Prologue + Chap. One critique

[December88]

Hey guys, new to this forum. I have a WIP that i would like you guys took take a look at and critique if possible. Please take a look and tell me what you think. Thanks, and all replies are greatly appreciated.

PROLOGUE

A sudden flurry of quiet sobs broke the stifling silence and the youth gave the girl another, nervous glance. She was still crouched in the corner; a young woman who seemed to be only a couple of years younger than himself. She peered back at him through a curtain of tears, her glazed eyes shining with an angelic distress, gracing his empty heart with something it had never felt before – compassion.

His eyes lingered upon the girl for only a few seconds before abruptly turning away. He was confused to say the least; almost frightened by the quaint feeling of warmth that had smothered his chest without warning. It was strangely tantalizing and he found himself wanting more. He risked another glance through the corner of his eye. She was still there, very much alone in a sea of tears; drowning in a saline sorrow and gasping for air whenever she could. Some very vague and undefined part of him wanted to help her.

'What... what did she do?' he asked at length, stammering as he spoke. He had never succumbed to hesitation before, especially in front of his mentor.

'I see you are flustered Jorak.' Observed Terinis, ignoring the question. 'I hope for your sake that it is only a result of the wench's rather pretty face and not because of her helplessly pathetic sniveling.'

Jorak pulled himself together. 'It is none of them, I assure you.'

'Good.'

'But I wish to know why the girl is here. What did she do?'

'Do?' asked Terinis with an air of bemusement.

'Her crime?'

Terinis let out a chuckle and swooped down beside the girl. He knelt beside her, slowly slipping off a pair of studded black gloves and lifting his long, pale fingers to her chin. She tried to slink away but the effort was in vain. In a sudden, violent movement, Terinis grasped her tear blotched skin with an iron grip that reduced her incessant sobbing to nothing more than barely audible moans of panic and strangled yelps of pain.

'She knows too much, she has seen too much but most of all...' Terinis' voice tapered off and he examined Jorak. 'Most of all, she is a danger to you.'

'She is but a girl, how can she possibly be a threat to me?'

'You feel pity for her Jorak, you sympathize with her. You are weakened by her.'

Jorak opened his mouth in protest but was cut short.

'It is nothing to be ashamed off, the beguiling charms of a woman can be quite hazardous to even the most hardened of veterans. That is why I bought her here. So that you can face and overcome the final hurdle -the final part of your training. I want you to kill her.'

Jorak wasn't really surprised. The few outsiders who were smuggled to this place under moonless nights never left. He had never thought much of them, never spared their tortured faces with more than a mildly curious glance or two. But he was still unsure. 'Why me?'

'Because you are the only one here who can Jorak.'

'Why? Why can't someone else do it?' It was a stupid question and Jorak immediately found himself regretting it.

'Are you trying spite me?' snapped Terenis, raising his voice for the first time. 'Do not forget your place here Jorak. You have not been trained to be my equal, you have been trained to do what I cannot; what we cannot. We are still your superiors at the end of the day.'

'I understand,' said Jorak hurriedly. 'But I have been under your guidance for almost fourteen years now, there is no need...'

'And what was all that training for Jorak?' asked Terinis, once again cutting Jorak short. The time has come to put what you have learned into practice. She is our enemy, the first of many you will have to deal with.'

Jorak clenched his jaws involuntarily.'I am capable Terenis.'

'Then prove it!' cried Terenis, reaching into his robes and producing a cruel looking dagger which he offered to Jorak. 'Take it, put a rest to my doubts. Actions speak louder than words. Take it Jorak!'

The young girl's eyes widened and she jerked away from Terinis, momentarily freeing herself from his grip. 'Please' she croaked, choking on her own tears while her delicate body convulsed in panic. 'Please... please!'

'Hush girl!' scolded Terinis dismissively.

Jorak stood frozen. His usually merciless eyes had lost their venom as they locked with the pitiful ones of the girl. All the things he had done in the past, the long years of rigorous training and study had forged him into an instrument of martial perfection. But all of that, including the blood oaths and commitments he had sworn seemed so absurdly weightless and surreal in light of his current predicament.

'Do not let you emotions surpass you Jorak. Isn't that the first thing I taught you? You have come so far my prodigal student. Do not disappoint me now.'

'She looks at you as if you are a monster. You aren't a monster, don't do it' whispered a weak voice within the privacy of Jorak's mind. But the voice alone was not enough to convince him. It was not enough to change what had been ingrained in him since childbirth.

