First draft

[SamMiller]

This is my first post on the forum so hello to you all.
This is the first draft of my proloque for my first ever novel.
Sorry about the length but i really wanted a critique on the whole lot so thanks to anyone who replies, your help will be greatly welcomed.
P.S if this post is already up somewhere its because i mucked up something when trying to post it the first time.

Their curved swords glinted wickedly in the pale luminescence of the moon. It had taken them almost a week to track them to this location. At times they thought they had lost them, their tracks claimed by the unrelenting snowfall.
The elves were less than half their initial number, their comrades felled by the poisoned blades of the Utharks that still roamed the region in packs.

Evaran, Captain of king Thanars armed forces, was hunkered down behind the ancient bole of a black oak as he gazed down towards the cavern entrance, his long, flowing, almost white hair spread across his back, reflecting the light from the moon that hung in the heavens above him like a pearl. His forehead creased in thought.

He knew they were down there somewhere within the caverns dark belly, he had heard the screams, a sure signal of the dark rituals being committed inside.

He shuddered involuntarily. He could feel the dark magic that permeated from within even from where he observed, perched high above on a rocky outcrop that protruded from the mountainside like a shard of bone.

Their plan was simple in theory, but in practice, well that was another thing entirely. He knew from experience to always expect the worse to happen, that way you can only be pleasantly surprised if things do go differently. They would split the force into three squads; the first two squads will enter the cavern and take its occupants by surprise, killing all cultists within – no exceptions. While the third will stay behind to guard the exit to prevent any escape. They were just about to head out; they had waited for the sun to finish its journey across the heavens before making their move. Evaran emulated the sound of an owl hooting, the predetermined signal that would set their attack into motion.

The first two groups, headed by Evaran and his second in command, sergeant Aspinell, crept stealthily through the brush down towards the cavern. Its entrance loomed over them like the maw of a terrible beast. As they neared it, the haunting sound of chanting emanated out from the black void.

They began to move inside. On silent feet they crept along the long tunnel, making sure to stay hidden within the dark shadows velvety embrace. As they approached the source of the chanting, a wave of heat met them and along with it the unmistakable stench of burning flesh. Terrible screams of untold agony and terror sounded over the constant drone of the chanting cultists.

The elves braced themselves as they prepared to rush in and a familiar bitter taste entered Evarans mouth, the taste of fear. He readied himself, his long elegant fingers clasping the slim, beautifully made sword at his side, and in a low voice gave the order to charge.

The elves tore from the tunnel and a brutal slaughter ensued. The cultists were naked from the waist up, their skin glistening in the firelight and their heads shaven. Strange, sinister looking tattoos decorated their cruel, vindictive faces.

The cultists broke off their chanting and turned, stunned at the elves sudden appearance. Evaran was the first to reach the cultists, his curved blade sweeping overhead in a broad arc that caught a cultist at the shoulder, cleaving down to the waist. The cultists’ eyes rolled up in his head as a fountain of blood spurted from the wound, covering Evaran in the warm, crimson liquid.

The cultists were slow to react and several of them had been slain before they had time to form a resistance. Those who were nearer the back of the cavern pulled out vicious looking two pronged daggers and charged into the fray, their top lips curled upwards in a snarl, revealing teeth that had been filed to points. With madness in their eyes they attacked the elves with no thought to their own preservation. The hardened, battle tested elves reacted quickly to the wave of fanatics and swiftly brought their weapons to bear. Evaran joined the struggle, hacking at all who came into reach. He deftly parried a well aimed stab at his face and kicked the offending cultist in the groin, bringing him to his knees with a howl of pain, in a flash of gleaming metal, he swung his sword at the mans throat, completely severing his head from his shoulders.

