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 Posted: Sat Mar 03, 2007 1:42 pm
[Pt.1]
If I were to tell you this story it would not begin with a ‘Long, long ago…’ nor with a ‘When your father’s father…’ for it has not even been two decades since the time I will tell you of ended. Many have tried to push those dark times to the back of their minds for the wounds of that the Betrayer did to our world are still manifest in the horrors that still stalk the country side and the destruction that we still attempt to heal.
However to truly understand this story I must begin before the story, before the tale could have even been considered a possibility. The prologue to our tale began while Irkathos remained true to the teachings of Arcanum, serving mankind and steering clear of Fel Powers. He held no sway in the world; he simply was and would be Irkathos, Mage. I will skip the trivialities that lead to it but one, a person that gives into temptation for power falls, and Irkathos, a mage of mediocre power, could not counter these price of his greed.
Irkathos became infused with Fel Powers, his own power amplified exponentially, but he remained a silent servant of the Darker Powers. Being a man of the blade and not the book I would not know why he grew so powerful. If it was because of some dormant darkness amplified or simply because those creatures powers that cannot enter our realm without the way being made clear for them had been deprived of servants with the great purges I will leave to the scholars to decide. All I know is that his influence was a plague that crept swiftly and unnoticed.
He corrupted, coerced and threatened followers to his tainted cause, a fact we failed to notice until it was too late. Irkathos’ insidious schemes were in motion beneath the veil of our own stupidity. It struck like lightening, in a single night he gathered his forces and disappeared, the gaping wounds left by the exodus of his followers astonishing destabilizing the countries for many weeks.
But then the true tale I tell begins;
Irkathos and his followers had simply disappeared off the map, retreating to the Wraith Whisper Swamps to the west. Time passed and the disappearance was put to the back of our minds as time wore on and our lives continued. In ignorance we did not look to find what the disappearing masses were doing until they marched upon our countries. They were misguided fools led by a leader that answered to powers that would use us to satisfy their needs.
Their first wave, initially fanatics, bent on a corrupting religion, were easily repelled by the military forces defending the borders and cities. But this was only the first wave in many. I remember looking down at my son slumbering, imagining the wonders set for him when this happened, not imagining that in not even a decade years I would be assigned to defend him in battle when he ascended to mage hood. The battles escalated as more and more skilled troops began to pour from the swamps accompanied by monstrosities of magic and flesh or beasts infused with Fel Energies. The countries declared a state of war. If you could call the beating of a wounded beast war, then this was surely so.
Days dragged into weeks, weeks into months, and months into years. Eight and a half had passed, and a seemingly endless tide of enemies poured into our lands, all bearing the ‘word’ of the One True Prophet. No commanders could imagine the new horrors that were unleashed from the imagination of a demented mind that began to stalk our people, their twisted forms lurking in the very shadows of men. Fear was the most constant emotion that we experienced.
It did not take long for an exhausted world to tire of what appeared to be a maddeningly slow case of Genocide. Who among us would not tire of dieing at the hands of crazed mobs that fell upon our cities like waves upon a coast?
It was in an act of desperation a half mad General prepared an unsanctioned plan to oust Irkathos and strike him down. Hundreds of scouts were deployed into the swamps, each sent to track the strongholds of those curse spawned beings that called themselves our kin. A week, two weeks, three weeks passed. Not a scout returned. More were deployed, three returned but were of no use, each raving mad at the insanities the shifting mires and fog had opened up to reveal.
A third and final expedition was deployed. This time one and a half scouts returned, one dead, his torso locked in a rigermortis death grip to the back of the other, his face twisted in fear. The other was barely coherent enough to pass on the markers to a fortress before passing out from fatigue. He mercifully expired from his wounds in his sleep.
This was all the General needed: Grand General Helios Mas’morrir. He rallied any soldiers brave or insane enough to follow him, my son lining up amongst them. From all six countries they filed; veteran, adventurer, deserters, my son among them. The Armies of Helios we called ourselves, our banner the rising sun that we prayed would dissipate the shrouds of fog that shielded our enemies from sight.