He nodded. Even as the anguished moans of the horror smitten girl stung his ears, even as they tugged at his heart and made him hate himself, Jorak nodded. 'Alright' he whispered coarsely, 'Alright'. He reached forward; hands clasping the cold steel hilt of the awaiting dagger.

'Shh,' whispered Terinis, grasping the poor girl's shoulders and forcing her to look at him; meeting her hysterical gaze with one of an impossibly contrived comfort and soothing. 'Panicking will only make it worse.'

She pulled away fiercely, bucking her shoulders and struggling while thrashing at Terinis with a desperate and wild strength. Once, twice and a third time. Finally, sapped of all strength; she stopped, closed her eyes and let her body slump into his arms.

'You see Jorak?' chuckled Terinis. 'She has given in, resigned herself to the fate that awaits her. This is the way we conquered our enemies in the past and this is the way we shall do so again. Attrition at its finest.'

Deaf to his mentor's words and taking another deep breath, Jorak began to tentatively move forward, one step at a time. 'I'm sorry. I'll make it as quick as possible... painless.'

'No Jorak, you aren't sorry. Do not give in to the pathetic weaknesses of your kin. Do not think about it and there will be no guilt!'

Kneeling down beside the girl, Jorak looked for the perfect mark and found it quickly enough. 'I'm so sorry' he whispered, lifting the dagger above his head. He paused for a moment, a last ditch trying to delay the inevitable.

'Do not prolong!' said Terinis. 'Finish the puny cretin!'

'I will!' snapped Jorak, glaring murderously at his mentor. 'I will' he said again, more softly this time. Blood began to pound within his head. For the smallest fraction of a second Terenis' wicked face flashed through his mind and he contemplated the impossible, the unforgivable. 'No!' he snarled and turned away with a sudden sense of urgency. The thunder in his ears was defeaning.

'Please!'

He heard it. This one word, uttered in despair and innocence, nothing more than a nearly soundless whisper; a plea for mercy.

'No! Let it be done with!' yelled Jorak. He closed his eyes, grasped the dagger more tightly than ever and bought it down with all his might.

He opened his eyes nearly a full minute later. 'You were right Terinis, I feel no guilt.'

[December88]

Here is the first chapter...

Sorry for the double post and length

ps: please be as brutal as possible in your replies! Eviscerate the damn thing!

CHAPTER ONE

The first rays of morning light squeezed themselves through Varrin's shut eyelids, snatching him away from a chimerical dreamworld and dragging him into the painfully cold morning of reality. Cursing softly, he reluctantly raised himself from the warm refuge of his bed and groped around the room in search of something to wear. Just as he found and began to button down his shirt, a sudden clamor erupted from the street below, shattering the fragile peace.

He climbed down to the landing and looked out from the window.

'But I want to go with Tomas! It is no fun here.' wailed a small girl with a remarkably high pitched voice. 'How come he gets to go to the academy and I don't? I want to see the elves too!'

'Please Arlina, you're not old enough, just a few more...'

But the girl bawled harder, interrupting her hapless father and spewing forth a string of incoherent words that only got louder when Tomas, her brother, began to openly boast about his escapades with the elves.

'Arlina, the elves will be at the fair tonight, do not worry dear!' soothed the girls mother; managing to mercifully quell the protests of her daughter.

'Elves' scoffed Varrin quietly 'Give it a little more time and we will be worshiping them as gods'. He let out a chirp of irritation and his mouth twisted into a scowl. With a condescending shake of his head, Varrin began to turn away but was surprised to find that his eyes were refusing to follow. There were fixed upon the girl. Upon her brother and father and mother - her family. Even as he stared, his eyes looked through them, peering into a past that he would rather forget. A bead of sweat began to trickle down his forehead. And then another.

'Varrin!'

. With a startled jump, Varrin spun around. It was only his brother. He relaxed, gripping the wooden banister and allowing himself a sigh of relief.

'What's wrong with you, why are you sweating in the cold.' said Arrain Ebonlocke, running up to Varrin and putting a hand upon his forehead; checking for a fever.

'I am fine Arrain.' snapped Varrin, brushing away his brother's hand and navigating the last few steps in a rather reckless manner.

Arrain however, was not so satisfied. He examined his brother's face carefully, stricken with worry and rightfully so. Varrin seemed to be going through a difficult time, his grades at the academy had plummeted and he had begun to isolate himself from the few friends that he had. Any attempts at striking forced conversations were usually ended with curt monosyllabic responses.

