Spirit Hunter - First Draft

[AphroditeMSC]

Ok here's the first draft of the first chapter of Spirit Hunter...please let me know what you think/recommend/feel about it. I know there are some glaring errors, but rest assured that they will be fixed up. I'm just trying to get it all down first, see how the story shapes up and then do a bit of pruning and weeding
Thanks guys...I know I'm always guaranteed great advice and critique here!

[AphroditeMSC]

My eyes burned from squinting against the harsh glare. I was trying to concentrate on the voice that floated from above the three gleaming towers, made of ivory and some strange metal that I could not even begin to put a name to, the glitter from which served to dazzle the eye and draw attention from the Three perched atop. Probably the very reason it was carved from such attractive matter. The Three don’t like being scrutinised. Again the voice drifted towards me as I knelt upon my cushion, sipping the goblet of water I had been served by the attendant.
“How do you propose to make recompense?”
The voice – neither male nor female, but some hybrid of both – was gravelly and hoarse, as if more used to whispering than booming as it was now. Once again I shivered and thought furiously. How could I ever make amends? How could I ever make things right?
Awaiting my hearing in the shadowed hallways of the ‘Tween, I had asked myself the same question over and over, my head whirling with the speed of my thoughts. The air here felt different; insubstantial, and warm. I couldn’t breathe properly, and my lungs burned for some semblance of fresh air. Lungs blazing, I drew more of the muggy ‘air’ into myself and mentally prepared to admit that I had no idea. The admission would surely bring all the wrath of the Three upon me swiftly. As if I hadn’t already done a fine job of that.
The Three sat in wait upon the immense, shining pedestals. I could feel their impatience coming at me in waves, shimmering and almost visible to the naked eye. I wished I could ask what they wanted me to say or do, but asking questions of them is frowned upon. I was here on the sufferance of the Three and to anger them was to risk the meagre existence I had eked out of my afterlife.
“I really don’t know…” I could almost feel the silence, pressing down on me, making me regret my admission. Eyes wandering, wanting to gaze anywhere but above, I took in my surroundings slowly. It wasn’t every day you were summoned to the Three for judgement. And even through the layers of fear and nervous energy, curiosity raised its head.
The chamber was mammoth in size and I wondered how a place so huge could keep the cold from the ‘Tween lands at bay. Apart from the three columns made of their strange metal and ivory, rising from polished black marble, there was very little else in the space. Plain white walls rose up and up to disappear into what appeared to be a roof of blueish-gray mist above the Three’s heads. A serving girl, sedately holding a pitcher of water with which to refill the goblet laid out in front of me on the floor stood stiffly erect facing away from the Three on their shining towers. Face empty of emotion, she seemed to me a puppet laid aside until the need to use her arose.
I took a sip of my water, gently replacing the cup and dared not raise my head towards the figures perched atop the pillars. I never normally accepted the Three’s hospitality, which I thought, made them seem slightly more bad-tempered with me. Today, I thought, I would take anything they offered, even if it be a cushion of nails to kneel upon while I drank a cup of poison, delivered from the serving girl with a smile. I needed all the help I could garner, today.
I could hear them whispering so rapidly and faintly that I could not make out a single word. They were obviously deciding my fate. And little wonder if I escaped with my hide still attached. I had messed up big time. In my line of work there is no room for miscalculations. I wished I was still in the hallway beyond, awaiting my hearing with the Three. At least there I didn’t have to listen to them whisper and scheme and plot my punishment. Wishing I could fan myself without drawing their attention, I considered my predicament.
The ‘Tween space consisted of the gigantic chamber containing the Three, the hallway beyond, in which was the entrance to the real world, and the vast grey landscape of the ‘Tween lands, haunted with the souls of the dearly departed who refused to move on. Those sorry souls who drifted from one place to another, sometimes finding a tear in the fabric of the ‘Tween in which to leak back into the real world for a period of time, spying on the living, jealous of the animated bodies that they themselves no longer possessed. They were what humans called ‘poltergeists’. The memory of life in the shadow of a body, floating in the ether between worlds.
Very rarely, those souls would find a body in which to squat, taking on the façade of life recaptured. But more often than not, those souls were driven out by a fanatical priest, thinking it a demon taking over one of his beloved parishioners, and he doing his Catholic duty by opposing Satan in the eternal battle of good and evil. Rarer still were the cases where a body in actuality was taken over by a Soldier of Satan. Those were my jurisdiction. Along with the more determined spirit who flat out refused to leave the body of its host, leaching the life from the poor individual, leaving them a living husk of sullied flesh before being flung out by the death of that person.
Those souls, those malevolent essences were then returned to the ‘Tween before being literally marched to their destination in the order of life, be it above or below.
Another anomaly that I was responsible for were the undead. Those I had to hunt down with all the ferocity of a wild animal and forcibly transport to the Three for judgement. I never knew what happened to the unfortunate undead. I didn’t like to speculate. I had my own worries.
On the hunt of a Squatter, found skulking around in the body of a teenage girl, I had tried and failed to expel the spirit and the result was the death of the girl. Not entirely unusual, since Squatters were the very boils on the face of death, but the said Squatter then escaped me in the aftermath of the girl’s passing and succeeded in evading me since. It had been three weeks and all I had to show for my pursuit was the death of an innocent girl and whispered stories of triumph among the Grey Men – those unfortunate spirits existing in the lands of the ‘Tween. A revolution could be on the cards if they thought for a minute that a Squatter could become lost in all that humanity and make a new life for itself.