Into the marshes we marched, my son beside me despite my misgivings. The swamps were treacherous, sifting bogs, quicksand, and the Shadow Stalkers prowling our flanks, pouncing and rending before disappearing into the fog that spawned them. Creatures of the Fel Powers or terrific predators it did not matter, they instilled fear into us all.
One sixth of our allies fell on that march, but we drove ourselves on until we came to a spire in the swamps. Our siege weapons had been lost far back, carried beneath the mire by their own weight. But even without them the tower seemed alone, unguarded and abandoned. Many thought it a trap, others simply believing the scout had found the wrong area.
Despite the appearance of the tower, siege ranks were formed before we marched in mass to the tower, shields borne and blades drawn. Not a single thing stirred during the advance, the clank of steel and slosh of water the only sound echoing in the miasma. As they approached the tower the first ranks broke and screamed, falling back as the following ranks rushed forwards. But it was no enemy that had driven back our men. It was the scouts.
All that had failed to return, pinned to the wall of the tower by spines of metal as dark as night and cold as a lich’s heart, a message of blood and entrails splayed over their heads. But that was not the most horrific of the pieces at our gaze. Each man looked as if he had been turned inside out and rearranged, reams of skin dangling off their bodies, the revealed muscles of their faces bunched as if preformed while they still lived.
“To all those that would oppose Irkathos, One True Prophet of the True Gods, travel North so that ye may see the face of truth and die upon it’s word.” the bloody invitation read.
Before we turned North the tower was set ablaze and we all watched in silent disgust as it crackled and collapsed until all lay beneath the mire.
Helios drove us like pack animals, many believing him insane with some private vendetta against Irkathos, but we all followed. No hardship we endured under the pace of marching was comparable to the horrors we had seen come across our kin.
The time in the swamps seemed to be blended into a single day, but we all knew it was longer despite the ever present dull gray light that filtered in. It could have been weeks we were there, each one of us covered in grime and blood, jumping at shadows and whisps, each time expecting a stalker to emerge and rend us in its maw before bounding off.
At long last though, we came across them, low buildings that began to grow gradually, small patties of lichen and fungi bearing mounds in front. People tended them, frail and gaunt, not even noticing our marching formations unless they disrupted the piles that bore their crops. We moved forwards, weapons drawn until we came to a great arch that lead down what might have been a submerged road.
Upon our path stood a robed figure, hunched and lopsided. “Welcome Ignorant Ones, to my master’s grand city. He bids you welcome and hopes that whatever gods you cling to in blindness exist long enough to shepperd your souls from the oblivion to come. You shall see the tru-“
He was silenced by an arrow from a leading archer, two more following after from different locations as if all three had had the same thought in mere fractions of a second between each other. The world seemed to settle into stillness after the figure splashed into the ground, holding its breath as if shocked by the execution.
But then the mire exploded as warriors draped in sopping rags and bearing rusted weapons emerged like flying fish from the waters, horrors and Fel Beasts filtering through the veils of shadow and fog to fall upon our ordered formations. Half of them fell into disarray, the fear instilled by the mass of Fel Servants charging at them taking hold as the other half broke to engage.
To me the beginning and middle of the battle is a blur, my sword flying, and blood plastering my armor so thickly that it slowed the movements of the plates around my joints. My son was a whirlwind of energies striking in all directions, he and his mage fellows cutting swathes through waves of enemies. A ragged wave stinking of rot crashed upon our ranks to fall upon warriors with swords extended to meet the tide.
We fought foot by bloody foot through a mire of death, blood falling around us in ponds, staining the waters and ground red. Coagulated blobs bobbed at the surface next to the bodies of the fallen, already writhing with maggots and carrion feeders as every second more dropped into the sludge to join them.
I cannot tell you how long it took us to batter our way there, or if we were truly fighting in any direction at all. We simply came across the fortress, its twisted spires melting out of the miasma. This could only be our target, and as tired as we were we felt a surge pulse through our ranks that the goal, the destruction of the damned was so close.