'Varrin, are you sure you're okay?' persisted Arrain.

No answer.

'What was with the racket out there?' he asked, deciding to change the subject and hope for the best.

'Oh, just the Balyn family. The young one was throwing a tantrum because she can't attend the academy or some such thing.' replied Varrin. 'Infatuated by the elves of course.' he added with a snort. He picked up a spoon and launched it, head first into his awaiting porridge.

Arrain watched his brother with narrowing eyes. 'What is that supposed to mean?'

'What?'

'Being infatuated with the elves.'

'Oh,' said Varrin between a mouthful of oats. 'Isn't that natural for us?'

'Natural? Infatuation? Varrin what on earth are you talking about?'

'Nothing Arrain. Nothing' replied Varrin in blatantly feigned sincerity.

Arrain let out a deep sigh. 'You could learn a thing or two from them you know'

'Can I?' Coughed Varrin. He was about to turn to his brother when he stopped. 'What is that?' he asked suspiciously, reaching for a creased piece of paper that was pinned down under Arrain's abandoned porridge bowl.

With lightning speed, Arrain dived forward, scrambling past furniture and snatching away the note from under the bowl just as Varrin's fingers were about to reach it. The latter looked at him incredulously.

'Nothing.' Arrain crumpled the note up and started to stuff it into the trousers of his pocket. 'You know, I hope you completed the work for Telarion's class, this is the second time he has complained about your progress in class and...'

'Arrain, what is that?' asked Varrin again. His voice was of a little higher tone this time; more scared than angry.

Arrain opened his mouth to say something, hesitated, stopped and pondered. Deciding that he didn't want to upset his sensitive brother or break the strong bond of trust that he so strongly cherished, Arrain slowly unruffled the note and handed it over. 'I didn't want to tell you. Was hoping he would come and go while we were at the academy'

Varrin kept his eyes upon his brother as he took the note and flattened it against the table. He hunched over and began to read.

'Lieutenant Commander Karad Ebonlocke
In Service of our Noble King Lind Therwin

It has been almost a whole year since I last laid my eyes upon you boys. I have suffered greatly during those long months, haunted by a deep sense of remorse and regret for the way I had bought up my sons, or rather, not bought them up. For the drills, the treks and the discipline, they count for nothing but the failed attempts of an irresponsible father.

It is ironic. The very men who serve under me and even my own peers talk so fondly of their homes, their wives and children; things that I have never learned to appreciate. Things I loved less than my own career. And when they ask me, each and everyone of them lost in the throes of sentimentality... what do I say? I used tell them about a dashingly handsome son who is unmatched in athletics, excels in his studies and is chased night and day by every girl in town. I told them of a younger son with an equal if not greater talent for athletics. A boy with an incredibly perceptive mind but most importantly, a boy with a beautiful heart.

But I also used to lie. I lied when I said that I was proud of these children, I lied when I tearfully professed my love for them. Oh yes, I cried. But they were not with the tears of joy that should bless the cheeks of a father, no. They were tears of shame, a selfish shame. I was a fool then, a fool for being upset that my children would never follow in my footsteps and I know fully well that the catharsis and regret comes too late.

However, I will not beat around the bush any longer as I usually do. I want to see you boys. I NEED to see you boys. Not to apologize for the past; for my apologies to you are always and eternal.

Something is about to happen that may very well change the world as we know it. Of course, I am under oath and cannot utter a single word of what I have seen, but how can I deny my own sons from whom I have shamefully hidden so much?

I cannot reveal too much in fear that this letter winding up in the wrong hands but I will tell you this. Never take anything at face value, especially something that is flawless. Never let anyone else tell you what is wrong and what is right for that is something for you to decide for yourselves.

I know that this might be confusing, but I will explain everything when I see you.

I return to home on the fourth day of the new month. I look forward to seeing you my sons.


Karad Ebonlocke'



Varrin finished, looked up, and proceeded to read the letter again, this time more slowly. Arrain shifted uncomfortably in the elongated silence, preparing himself for the inevitable argument that was soon to follow. When Varrin looked up after the second read, there was the glint of a tear in his eye.. A wave of gloom swept over Arrain, he hated seeing his brother upset, especially when it was over their father.

'Well?' asked Varrin.

'Well what Varrin?'

'Do you think he means it?'

'Do I think he means what? His regret? His...'

