nobility of spirit.” Her **assertion** echoed across the kingdom, reaching even the cynical ears of Lord Vellor, a man known for his cruelty and secret practice of **arson** during war.

Fearing her rise, Lord Vellor plotted an attack. On the eve of her final trial, his mercenaries struck. The temple burned. Scrolls went **asunder**, lives were lost. But Ashara survived. Her **attunement** to ancient energies allowed her to **avert** death, barely escaping.

Weakened, her powers began to **attenuate**, and the **attenuation** of her aura disturbed the monks. Yet, amidst **awful** loss, she stood unshaken. Even the gods, some said, paused to offer **applause** for her courage.

The final trial required her to climb Mount Veyrun, whose summit was believed to grant visions of destiny. Her climb was solitary. Harsh winds and thin air made the journey nearly impossible. But as she **ascended**, something shifted.

At the peak, she saw a vision: not of war or throne, but of a united land. Her heart, once vengeful, now beat with clarity.

She returned not as a queen demanding loyalty, but as a leader offering peace. “I will **augment** this land,” she vowed, “not through conquest, but compassion.” Her vision, though **anachronistic** to the warmongers, brought hope.

The court, once divided, stood under her **august** presence and bowed.

Her enemies, stunned by her survival and grace, could not help but admire her. Even the most **averse** nobles, once full of **aversion**, began to see her as more than a threat. She did not gloat; she simply **averred**, “Power is sacred only when shared.”

Thus, under star-kissed skies and with the cheers of the people, Ashara the Resolute was crowned Queen — the one whose path was hard, whose voice was **arresting**, and whose rise was nothing short of divine.

Day 5 Words




https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/ ... =316562556

Bait
banal
banish
baroque
barrage
Barren
base
Bash
Bask
bawdy
Bawl AND BRAWL
Beacon
Beak
Beast
Beaten
Beatify
Beckon
Befit
befuddled
Beget
Begrudge
Beguile
Behead
Behold
Behove
Belabour
Belfry
belie
Belittle
Belle AND BELLA
belligerent
Bellow
Benediction
Benefaction
beneficent
benevolent
Benign
Bequeath
Bequest
berate
Bereave
bereft
Beseech
Beset
Besiege
Besmear
Bestir
Bestow
Betide
betray
Betroth
Bewilder
Bicker
Bier
Bigot
Billow



### **The Beast and the Belfry**

In a distant kingdom once vibrant but now **barren**, a young maiden named **Bella**, known as the village **belle**, lived under the looming shadow of a mysterious **belfry** where no birds flew and no bells rang.

The tower, blackened with age and **besmeared** with soot and sorrow, had long been **beset** by a terrible **beast**. Rumors said he was once a man, cursed for his **base** crimes — a prince who dared to **betray** the gods, and in return, was **beheaded**, only to live again, grotesquely altered.

One day, a **baroque** royal carriage arrived at the village, carrying a royal herald who stood up with **bellowing** lungs:
"His Majesty will **bequeath** land and gold to anyone who **beseeches** the gods and ends the curse of the tower!”

The announcement caused a **barrage** of excitement, but also fear. Some cursed the day. Others saw it as a trap. "Just **bait**," muttered a **belligerent** drunk, ready to **brawl** at anyone who argued otherwise.

Bella, though often **belittled** by the villagers for her dreams and curiosity, felt strangely called. She saw a light — a flicker — a **beacon** atop the tower that night. It seemed to **beckon** her.

Ignoring the **banal** warnings and fearful superstitions, Bella packed her things. She was not **befuddled** by fear, nor did she **begrudge** the villagers their doubt. She believed there was more to the tale.

As she walked, she **basked** in the moonlight, whispering a silent **benediction** to the winds. “May the gods **bestow** me strength.”

Inside the belfry, she found not a beast of rage, but a man — weary, **bereft** of hope, with claws for hands and a face torn between man and monster. He did not attack, only whispered, “**Behold**... what’s left of a king.”

He told her of his punishment. How he was cursed to watch over the land he **bequeathed** with greed. His heart had once known **benevolent** feelings, but his deeds had not been **beneficent**.

Moved by his honesty, Bella did not **berate** him. “It **behoves** me to help,” she said. And so she prayed. Night after night. While the villagers continued to **bicker**, Bella stood firm.

Then came a night of storms. Wind **billowed** through the woods. The tower trembled. The prince collapsed.

Bella cried, “I **beseech** you, spirits! **Beatify** him! End this!”

There was silence. Then thunder. And then... the transformation began.

The beast fell, still as a statue. But his form softened. From his shoulders, feathers burst. A raven’s **beak** emerged. Then melted. And finally, a man — reborn. Gentle. **Benign**. Grateful.