I was not one of the many that opened the way to the final battle, but I was there for the final events of our tale. This is no doubt what you all have longed to hear, the triumph of good over evil, the destruction of the threat to peace. I do not know if you will be unsatisfied with these events, but I tell them to you now;
There he stood, Irkathos the Betrayer of Kin, Dark Prophet of the Damned. We stood in his grand hall, a great balcony overlooking the bloodshed below between the brave men and women and the monstrosities engineered by a demented mind. My son and I stood under the arches at the back of the battalion of men that had filtered into the hall.
“Welcome! Welcome!” Irkathos cried as if he were bringing friends into his home. “Your travels have been harsh my friends. But know this peace will come at last when the Powers that Be are made manifest in this world once more and a haven of purity is at last restored!”
A murmur echoed through the crowd and a chorus of rejection to his words and insults were thrown like stones upon him. Weapons clattered as they were brought to bear and the front ranks advanced.
“Oh my friends.” Irkathos sobbed, his piteous words falling upon the deaf ears of hardened veterans and witnesses to his ‘purity’. “I had hoped that I would be able to show you the light, that this bloodshed may stop and purity brought to this world. I cannot bear this pain.”
The front half seemed to implode on itself, sheets of blood showering the room as those in the back were flattened to the ground. My vision swam as I saw the robed figure approaching, black liquid falling from beneath the cowl like tears, the ground hissing wherever they landed and tiny cackles as miniature demons sprouted from the corrupted droplets.
He walked straight past those prone figures, onto the balcony. He raised his hands to the heavens as if beseeching help from them. Nausea swept over me as the sky darkened and crimson drops began to rain down, each one tasting of iron. Pillars of darkness fell with them to be followed by screams as their magics touched those below, felling them in waves of pain. Monsters emerged from the fog to strike at those that had not mercifully died first.
Irkathos moved back to his throne and looked upon those still struggling to stand from the effects of his spell. “My friends, please, listen to my words. Allow yourself to see the truth! I beg of you!” he pleaded.
“IRKATHOS!” roared a response from the towering form of Helios, just emerged from the stairs, resplendent in ornate gold leafed plate armor and mithril chain. A mane of ebon hair poured from his dragon molded helm, a silvered adamantine blade in one hand. Elite guard splayed around him like falcons of silver, spears borne and feet spaced.
The Betrayer rose at this, his arms wide in welcome. “Helios! It has been too long! Oh I have waited for the day that would bring you back to me! I knew you would not break my heart once more! My trusted friend, please, convince your men of their wrongs and all will be forgiven.” He sang in a singsong voice.
“Will you stand with me again old friend?” he called, tentative steps forward pattering across the floor. He was stopped by the point of Helios’ blade.
I cannot tell you the whispered words passed between the two, the screams as nearly all of the Elite Guard were sucked into the ceiling by darkness wiped out any comprehension I could have gleaned from it.
A blur of motion flew between Helios and Irkathos. Helios’ blade striking and Irkathos seemingly deflecting with his hands. Many of us were on our feet by then, but we dared not interfere with the epic battle between the Sun and the Night that was portrayed before us.
A second, an eternity, it was all held within those timeless moments between Helios and Irkathos. Those that had stood once more were flattened by the release of a spell, Irkathos form shooting across the room to smash into his onyx throne. A beam of light formed by the lunging form of Helios carrying him across the room, his lance of silver before him sinking into the darkened heart of Irkathos and through the back of the onyx throne. A gurgling cough and splatter was what I heard as my vision cleared and I clambered to my feet once again.
“No… No!” moaned Irkathos. “Don’t do this Helios. You swore to me you would be at my side forever and you betrayed me not once but twice!”
“I did what I must to allow purity to persevere the sanctity of any posterity to come.”
“I will not let you leave me again Helios! Not again!” Irkathos moaned as the reached out shakily towards General Helios, flesh peeling off with hisses as his body, long sustained by dark energies, began to die. Hands grasped the neck of the General.