So I was summoned to the Three for review. I was a Death Bringer, a Spirit Hunter. I have been employed by the Three since I was twenty four years old, when a strange sickness emptied out the shell of my body and took with it my last breath, leaving me lingering beyond my own bedstead, glaring at the lifeless image of myself and the gathering of mourners that had arrived to see me on to the next life. The next life wasn’t all it had been cracked up to be. And neither was this job.
I had so far failed in my attempt to bring the Squatter under control. This did not bode well for me. The Three were infamous in their ruling and I had just appeared on their radar. No, this did not bode well at all.
I couldn’t tell how much time passed before the Three once again turned their attention to me, still kneeling where I had been directed. Time runs strangely in the ‘Tween. Hours here might only be minutes or seconds in the real world. And the reverse is also true. It felt like a lifetime, but was probably only a few minutes in ‘Tween time. Fighting not to blanche at the interest they were apportioning me, I vaguely fixed my gaze roughly half way up the middle tower, yet again narrowing my eyes against the harsh glare and attempting to keep my eyes from streaming tears as the glow stung.
“We propose a partnership,” they stated in unison, those hybrid voices straining my ear for distinction.
Before I could utter a yea or nay, a large pocket of air beside me began to flicker and spark. Blood pounding in my veins, I glared at the sudden intrusion as if by my stare alone whoever it was would reconsider interrupting. I was shamed enough at being lumped with a partner – a partner! – without having someone barge in to witness my rebuke.
Hues of gold and blue and red swirled and popped within the pocket, growing solid for a moment only to convert back to barely there patterns. A bright flash signified the arrival of the intruder and I fought not to jump as he bowed deeply and turned to face me. I had noticed him skulking around in the hallways earlier and never imagined he was here in connection with me. So, the Three had my punishment decided before they had asked my opinion. Well, what had I expected? They were ever cunning and sly, the Three.
Not daring to part my lips for fear of what would come lunging out, I stared at the man who slowly lowered himself to perch on his heels beside me. He smiled at me gaily and I wanted to smack him for shock value. Anything to wipe that grin off his face. Who was he?
“We trust that you will be more competent in your work with someone to watch over you, and offer assistance where needed.”
I couldn’t believe it. They thought me a novice needing a master to teach her how to hunt. Knowing I was lucky they didn’t separate me from my flesh and move me on, I only nodded and awaited further instructions. If they would offer me a branch, I would cling on to it in the hopes of avoiding a drowning. I would endure this partnership, and I would find my Squatter. Then I could impress upon them the utter inadequacy of a partner. All decisions regarding Spirit Hunters could be appealed – up to a point – and I intended to appeal this one… eventually.
“He is Asht[MD1] aroth. He is as much yours as you are his.” The voices seemed smug at the revelation, husky whispers following the statement, while the man in question lowered his head quickly. “You are both each other’s right arm, for now. Go, both of you. Find what must be found and deliver it for retribution. You are granted a week.”
Confusion smothering me, I barely noticed the air make another pocket, this time around both of us, and transport us back out into the shadowy halls of the ‘Tween space. I knew a Soldier’s name when I heard it. I glanced at him warily. Very pleasing to the eye – weren’t they all? – tall, dark, and dressed for a night on the town in black cotton shirt and tight, black jeans he reminded me of a cover model. A very dangerous, very beautiful and very evil cover model.
Why would the Three bind me to a Soldier for a week? Was I to be made an example of, then? Resignation weighed me down like a ton of bricks and I sighed. A week I had to find my Squatter, and I would make use of the time, starting now. Ignoring the slender hand offered to me by the Soldier, I instead turned away and strode towards the doorway. “Come on,” I whispered harshly. “We will have time for introductions and speculations after we find the scent of my Squatter”.
The scent, or trail of a Squatter was usually simple enough to locate, like a slimy ribbon of viscous fluid hanging in the atmosphere of Earth. All I had to do was concentrate hard enough and I could see it. Usually. But there was nothing usual about this case. There seemed to be no trail to follow, although I was open to assurances that I just hadn’t found it. After the death of the girl, awaiting the Squatter to emerge with a Leash in my hand, I had failed to notice that the normal chain of events were not unfolding as I anticipated.
Expecting to see the shade surface as if straining for air, like a new born babe, struggling and panicking to escape the faltering bonds it had forged with the host body lest it be dragged down into death again, I had seen instead the air shimmer and pop as if someone were using Travelling Pockets. Instead of snaring the Squatter with the Leash, it had zipped out of existence not leaving me so much as a foul smell to track.
My brow furrowed as I thought that over. What sort of Squatter doesn’t leave a trace? In my head, the only trail this one would leave would be a trail of bodies, and I had to stop that. Correction – we had to stop that. Shaking my head as I advanced towards the doorway, I wondered how I could have forgotten for even a moment that there was a Soldier behind me, following my every step. His black eyes flashed as I swung my head around to take in the view of him. So, he hadn’t liked being rebuffed back there? I had to keep it in mind to do it more often. I wasn’t happy about having a partner, and I would make sure he knew it!
“Ashtaroth – is that your name? – we’ll start with the scene of the body”. I knew he wouldn’t like me ‘not remembering’ his name, which was exactly why I conveniently forgot it. Good to keep him simmering gently until I could get him to agree to an appeal. If I could persuade him that he would be miserable partnering with me, then he would be only too happy to agree.
“Ash, if you please,” he told me, in silky tones. His voice grated on every nerve I had. “Would it not be better to begin at the seam it entered?”
“The seam?” Of course it would be better to start there, but since I had no way of knowing where it came through, the point was moot. “I have no way of knowing where that is,” I told him begrudgingly.
“I do,” was the simple answer he gave me before – damn him – actually opening the doorway for me.
I sneered openly. “Thanks”. As if I couldn’t open a doorway for my damn self. I stepped through the unadorned oak door that, with a little power surge, sliced a path through to the land of the living.