“I was lost. Now I live. You have helped me **beget** hope.”

The gods, pleased, **betrothed** Bella to the restored prince, not as a reward, but as a partnership.

From that day on, no more were **banished**, no more **bigots** ruled. The village flourished. The tower became a sanctuary. **Benediction** flowed through the air like perfume.

Bella passed on one message:
“Even a **bier**, once meant for the dead, can hold life again — if only someone dares to believe.”

Day 6 words

Blaspheme
Bleak
Bleat
Blend
blithe
Blitz
Blizzard
Blockhead
Blurt
Blush
Bluster
Boar
Boast
Boggle
bogus
Boisterous
Bolster
bombastic
Bonny
Boon
boorish
Booty
Botch
Bounteous
Bounty
Bowel
Brackish
Brandish
Brat
bravado
Brawl
brazen
Breech and BREACH
Breeches
Brew
Bridal
bridle
Brief
Brim
Broil
Brolly
Brook
Broom
Broth
Bruise
Brunt
Buccaneer
bucolic
Bumpkin
Buoyant
Burgeon
burnish
Bush
Bust
Bustle
buttress
byzantine
badger
baleful
balk
bastardization
beatific
becoming
beg
bellicose
bemoan
benighted
besmirch
besotted
bevy
bifurcate
bilious
bilk
blatant
blight
blinkered
bonhomie
boor
bowdlerize
bristle
broadside
bromide
browbeat
brusquely
buck
bumbling

Story--> **The Brawl of the Bucolic Kingdom**

Once in a **bucolic** and peaceful kingdom nestled between rolling green **bushes** and singing **brooks**, there lived a **bonny** girl named Elna. Known for her **buoyant** spirit and **blithe** laughter, she worked at the village inn, serving **broth** to **bumpkins**, cleaning with her trusty **broom**, and occasionally getting into **brawls** with rowdy **blockheads**.

One day, a **bustle** swept through the marketplace as a **bellowing** bard cried,
“A **bounty** has been declared! A **boon** for anyone brave enough to slay the **blasphemous** **boar** of Blackthorn Woods!”

This was no ordinary pig — villagers claimed it could **bluster** storms and **blight** entire fields. Some said it was cursed for having **blasphemed** the Forest Spirit.

Elna, though no knight, felt a strange urge. She wasn't driven by the **booty**, but by a sense of purpose. “Perhaps,” she whispered while **blushing**, “this is my moment.”

With her leather **breeches**, a homemade **bridle**, and her brother’s old sword — which she **burnished** with oil — she set off. Her **brolly** (umbrella) strapped to her back in case of **blizzards** or **blitz**-like surprises.

On the way, she met a **besotted** poet, spewing **bombastic** lines and offering **bromides** about courage. “Ignore the **blatant** fools,” she muttered, stepping past **boorish** brats trying to trip her. She even had to **browbeat** a drunken **buccaneer** who tried to steal her supplies.

Deep in the forest, she heard a **bleat** — but it was no lamb. A **broadside** of wind hit her. Then came the beast. Towering, tusked, terrifying.

Elna didn't show **bravado**. She **bristled**, steady and aware. With a quick **brandish** of her sword and a prayer that was almost **beatific**, she charged.

A **brawl** broke out — one part courage, one part chaos. The **brunt** of the beast’s attack hit her shoulder, leaving a sharp **bruise**. But with one well-timed **bifurcated** strike — sword and wit — she felled the beast.

As she sat by the **brackish** stream to recover, she brewed a little **broth**, feeling both proud and... hungry. “I could use a drink,” she laughed.

Back home, however, she was met with **benighted** officials who tried to **balk** at giving her reward — calling her tale **bogus**, her kill a **bastardization** of knighthood.

“Typical,” she snapped, then **blurted** an insult that made the mayor **blush**.

Thankfully, a **benevolent** judge stepped in to **buttress** her claim. “The beast is dead. Let’s not **belabor** the honor. Let this **bevy** of villagers be witness!”

There was dancing, **bonhomie**, and even a **beatific** wedding — Elna’s own **bridal** day, with a stable boy she once **badgered** into liking her.

The bard tried to turn the tale into a play, but it was **bowdlerized** so much it sounded like a **bromide**.

Later, she would **bemoan** how the city’s **byzantine** laws **besmirched** her feat. Still, she never stopped glowing — not even when some **bilious** noble tried to **bilk** her out of the prize.

Elna just winked and said,
“Even in a **bleak** world full of **blinkered** minds, I’ll always be the girl who beat the beast and made a **becoming** mess of history.”

And with that, she walked away — **brusquely**, brilliantly, and maybe still a little **bumbling**.