“You will be with me always! You will keep your promise! I will not let you leave me again Helios!” Irkathos cried. A crackling sound echoed through the chamber as Irkathos and Helios solidified into stone, the same onyx as the shattered throne Irkathos sat upon. The enemies now stood monument to their epic battle, each cast of onyx and perfected to the last detail of their last moments.
I helped my son to his feet, helping him over to the balcony. The monsters that had been summoned by the Dark Prophet began to loose physical form, decaying at amazing rates, howls and curses in languages that made our ears hurt pierced the mire before all fell silent. A bloodied swamp lay before us, the water, the ground, the very air tangged of blood, every inch permeated it and became it. The Blood Mire it would later be named.
A rumble sounded through the fortress, cracks began to appear. The balcony became detached by a crack that split it from its mother room. My son, myself and those that had joined us from the disturbing sight of or dead commander and the great evil he had come to vanquish.
We fell into the water and emerged stained with blood. Men from the rooms began to jump rather than fare through the stair wells once more as the fortress began to crumble. Deserters and detachments filed towards the fortress from the fog, coming to see what has caused the noise. We sloshed through the waters as quickly as we could as rubble began to topple from the fortress. In minutes all that remained of the fortress was a single spire supporting the throne and the petrified Irkathos and Helios.
A collective sigh was released by the handful of survivors. But their trials had not ended. Wails began to echo through the area around the rubble. The cries of children. You could see them surfacing from the puddles of blood, pale skinned and eyes as crimson as the blood that spawned them. They appeared children in form but their creation struck home the icy javelins of fear into our hearts. To all it appeared as if the dark mind of Irkathos had held one more horror for us.
The roars and howls of our enemies, the gurgles of the horrors and the slurred speech of those that proclaimed their warped devotion as they drowned in their own black blood paled in comparison to the primal shiver that ran through us all at that sound. Those piteous wails of children, filled with fear and pain seemed to freeze the very souls of those that heard them. I, as were all my comrades seemed petrified in the pulsing wail of these Blood Spawned children.
We began to break from our petrifying fear and revulsion caused by those sounds. We horded to our commanders, many still too frightened to think clearly on what to do. Was this happening a threat? What did it mean? What were we to do? The repeating crossbows of these questions fired at our commanders.
It did not take too much to force the remaining commanders convened to discuss the situation. My son and I stood back as the wailing of the children continued, the shouts of the commanders heard over the cries.
“They are spawned from the dark magics of Irkathos! They must be destroyed!” cried one
“They are children! You would have us kill infants? This is madness on par with that of our enemy” cried another.
“You cannot deny their source and they cannot deny their existence!” bellowed a third.
The remaining ones were drowned by the wails of more and more began to rise from the blood of the fallen.
In the end we were ordered to gather the children. Just touching one and hefting their pudgy forms to a growing pile of writhing children sent shivers through my spine. The look of disgust on the faces of many, for the many reasons could not be disguised. At last I grew tired and went back to my son who sat on a slime covered rock. We stood in silence, watching the others pile the Blood Spawn in a pile.
At our feet a crimson bubble grew and popped, a young boy floating in the water. My son darted, a crane catching fish, and scooped the child up. He pressed his fingers to the boys mouth. At first I thought he had comforted the boy, but then I saw the mouth moving and no sound emerging. He had been silenced with magic. The boy was stuffed into my son’s cloak and my mouth opened in protest.
“It is no use father, I will not give him up to them. Liana and I will care for him, besides, one more child will not hinder us too much.”
I was silent at that. My son rose and began to trudge away. “I will see you back at home father.” He called over his shoulder before disappearing into the fog. I stayed to watch. Out of respect for the fallen, for the living, and the poor untested children that were minutes later set afire by magic. In all that time only three others slunk away from these scenes. I do not know how many bore hidden children or how many could no longer face the demons they had barred from this world and borne into their minds. How many Blood Spawn survive to this day I hope never to know, watching one grow under my own roof is pain enough. I simply hope those born of blood never bear the curse their creator hefted.