“There doesn’t appear to be any sort of residue,” Ashtaroth murmured to himself.
We were attracting quite a few strange looks and some small manner of gossip, huddled as we were around a seemingly inane patch of parkland in the middle of high summer. It wouldn’t be so bad if we were at least trying to blend in. Well, I was trying. Ashtaroth, on the other hand was sniffing and glaring at the air, apparently at nothing.
I could see not a thing to suggest a Gray Man had entered the world at this spot. In fact, I was beginning to think the Soldier was embroidering his ability to find seams. Two hours we had walked in the sweltering heat, avoiding the curious glances the Soldier was drawing, acting like a blood hound. We had found nothing. Not a damn thing – unless you counted the ice cream I bought fifteen minutes ago when it was clear that Ashtaroth was mumbling to himself and not me.
Sitting cross-legged among the normals, trying to act like I belonged, I gobbled my ice cream while it melted and dripped onto my fingers and trickled down my hand to land innocently among the blades of grass.
“…must be missing something…”
A dog barked in the distance and the sounds of laughter, like the tinkling of glass reached my ears. How lucky these people were, to live in the unblemished side of the city, where nothing would crumble if you breathed wrong on it. Nothing would turn to ash in your fingers and the grotesque did not wander unhindered. A different story less than a mile from here. Across the giant wall and solid iron gates.
There, humanity contaminated and corrupted roamed in the dim fog of the Fallow. Sometimes, late at night, these people could hear the strange noises and goings on across the wall, while they shivered and huddled in quilts and arms of loved ones. Praying that it wouldn’t spread any further. Praying that they wouldn’t be next to be swallowed by the disease that had affected most of the world.
I turned my head to glance at him, staring into space, examining the ether, his brow furrowed in concentration. “Give it up, Soldier,” I called. “Nothing to find here.”
“Well that’s as may be,” he returned, brow still wrinkled in confusion. “But it does not alter the fact that it came through here, and left no trace. It is most distressing. There should at least be some sort of…”
I tuned him out. I had heard him say all those words and more in the last hour and it changed nothing. There was no trail to follow from here. Looked like we would be starting at the scene of the possession, like I had wanted to all along.
“…almost as if…I have it!” Strong fingers grabbed my arm and hauled me to my feet. Nearby people turned at the commotion and I hastened to wriggle free.
“What the hell do you think–”
“Look! There!” He pointed at some patch of air as if it should differ from the rest. Madman. “Don’t you see it? Concentrate. Just there, it’s a rip, not a seam! I didn’t see it before because I was looking for a neat vein it had crossed through.”
“I don’t know how to see it.” I didn’t know what I was looking for, never mind how to see it. A rip. I tried to visualize a rip. It would be jagged, like the flapping shirt pocket of someone who had gotten into a fight. Untidy and rough.
Eyes watering from the strain, I glared and peeked and blinked and winked and squinted, and all of a sudden I did see it. Like a giant fist had literally torn something from the ‘Tween and left a gash in the atmosphere.
“I see it,” I mumbled, wondering what could have ripped something from another world into this. “What caused it?”
“It’s as if a soul was raised by a necromancer,” the answer came slowly. Ashtaroth’s mouth twisted in a dreadful smile. “But even a necromancer needs the soul’s own body to re-animate it. No power on Earth could introduce the soul of the dead into the body of the living.”
“No power on Earth?”
He nodded absently. I turned to take my place among the ice cream grass and the normals. “What about a power not of Earth?”
“[MD2] Aosoth.” He fairly spat the word, eyes opaque, black crystal.