'Yes Arrain.' interrupted Varrin. 'Does he mean it when he says that he still loves us?'
Arrain clenched his jaws as he looked at his younger brother. 'No' replied Arrain, shaking his head almost ruefully. 'I would to believe it Varrin, I really would. But I don't and that is the truth.'

Varrin grimaced. He picked up the note gingerely and offered it to his brother. 'Look at the letter closely and tell me what you see.'

Arrain was losing patience. 'A whole lot of lies and bigotry'

'Look at the stains Arrain, on the sides, the blotches. Tear stains. He was crying when he wrote this.'

Arrain let out an unconvinced huff but didn't say anything.

'I believe in what he said Arrain, I really do' whispered Varrin as he reached for the letter and folded it carefully.

'Then you have fallen into his trap Varrin. Do you really think he cares for anything apart from his damn medals? I bet he got a great kick out of writing that letter, after all, it was another excuse to boast about his rank wasn't it? The great Lieutenant Commander. He never cared for us, he never even cared for his own wife.'

'Mother died giving birth to us! Do not go blaming that on him!' snapped Varrin.

The heartfelt riposte heralded in another long stretch of awkward silence where the only sound that could be heard was the faint clicking of Varrin's spoon against his porridge bowl.

Arrain closed his eyes and waited for his brother to finish. Discipline, that had been their father's core value, something he had tried to drill this into his children and a very young age. It had been a a dictatorship and any bonds of love that did exist between father and son had been barely distinguishable under a rigid, dogmatic timetable that spared no time for fun and laughter.

The breaking point came a few years later when both brothers were sixteen. Over the next couple of years their father had barely uttered a word to them. He would walk in one day, clad in his brilliant armor set, sitting upon a grand warhorse; providing the nosy neighbors with a decent chunk of gossip for the next week or two. All that grandiose pompousness would however be shed, along with the lucent plated metal armor as he entered his broken household.

The fireplace cabinet, that was his little coveted shrine. It was covered with military regalia, arm patches, medals and retired weapons. He would bask guiltily in the reflection of his overpriced glory before going to his untouched room and emerge only the next morning when it was time to leave. Perhaps two or three months later, maybe even six; he would return again; unannounced, ready to spend another day or two in shrouded monotony before disappearing all over again.

Arrain would completely ignore the man's presence; to him, they had no father. Varrin however was not so ready to let go. When a blue moon rose into the sky and Karad Ebonlocke returned, Varrin would go as far as to smile at his father, sometimes even hugging him. However as Varrin had begun to slip into his self imposed shell of exile, exchanges between him and his father had grown less frequent and more stressed - general questions inquiring about the man's health, barely audible comments about the weather that were more often than not, swallowed by the tense silence. Soon it had boiled down to single verbiage, salutations such as 'good mornings' and 'good nights' that had further deteriorated down and simplified into a single 'morning' or 'night'.

'Are you almost done? I don't want to be late again'

'You should have shown me this earlier Arrain. When did it come?'

'Probably a month ago. Never bothered to read it until this morning.' shrugged Arrain.'Why?'

'Because don't you see?' asked Varrin, his face lighting up with a quaint sense of excitement; something Arrain hadn't seen for quite some time. 'He means the elves!'

'Hmm?'

'Never take anything at face Value. Especially something that is flawless' quoted Varrin from the letter. 'He meant the elves.'

'Oh god Varrin, not this again' spat Arrain, throwing up his arms in exasperation.

'There has to be some merit behind what he said, after all he is one of the highest ranking officers, why would he lie?'

'Because he is a liar!' cried Arrain, slamming his fist upon the table. 'What is wrong with you Varrin? Why would the elves be a threat to us? They have been allies with Azerin for as long as anyone can remember. Haven't you learned that countless times.'

'Arrain, I have but...'

'No!, no Varrin you haven't! Because you never pay attention in class and yet you are willing to believe this completely baseless story from a man who has abandoned his family for his own, personal pride!'

'He does it to server Azerin, not for his personal pride.'

Arrain gaped at his brother in an unbelieving manner. 'How can you even think about trying to justify his actions. Are you insane Varrin? What on earth is the matter with you.?'

'I just think that we should pay some heed to what he said Arrain, we should at least hear him out. After all, he is our father.' replied Varrin softly.

'Not anymore he isn't! And if you have any ideas about meeting him today, you can forget about it!'

'Are you going to stop me Arrain?'