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Posted: Sat Mar 03, 2007 11:54 pm
[Pt.2 Inc.] He stood knee deep in red grime, mist whispering around him like forlorn ghosts, whispering to him. He was still in his bed clothes, sleep in his eyes. Where was he?
"Talus... Taaalus." the swamp whispered to him. The sounds seem to come from everywhere and no where all at once, echoing around his head and in the air. Talus shivered despite the cloying heat and humidity. Something about that voice chilled him.
His head craned around, looking for something, anything in the murk that would lead him anywhere. A small darkening in the fog caught his attention. He waded forward, the red water sloshing about him with each movement. Why was it red anyways?
The thin stick began to emerge from the veil of amorphous wisps of white, solidifying into a spear, rusted and ancient, moss and lichen clinging to its surface, its wooden haft rotted and barely stable enough to hold the rusted tip. He approached cautiously. What was holding it up, why was it here? He poked it gingerly and the haft disintegrated.
Up from the depths of the mire surfaced a cadaver, flesh picked clean by maggots and detritovores, tattered remnants of a uniform and plates clinging to the rotten bones. Talus stumbled backwards, cursing violently and falling back into the waters.
The water rushed around him, seeping into his nose and mouth. It tasted weird... Like iron... Like blood...
Panic gripped him as he kicked for the surface, lungs burning and heart racing. He broke the surface gasping and retching, clawing his way uneasily up onto a slimy stump. He coughed repeatedly, retching until he vomited. The taste was vile, but to him it seemed preferable over that of the bloody water.
"Talus... Where are you Talus? Why are you hiding from me?" the swamp whispered.
"Who are you..." Talus muttered. "What do you want with me?"
Un Known: He clambered uneasily to his feet once more wading through the water, eyes wild. His mind raced. What was happening? Was this a dream? He slapped himself. It hurt...
"Oh fier feck."
Talus waded on; head rotating side by side like a sentry light searching for anything different. His heart beat a staccato rhythm in his chest, his head was swimming.
He had waded half way through it before he had noticed it, an area where the fog lifted and visibility was beyond eight feet. A mass of black stood four meters to his left, glimmering in the dim light.
"There you are Talus. I've been waiting for you. I've missed you, you know." hummed the voice, this time from the mass of glittering midnight. The thing turned, turned to face him with the face of a woman his age. Her face was warm despite he paled skin. The mass of black had been her raven hair, pouring in curtains from her scalp down past her thighs. She was clothed in a light loose robe of black.
She advanced on him, and despite every iota of his body screaming to turn and run he felt as if his feet had been bound in place. She drew closer, her movements not making a sound or causing a ripple. She stopped before him, tilting her head from side to side as if appraising him. He opened his mouth to speak but was silenced by the ginger press of her fingers against his lips.
"Do not talk." she hummed, but with a force that made him snap his jaw shut.
He hand withdrew and she circled him. Once... Twice... She was behind him a third time when he felt arms snake around his neck. He half expected a choke hold as the larger boys had placed upon him many a time, but instead he felt her draw her body towards him, felt her press and her warmth. It comforted him. And that fact scared him more than anything else
He tried to move but felt as if he had been turned to stone. Her head perched upon his shoulders and tilted against his, her scent, the sweet cloying smell of death, filled his nostrils. Eyes darted back and forth in panic as his mind screamed orders and his body failed to respond. His mouth only gaped like a fish. He heard whispers in his ear in that mellow voice and it felt like his mind had been set ablaze, his skull cracked open. His mouth opened once more and his mind screamed at his body. A choking gurgled scream escaped his lips and the world seemed to evaporate around him.-X-X-X- Talus awoke with a gurgled cry. He sat bolt upright, his pale skin beaded with sweat, his black hair plastered to his head. His eyes darted around the darkened room, checking the familiar land marks, the desk at the side of his bed, the half open window with its white curtains fluttering like miniature ghost sheets caught in the whispered breath of night.