Having learnt that Aosoth was another Soldier, a demoness of passion and death, I was not a happy bunny. In fact, I was quivering in my boots. Aosoth had the Power to imbue others with minor abilities they never possessed, or enhance the abilities one already had, making her a fair suspect in the Squatter’s presence on Earth.
“Tell me again what we’re supposed to be doing here?”
Ashtaroth spared me a fleeting glance as I perched upon a long abandoned altar in an old and shabby church. Nobody had worshipped here for at least a hundred years. The building told a depressing tale of abandonment and neglect, its pews no longer shining and well-loved, its windows long since boarded up and its ceiling covered in webs and raven’s nests. Plaster crumbled from damp walls and refuse was scattered throughout the massive shell of the once revered House of God. “Had you listened when I explained things, you wouldn’t have need to ask again,” he admonished hastily, removing a stick of chalk from his pocket and drawing a circle approximately nine feet in diameter around the altar, sitting in the middle like a quarantine patient.
“I am preparing to bind Aosoth in this circle and summon her here. I have a few questions for her.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong,” I began slowly. “But aren’t you and she on the same side? I mean, you’re both demons. Surely I’m safe here with you.”
“It is not you I worry for,” he told me, closing the circle and offering me a small smile.
I didn’t think he was referring to himself either, somehow. Six feet plus of dangerous Soldier had nothing to fear from a female counterpart. What is he trying to protect? “Okay…”
The short, squat blade he took from the back pocket of his jeans glimmered in the faint light cast by the few remaining candles we’d found behind the altar. Dust motes danced and floated as he seemed to hesitate, licking his lips and closing his eyes, before pressing the blade into the fleshy part of the palm of his right hand. The tender meat parted before the razor sharp edge and a single drop of bright red liquid fell to mingle with the chalk and filth of the church floor.
The air vibrated mildly as if in the aftermath of an earthquake, and Ashtaroth walked the circle counter-clockwise dropping blood onto the chalk line as he went. All the time there hadn’t been so much as an intake of breath. I was of an opinion that Soldiers pretty much didn’t feel pain. I only possessed a corporeal body in the land of flesh – Earth, if you preferred – and I still felt pain. Such a blatant disregard for what must hurt confounded me. So stoic was this Soldier.
Not that I’d ever summoned a demon before but…
“Aren’t we supposed to be the ones in the protective circle, and the demon without?”
“Only if you’re a fool dabbling in things you don’t understand,” he rasped. “Were we the ones in the circle, we would almost certainly be protected, yes, but the demon would be free to roam about the realm of the living, harming where he saw fit until the first ray of dawn banished him back to Hell.” His eyes had taken on a fervent gleam of anger, and wanting to turn away from those burning black eyes, I found I couldn’t. I was trapped in his gaze, much like a pair of manacles on my wrists.
So much anger radiated from him I felt as though I was going to melt, the heat sliding against my human-esque skin, stinging where it touched. These were the Fires of Hell and I was dangling myself above them. I cleared my throat, turning away roughly. “Okay, so instead of leaving her free to cause as much mayhem as she wants, we’re going to do it the right way and trap her?”
“No, not trap – summon. A demon cannot be trapped by any means good or evil. Nightfall or sunrise will always loose any bonds you may have lassoed them with.”
“Thanks for the tutorial,” I droned, shocked and scared and wanting to hide it. “When do we do this?”
“Nightfall,” was his ragged whisper. An hour from now.
There was something not quite right here. Something that would turn around and bite me in the ass if I wasn’t careful. I intended to muzzle whatever it was, and quickly.