Amidst the fighting, Evaran spied a hooded figure atop a dais weaving his hands in an intricate pattern. An unnatural, wicked green light flickered into existence and began to grow in intensity. He bounded over the bodies of the dead and dieing towards the cloaked figure. His sword raised high above his head he let out a fearsome war cry and swung his weapon at the figure’s throat. The dark magician started to turn, but much too late to save himself. Evarans keen blade sliced through the hood and tore into the magician’s throat. The green light flickered and winked out and an audible cry of loss fled from the cultist’s lips as he toppled off the dais into the fire pit burning below, bursting into brilliant blue flames.
Ethereal forms fled from its body carrying with them a high pitched keening that brought all but the strongest to their knees. Evaran wavered on the raised podium, his hands clasped around his head and his normally smooth brow furrowed in pain. Blood began to drip from his ears and nose. He felt as if his head would explode and he began to scream in agony. He could feel the pressure building in his head until he thought he must surely die, when without warning, the keening ceased, leaving behind an utter silence.

Evarans eyes slowly opened, his vision was blurred and a loud humming dominated his hearing. He looked around; his men were beginning to rise. They were all breathing heavily, their arms hanging loosely by their sides.
He scanned the cavern, seeing it properly for the first time. What he saw sickened him to the very core of his being. In the centre of the room stood a pool that was sunken into the stone and a waist height, stone pedestal long enough for a person to lie on, for that was what it was intended for, as he discovered when he staggered towards it.

The remains of an infant lay spread eagled on the stone, its wrists and ankles bound in shackles that dug viciously into the skin. The child’s heart had been cut out, leaving a ragged, gaping wound in its chest. Beyond the raised stone lay the fire pit that had destroyed the dark magician, the hearts of the slaughtered children still visible within the flames. The smell of the burning flesh made him retch, he turned his back on the blaze and he diverted his attention towards the sunken pool.

A dark, metallic looking liquid shimmered within. A malevolent red light radiated from its dark, glass like surface. As he gazed into the fluid entranced, the light started to diminish, the contents gradually losing its fluidic properties until it finally solidified into a solid sheet of black onyx that seemed to suck all light from the room. Evaran stared down at his reflection a moment longer when the whole ground heaved.

He jumped up in shock as the whole cavern started to shudder, only his inhuman reflexes saved him from being impaled as a thin section of rock shattered beside him, pelting him with sharp fragments that cut through his clothes and bit into his skin. He called out, commanding his men to run for the tunnels and escape. Without seeing if his words had been heeded, he dashed towards the passage but as he neared the way out, a huge shelf of rock smashed into the ground before it, the evil claiming yet more innocent lives before finally being sealed therein.

[chrispenycate]

Originally Posted by SamMiller

Their curved swords glinted wickedly in the pale luminescence

technically, luminescence is (generally biologically generated) cold light: fireflies, glow worms, some fungi and plankton, while the moon doesn't emit light, it reflects it. furthermore, the diffuse light of the moon doesn't tend to make things "glint", wickedly or otherwise.

of the moon. It had taken them almost a week to track them to this location.

two "them"s, for two different things, and the only referent we have is "swords"

At times they thought they had lost them, their tracks claimed by the unrelenting snowfall.

The elves were less than half their initial number, their comrades felled by the poisoned blades of the Utharks that still roamed the region in packs.

Evaran, Captain of king Thanars armed forces, was hunkered down behind the ancient bole of a black oak as he gazed down towards the cavern entrance, his long, flowing, almost white hair spread across his back, reflecting the light from the moon that hung in the heavens above him like a pearl. His forehead creased in thought.

He knew they were down there somewhere within the caverns

cavern's

dark belly, he had heard the screams, a sure signal of the dark rituals being committed inside.

can "commit" be used with the word "ritual", even when it could be considered a crime?

He shuddered involuntarily. He could feel the dark magic that permeated from within even from where he observed, perched high above on a rocky outcrop that protruded from the mountainside like a shard of bone.

Their plan was simple in theory, but in practice, well that was another thing entirely. He knew from experience to always expect

split infinitive

the worse

worst, I think

to happen, that way you can only be pleasantly surprised if things do go differently.

the shift from the "he" to the indefinite "you" doesn't work too well. Passive mood waybe? "that way any surprises will always be pleasant"?