The night air was cold but he still felt the sticky humidity of the swamp. The tang of bile still lurked within his mouth, the acidic burn and unpleasant taste of food not quite digested making a victim of nausea once more. He rolled out of bed, toes probing the cold floor, each one groping like blind beggars along the street, each on seeking the floor and wall as the guide that would lead him through the labyrinthine design of his room, moving through halls of book cases and piles of books to reach the wash bin, still filled with the stagnant water of last evening.
He splashed his hands in the water before dunking his head in to was away the smell and cling of sweat. Bubbles circled his head as he stared through the water at the bottom of the basin, ‘Arkier aquarius uliun rem j’el shir.’ had been engraved at the bottom by his father to remind him of the daily ritual.
“Purity of water share thine purity with me.” he mouthed the translation in the water before raising his head from the basin. He shook his head, a halo of droplets spraying from his head, before reaching for a rag and toweling off. A flash of red caught his eye in the mirror and he glanced up. Two crimson orbs stared back at him from the mirror.
Talus jerked back as if he had been struck, his feet stumbling backwards, tripping over the pile of books. Talus fell back into a bookcase, his weight toppling the wooden giant, its many arms spilling their contents over the floor as it too toppled into its kin in a domino effect. The whole room rumbled as shelves toppled and books fell like rain upon the floor.
The storm of wood and paper ended, the room now an anthill of bookcases the upturned and unsettled books their pages fluttering in irritation.
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Posted: Mon Mar 05, 2007 11:38 pm
Due to lack of time I haven't been able to read your entire work, but from reading the first section these are a few things I noticed. I'm not very experienced in critiquing prose, so I hope this is of at least some help to you. razz I'll try to post again when i have read more and have enough time to put together something more useful to you. Commas - I noticed a lot of sentences which would be difficult to say all in one breath (for me at least). Commas are hard to learn to use, I know I haven't mastered them. Just make sure when you read over your work that you have enough pauses, and that they are in appropriate places. Be careful of too much repetition/using words more than once in a sentence. Quote: However to truly understand this story I must begin before the story begins, before the story could have even been considered a possibility. I'm also assuming this is set in a world you are quite familiar with. At the beginning i felt quite befuddled by all the terms and names which were meaningless to me (since they had not yet been explained). Keep in mind that at the beginning of the story readers do not always know what you know. It can put people off when they are thrown into a confusing situation, madly trying to work out what the author is talking about.
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Posted: Tue Mar 06, 2007 2:59 pm
I'm not overly familiar with commenting prose either (I tend to comment visual arts more.. =x) but there are a few things I noticed. First as akukei mentioned you use alot of names and terms without explaining them, which leaves pepole confused. Even a vauge explination would help alot. Second, I get a fragmented and jumbeld up feeling from your story, I can't put my finger on it but it flows wierdly. Quote: He had waded half way through it before he had noticed it, an area where the fog lifted and visibility was beyond eight feet. A mass of black stood four meters to his left, glimmering in the dim light. DO NOT MIX MEASURING SYSTEMS! Either use the metric system or the imperial, do not use both! http://hemsidor.torget.se/users/b/bohjohan/convert/conv_e.htm <-- thats a website I find extremly useful for converting between various systems, it does weights, distances, mass, etc. Typos, you got quite a few in there, mainly of the type that word does not pick up on (or instead of our and such). This is more a matter of personal taste than anything else, but personally I find the greek mythology references kind of cheesy, Helios = Sun God, or in your story good guys, sun as his emblem etc. Ikathros, I'm betting the similarity to Ikaros isin't coinsidential, and as most pepole know Ikaros flew to close to the sun and plummeted to the earth. I can see something similar with Ikathros, he meddeld with powers he couldn't handle/didn't fulyl understand and in the end got punnished for it. Personally I'd try to rename the charaters, especially Helios, that reference kind of hurts my brain abit, and yes I'm a mythology lover, and yes it's a personal preference. Also on the note of Ikaros, gold is a very soft metal and makes for very poor armour and silver isin't exactly a great metal for weapons, but slightly more belivable, but a gold armour would offer very little protection and also most likley be quite unpractical as it would reflect light alot and the enemy would see him comming quite easily. I'm assuming Talus is the kid that got rescued? I'm not sure but I'm assuming. Anyway I'm having a hard time to connect part one to part two, to me they could just as well be seperate stories. As for Talus room, at first I get the impression he has a normal sized room, then I get the impression it's more along the lines of a huge library, the labyrinth reference, the domino effect comment and the mention if it beeing alot of bookcases toppling over eachother seem to be whats causing this. The thing is I'm confused, just how big is his room? Anyway I don't know if this is helpful at all, but it's what I noticed so I thought I'd mention it. But all in all it's a good story and I hope you share the final version whenever it gets done.