[AphroditeMSC]

I gazed at the exotic creature sitting cross-legged upon the granite altar, swinging her leg and bobbing her delicate, red, silk stiletto. A beautiful mane of blood-red curls drifted past her bare shoulders and flirted with the thick, red belt cinching her teeny waist. A knee length shift dress in the deepest, midnight black accentuated the curves of her thighs and the bare skin of her calves, glistening and tanned. I’d be tanned too, if I lived in such a hot climate, I joked to myself.
She had just literally appeared thus so, apparently not at all surprised by the summons, both hands folded in her lap, and her wide, dark eyes fixed on Ashtaroth’s face as if studying something interesting. Like a cat, with a particularly tasty looking mouse, I thought. luscious, bright red lips spread in a seductive smile as she let one shoe deliberately slip off her foot to lie innocently upon the filthy floor.
“Hello, lover,” she announced in a smoky voice. “It’s been a while…”
“Aosoth,” he answered cordially as I struggled not to choke and splutter. Hello, lover? I repeated to myself. The fact that I knew this was what was going to bite me in the ass made no difference to the shock value of the demoness’ statement. They’d been lovers. And he had built a cage for her. any understanding I thought I had of demons went right out the window.
“To what do I owe this…displeasure?” her lips, dripping with scorn and still totally besotting, framed the question while she studied the glaring insult of the trap built solely for her.
“An exchange.”
“Of what?”
“Information.” Ashtaroth’s face had closed down, showing not an ounce of emotion – which, for all I knew, was the norm for him – as he dispassionately laid out the terms of the barter. “Three fair questions – answered truly, not merely speculatively – and the same privilege shall be awarded to you in return, after which you may return from whence you came, and we can be on our way.”