They would split the force into three squads; the first two squads will

future? Perhaps "the first squad to enter"?

enter the cavern and take its occupants by surprise, killing all cultists within – no exceptions. While the third will stay behind to guard the exit to prevent any escape. They were just about to head out;

head out? hey're leaving?

they had waited for the sun to finish its journey across the heavens before making their move. Evaran emulated the sound of an owl hooting, the predetermined signal that would set their attack into motion.

The first two groups, headed by Evaran and his second in command, sergeant Aspinell, crept stealthily through the brush down towards the cavern. Its entrance loomed over them like the maw of a terrible beast. As they neared it, the haunting

"haunting" is generally used for things you want to remember

sound of chanting emanated out

no "out" - the "eminated" carries it

from the black void.

They began to move inside. On silent feet they crept along the long tunnel, making sure to stay hidden within the dark shadows velvety embrace. As they approached the source of the chanting, a wave of heat met them and along with it the unmistakable stench of burning flesh. Terrible screams of untold agony and terror sounded over the constant drone of the chanting cultists.

too many "chanting"s. There are plenty of synonyms.

The elves braced themselves as they prepared to rush in

either a semicolon here, or a complete new sentence. absolute minimum a comma, but really the two halves are sufficiently unconnected that that's not enough

and a familiar bitter taste entered Evarans mouth, the taste of fear. He readied himself, his long elegant fingers clasping the slim, beautifully made sword at his side, and in a low voice gave the order to charge.

The elves tore from the tunnel and a brutal slaughter ensued. The cultists were naked from the waist up, their skin glistening in the firelight and their heads shaven. Strange, sinister looking tattoos decorated their cruel, vindictive faces.

The cultists broke off their chanting and turned, stunned at

stunned "by" the sudden entrance, I think

the elves sudden appearance. Evaran was the first to reach the cultists, his curved blade sweeping overhead in a broad arc that caught a cultist at the shoulder, cleaving down to the waist. The cultists’ eyes rolled up in his head as a fountain of blood spurted from the wound, covering Evaran in the warm, crimson liquid.

The cultists were slow to react and several of them had been slain before they had time to form a resistance.

"form a resistance"? "Offer resistance", perhaps?

Those who were nearer the back of the cavern pulled out vicious looking two pronged daggers and charged into the fray, their top lips curled upwards in a snarl, revealing teeth that had been filed to points. With madness in their eyes they attacked the elves with no thought to their own preservation. The hardened, battle tested elves reacted quickly to the wave of fanatics and swiftly brought their weapons to bear. Evaran joined the struggle, hacking at all who came into reach. He deftly parried a well aimed stab at his face and kicked the offending cultist in the groin, bringing him to his knees with a howl of pain, in a flash of gleaming metal, he swung his sword at the mans throat, completely severing his head from his shoulders.

Amidst the fighting, Evaran spied a hooded figure atop a dais weaving his hands in an intricate pattern. An unnatural, wicked green light flickered into existence and began to grow in intensity. He bounded over the bodies of the dead and dieing

dying, and it's not made clear who's doing the bounding- oh, we can have a good guess

towards the cloaked figure. His sword raised high above his head he let out a fearsome war cry and swung his weapon at the figure’s throat.

That's "neck" - he's coming from behind. Besides, you're going to use "throat" in a sentence time

The dark magician started to turn, but much too late to save himself. Evarans keen blade sliced through the hood and tore into the magician’s throat. The green light flickered and winked out and an audible cry of loss fled from the cultist’s lips as he toppled off the dais into the fire pit burning below, bursting into brilliant blue flames.