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Posted: Tue Mar 06, 2007 3:34 pm
Ah, another Mythology buff! I enjoy it as well but I have gotten rather rusted with misuse in that genre. I should probably go pick out some good books and read them (if you have any suggestions)
I will take that into mind. However, IRkathos (pronounced URK-ATH-OS) will remain the same because of the meaning of the name (Tainted Thought), but I can see there it could get confusing. I will try to think of a new name for Helios, Kesrin (or Mortal/Light) is always an option.
Thank you for the suggestions.
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Posted: Tue Mar 06, 2007 4:21 pm
Ahh sorry for the typo there (and any others I might have made.).
As for mythology books I find the "an introduction to..." books by David Bellingham (from Eagle Editions) quite usefull and they're not overly expensive either. Ok they don't go that indepth, but good enough for quick references without having to wade through tons of greek tradgedies, etc. I got the ones on Greeky Mythology and Norse Mythology.. even if I kind of hate the one on Norse mythology due to the fact that the use the english spellign for everything, and considering I'm swedish it's somewhat.. annoying. But yhea for quick reference "An introduction to.." is a great place to start atleast.
If you want something heavier on greek mythology you could always read up on Homer.. if you read his works on verse it's a sure way to go insane, but atleast enjoyable. wink
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Posted: Tue Mar 06, 2007 5:20 pm
First off I want to apologize for not reading this earlier, I had forgotten about two test Monday I had to study for sweatdrop stressed .
Without further delay:
I love the beginning paragraph, the start "this story it would not begin with a ‘Long, long ago…’ nor with a ‘When your father’s father…’ for it has not even been two decades" catches my interest, it has a fresh appeal with a promise of a different style for writing.
However in the second paragraph, you almost contradict it in a way (this is my opinion, I don't know if anyone else will agree with me on this or not) by saying "The prologue to our tale dawned many ages back." That seems to me like "long, long ago," I thought maybe the wording could be worked with so it doesn't sound like you are starting with what you said you wouldn't.
I enjoyed the beginning part the most because it made me curious who was telling the story. The facts you learn about him, like being a man of the blade and his son, etc. make it very intriguing.
Do your names mean anything? I know when I write stories I try and make my names significant, I was wondering if you did that as well?
Also do you have a map? I'm so used to stories like these having maps to let the readers get an idea of the set up. I was just curious!
You have the perfect amount of detail. I'm very particular on that too. I've read authors where paragraphs of paragraphs are describing the location or apparel and it drives me insane, but your visuals are neat, precise and to the point.
I love the part about the infants spawned from the dark magic. It was very present day (not the right words but I can't figure out the one I'm looking for). The fact they wanted to kill them and others said no because they were infants, it was almost like the debates we have in present day times about abortion and everything.
I love the fact the son showed compassion and took the young boy, and at the same time you know he made a HUGE mistake by keeping him. I love it! I love it!I love it!
I'm sorry I cannot offer any grammatical critiquing, I suck at that myself.
I felt like I was reading a professional piece of work. You've got a knack for writing, that is for sure. Your style reminds me a little bit of J. R. R. Tolkien. I enjoyed it.
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Posted: Tue Mar 06, 2007 5:35 pm
No, I haven't gotten a chance to read it yet, but I did want to pop in with a resource: http://www.godchecker.com/ God Checker is teh freakin' awesome biggrin
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