Vivid with anger, Arrain glared down at his brother and smashed his fist into the table. 'Fine! Fine! Seem him, what do I care? He banged the table once again, toppling the jug which fell to the floor and shattered in an explosion of clay and milk. 'I'm leaving. Please, by all means feel free to not attend the academy anymore, you can waste away your life here or with that raving lunatic.'

Arrain slung a sack of books over his shoulder and slammed the door shut behind him.

Drawing back his chair, Varrin fell to his knees and began to timidly pick up the shattered pieces of clay. The pool of milk stretched over to the far side of the room, but oddly enough, Varrin noticed that the liquid was shrinking in volume. Intrigued by the enigmatic behavior of the spilled milk, Varrin examined the puddle more closely and realized that it was flowing into a small crack at the base of the empty bookshelf.

As his fingers began to examine the sodden wood around the crack Varrin found that the wood itself didn't feel very firm. He pushed at the base of the shelf, softly at first, then harder. There was a quaint sounding creak and the shelf gave way to his strength; swinging inward and revealing a hollow room that was no more than a few feet in length.

Taking a moment to collect his thoughts and suppress the surprise of discovering a secret cache within his own house, Varrin hunched low and stepped into the restricted space. There were scrolls, a lot of them. Most were unrolled, lying around in a haphazard manner; yellowing parchment inscribed with a strange writing. The writing itself was undecipherable to Varrin; a mixture of intricately drawn runes and finely shaped curves.

Apart from the scrolls, the only thing that Varrin could see, was dust. Lots and lots of dust.

A sudden, unjustified wave of panic swept over Varrin. Quickly locating what seemed to be the most portable scroll, Varrin grabbed it and stuffed it into his shirt. He backed out of the room and pushed the bookshelf back into place before transferring the scroll into his bag.

He was sure that the scrolls belonged to his father but could not tell what they were about. However, he did know someone whom someone whom he hoped could translate the writings – his newest and only friend, Jorak.

[TheEndIsNigh]

{.} With a startled jump, Varrin spun around. It was only his brother. He relaxed, gripping the wooden banister and allowing himself a sigh of relief.

'What's wrong with you, why are you sweating in the cold.' said Arrain Ebonlocke, running up to Varrin and putting a hand upon his forehead; checking for a fever.

'I am fine Arrain.' snapped Varrin, brushing away his brother's hand and navigating the last few steps in a rather reckless manner

There's a positional problem here. Varrin is either at the top of the stairs and his brother is below him in which case why would he spin round or his brother is above him. However if this is the case the brother wouldn't run up to him he would run down. In any case do brothers do this. They may casually check on a siblings heath but it would be strange to have a brother so concerned he felt the need to 'run' to a brother because (from some distance - stairs and all) he saw a bead of sweat. Now if he was lying in the gutter with a spear out of his back maybe he would adopt a sense of urgency otherwise a casual check would be more likely IMO

Also - is someone likely to be 'startled' by the voice of his brother shouting his name. It seems a waste to use the startled spun round combo in such a domestic situation I'll bet you'll need it later.

"Varin"

Varin turned to see his brother...

would be good enough IMO

I have to stop there I'm affraid it's late and there's a lot of it.

Having said that I found the prologue good. There were a few things that could seem out of place though overall it got me hooked.

There are a few missing spaces here and there.

'She looks at you as if you are a monster. You aren't a monster, don't do it' whispered a weak voice within the privacy of Jorak's mind

This is a bit wrong. It seems to me that she has it right. This thing that's going to do for her is a monster of some kind so suggesting that the way to prove her wrong is by being an even worse monster is just wrong.

I would go for the

She looks at you as though you are a monster, You are, she wouldn't give you the time of day if she passed you in the street. Don't be fooled by her pleading she needs to die. Now!

kind of thing

Overall - seemed OK, though as I said I didn't read it all.

[December88]

Thanks for the reply.

I corrected up the stuff in the prologue, you were sorta right about Jorak. However i m still leaning toward leaving Varrin's startled reaction, i want him to be like 'snapped' out of this sort of painful reverie or flashback so thought that being 'startled' by a voice was appropriate. Anyhow, i will need to still spend a bit more time and decide on something.

Thanks again for the reply, was helpful!

Still accepting critiques! don't care if they are harsh! bring them on!

[shadowbox]

There was a line in the prologue that confused me


'Are you trying spite me?"


should there be a 'to' between the 'trying' and the 'spite'


On another note, if I were to pick this book up, I would totally read on.