Her mouth twisted in mock-severity and she laughed, full-throated and husky, sending currents of heat bouncing off the towering walls of the dilapidated church. “You know I love a good gossip, Ash as much as the next girl,” her gaze swung to me and I froze like a deer in a glen suddenly spying the hunter in the bush. “But I’m sure there are far more interesting things we can barter for…” She let the sentence peter out, still watching me with her dangerous eyes.
“Aosoth, the terms are set out. Agree, or leave.”
“You’re no fun!” once again the captivating siren, she lazily rolled a long curl around an elegant, red-tipped finger. “The terms are set out and agreed upon,” she announced, as if it had been her idea all along.
“Since I am the bargainer, I will take the first question. Have you apportioned power to any one of late?”
“I apportion power to a lot of people. Some human, some not, and even some demon.” All business, swinging leg still as a statue, she fired out her own question. “Are you planning on returning to Hell?”
“I have no plans to return in the immediate future,” he hedged. I didn’t even know him and I knew he was hedging. It seemed to spark some anger in the creature lounging in her cage.
“Have you apportioned any necromancer with power in the last month?”
“Yes,” she replied, still not giving us anything of real importance to go on. “Why are you working for that useless group of oracles who laze about upon shining towers moving this person here, and that demon there, all as if it were a game of chess!?”
Ashtaroth winced. “I do what I have to,” he replied quietly. “And right now, I have to work for the Three.”
I sat watching the exchange like an avid tennis fan. To and fro. Fro and to. I was in danger of whiplash, at this rate. Dying to jump in with a question of my own – a valid question that would produce proper results – I opened my mouth to speak.
Ashtaroth silenced me with a look. Just a look. Yet it singed me to my bones. I speared him with a look of my own and stepped forward, shaking off the restraining hand he laid upon my shoulder. This was getting us nowhere. I whirled on him, blocking the demoness’ view of him and he sent me a look of entreaty. There was more going on here than I cared to know, but for now, I would hold my peace.
“Later,” I promised him, before stalking back to his side, facing the demoness who, for all intents and purposes might never have noticed the exchange.
“This necromancer, he is a native of this city?”
“He is,” came the reply, before the fiery woman realised she had been tricked. “Two questions in one Ash, very good.” The smile was back in place, but barely. “You certainly still have the knack of making me admit things I should not. now, for my final question.” She seemed to hold her breath, all bravado seeping from her visibly. She wilted like a flower in a drought and I found myself feeling strangely sorry for her. “Do you miss me?”
If the question came as a shock, Ashtaroth hid it well. Taking a deep breath, he seemed to mull the answer over for some time, gazing into the distance, remembering. All the while, Aosoth sat still as a column, as if afraid of interrupting his reverie. Five minutes or more, he stood there, and she stared at him in patiently. Like one who already knew the answer and only wanted it confirmed out loud. The only concession to nerves she showed was to bite her lip and hitch her breath occasionally.
When finally Ashtaroth did answer her, it wasn’t the answer either she or I expected.
“Sometimes,” he muttered, not looking her in the eye. “I miss the pleasure you gave me. But it was always a power struggle with you Aosoth. Always expecting the knife in my back. Always wondering when exactly I would die at your hands. I miss the pleasure,” he repeated. “But not the pain.”
“But that is always the allure, isn’t it?”
“It used to be…”
ashtaroth was still staring into the middle distance when she turned to me with that sly smile once again in place. “Ask another question,” she whispered happily.
“You think to fool—”
“Where can I find the necromancer?” I asked, at last satisfied that we would get a proper lead and a location.
A ragged oath turned me to face Ashtaroth. A face like death he glared at me with all the anger of Hell itself. “You fool!” he wailed. “Do you know what you have done?”
“No, I—”
“Terms set out and agreed upon, shall bind no more if they’re broken by one,” the simpering demoness intoned formally.
Confusion setting in, I silently sent an entreaty towards Ashtaroth, as he had done earlier. What is going on? I wanted to ask. What is she babbling about? And then I knew. I could feel it. The same vibrations in the air as when Ashtaroth had walked the circle with a ring of his own blood to seal it. It was undone. Oh s**t.

[WhiteCrowUK]

I was trying to concentrate on the voice that floated from above the three gleaming towers, made of ivory and some strange metal that I could not even begin to put a name to, the glitter from which served to dazzle the eye and draw attention from the Three perched atop.

Personally from my perspective as a reader some of the description is over-complicated.

Mixing your sentance up a bit, the following ...