Ethereal forms fled from its

what "it"? The magician? But he was a "he" only a sentence ago

body carrying with them

do you carry a sound with you?

a high pitched keening that brought all but the strongest to their knees. Evaran wavered on the raised podium, his hands clasped around his head and his normally smooth brow furrowed in pain. Blood began to drip from his ears and nose. He felt as if his head would explode and he began to scream in agony. He could feel the pressure building in his head until he thought he must surely die, when without warning, the keening ceased, leaving behind an utter silence.

Evarans eyes slowly opened, his vision was blurred and a loud humming dominated his hearing.

utter silence followed by a loud humming?

He looked around; his men were beginning to rise. They were all breathing heavily, their arms hanging loosely by their sides.

He scanned the cavern, seeing it properly for the first time. What he saw sickened him to the very core of his being. In the centre of the room stood a pool that was sunken into the stone and a waist height, stone pedestal long enough for a person to lie on, for that was what it was intended for, as he discovered when he staggered towards it.

clumsy sentence, and difficult to follow

The remains of an infant lay spread eagled

hyphen

on the stone, its wrists and ankles bound in shackles that dug viciously into the skin. The child’s heart had been cut out, leaving a ragged, gaping wound in its chest. Beyond the raised stone lay the fire pit that had destroyed the dark magician, the hearts of the slaughtered children still visible within the flames. The smell of the burning flesh made him retch, he turned his back on the blaze and he diverted his attention towards the sunken pool.

A dark, metallic looking liquid shimmered within. A malevolent red light radiated from its dark, glass like surface. As he gazed into the fluid entranced, the light started to diminish, the contents gradually losing its fluidic properties until it finally solidified into a solid sheet of black onyx that seemed to suck all light from the room. Evaran stared down at his reflection a moment longer when the whole ground heaved.

He jumped up in shock as the whole cavern started to shudder, only his inhuman reflexes saved him from being impaled as a thin section of rock shattered beside him, pelting him with sharp fragments that cut through his clothes and bit into his skin. He called out, commanding his men to run for the tunnels and escape. Without seeing if his words had been heeded, he dashed towards the passage but as he neared the way out, a huge shelf of rock smashed into the ground before it, the evil claiming yet more innocent lives before finally being sealed therein.

[/quote] therein? Wthin the stone? Within the lives?

I find it generally over-adjectived, ornamented. It lacks…grit? Suspension of disbelief, anyway. It doesn't seem to know when it stands relative to the prresent, sometimes past sometimes future, sometimes now, and we don't get a clear picture of any of the underground environment (presumably there is lighting in the tunnel, hence the "velvet shadows" but apart from that…

[Elvendon]

I can't say I enjoyed this very much. Not because of low writing quality (mistakes pointed out by chris notwithstanding), merely because I tend to not like this style of black and white fantasy. I don't know, evil rituals and elves saving the day doesn't sing to me very much. Of course, there are plenty of people it does sing to, and so I think this has alot of potential! For a first draft it is quite good, the descriptions are immersive and the writing is fast paced.

However, I'd agree with chris in that it is perhaps a little substance-less. I think it could perhaps have more depth, and you could spend more time developing the characters. I mean, we establish that Evaran is a good-guy who is revulsed by the needless death of children and the burning of their flesh, but who isn't? I felt that more allusion should be given to this character's personality, his history and his relationships with other people in his platoon (or perhaps elsewhere.). He may not be a major character, but for me I need to feel a character described is "human" enough for me to empathise with him in order for me to continue reading the book.

I wasn't sure about some of the adjectives you used. "Inhuman" infers that his reflexes are an abhorrent trait. If you want to make him sound better than us, use "superhuman" or a similar adjective.

Oh, remember that these are only my opinions! Others may well disagree with me

Otherwise good, this idea has potential! I'm looking forward to seeing more...

[SamMiller]

Thanks for all your comments and i will certainly act upon them.
Although i think i will pouint out that the prologue is set a few centuries before the main story and therefor i didnt really feel the need to develop the characters that much. However i know what you mean about it not having much 'depth'. I'm in the proces of re-writing it now and i will post it as soon as i'm happy with it and i look forward to hearing your commments.