I was trying to concentrate on the voice that floated from above the three gleaming ivory towers.

I think works just as well in what it's describing, but achieves it a little more elegantly.

I think one problem with writing is getting the level of detail just right. Enough detail in an alien setting to make it alien, but not so much that it becomes cumbersome and doesn't advance the story forward.

I found some old stories of mine in the loft recently, and a character would walk into a room, and I'd describe everything in the room, because in my mind's eye would see all that detail. But often your reader doesn't need all that info.

[Mandorin Anamor]

Looks rather good from what i read, although it is rather a long excerpt, so i'll get back to it in the evening, not while i'm at work :P
but yes, looks very promising, although as White crow said you do seem to overcomplicate sentences, but don't worry I do exactly the same thing, so yeah as it's a first draft, looks good!
Tim

[TheEndIsNigh]

My eyes burned from squinting against the harsh glare. I was trying to concentrate on the voice that floated from (voice that came - or floated down from - could be better) above the three gleaming towers, made of ivory and some strange metal that I could not even begin to put a name to, the glitter (glitter? Try -... to. It was the glittering from this that served...) from which served to dazzle the eye and draw attention from the Three perched atop. (why not just - above).(that's a big sentence with lots of separate things in it and if the three are perched atop then the voice isn't floating it's coming from a definite place - the perch) Probably (It was why, no doubt,) the very (loose it. makes it clumsy to read) reason it was carved from such attractive matter. (poss new paragraph) The Three don’t like being scrutinised. Again the voice drifted towards me as I knelt upon my cushion, sipping the goblet of water I had been served by the attendant.
“How do you propose to make recompense?”
The voice – neither male nor female, but some hybrid of both – was gravelly and hoarse, as if more used to whispering than booming as it was now. Once again I shivered and thought furiously. How could I ever make amends? How could I ever make things right?
(While I had awaited -possibly, awaiiting seems to stick it in the present tense) Awaiting my hearing in the shadowed hallways of the ‘Tween, I had asked myself the same question over and over, my head whirling with the speed of my thoughts. The air here felt different; insubstantial, and warm. I couldn’t breathe properly, and my lungs burned for some semblance of fresh air. Lungs blazing, I drew more of the muggy ‘air’ into myself and mentally prepared to admit that I had no idea. The admission would surely bring all the wrath of the Three upon me swiftly. As if I hadn’t already done a fine job of that. (well no you haven't, cause you are not suffering the wrath yet, your sipping water on a cushion - hardly dragged to them in chains and crucified)

The Three sat in wait upon the immense, shining pedestals(they were perched a minute ago). I could feel their impatience coming at me in waves, shimmering and almost visible to the naked eye. I wished I could ask what they wanted me to say or do (they just said - they want you to tell them how you intend to recompense them. I get what you're trying to say but it jars a bit), but asking questions of them is frowned upon. I was here on the sufferance of the Three and to anger them was to risk the meagre existence I had eked out of my afterlife.



I stopped here mainly because of the wall of text effect.

Also I would wait for initial feedback before posting another dollop of text - It was daunting before the second post.

Obviously these are just opinions.

[AphroditeMSC]

Thanks everyone, for your replies so far.
I realise this is a long peice and apologise for any damage to the optic nerve lol...but thanks for reading~!

[shadowbox]

alright, people might give you a hard time for doing this in first person, but stick to it! After all it's there story, they should tell it!

[Boneman]

Golly, it's good............ I am hooked, although the lack of gaps between paragraphs put me off to start with. This is a book I will buy as soon as it hits the shops/internet/wherever.

When you report thoughts you need to stick either to italics (which I think works best, mainly because you can leave out "...' I thought".

Why would the Three bind me to a Soldier for a week? Was I to be made an example of, then?

Then in the second section:

Like a cat, with a particularly tasty looking mouse, I thought.

I think it works better just with Italics, and you've done that so well in the second section, and it stands out so well, that we know it's the character's thoughts. Whichever you prefer, you should stick to.

Keep this is going, I am enjoying it immensely.......

[AphroditeMSC]

Wow, thank you so much for your encouragement!
I'll post another section as soon as I can, Boneman.