(Draft) Rise of the Titans

[Noah Phoenix]

Book One
Chapter One

In the dark, still of the night, they moved. Silently they pushed on towards the light. There were six of them, and they were hungry. Slick shapes darting across the fields and hedgerows of the countryside, unseen and unheard. The lead shape would pause every now and then to sniff the air, and then dart onwards. They were searching, hunting. The enticing light of the farmhouse was getting tantalisingly nearer; the smell of fresh meat growing more pungent. Their fur thick with sweat, they had not stopped for days, and the insatiable ever-constant hunger was all they could think of, it consumed their every thought, every muscle and bone in their evil, twisted bodies screamed in hunger. Their razor sharp teeth glistened like knives in the light of the moon. As they reached the outer hedgerow of the farm, they stopped. Again the lead shape sniffed the air for a few seconds and then signalled to the others to follow. Hunched low, ears flat to their heads, tails down, they moved in cautiously.

Inside the farmhouse, in the sparse back bedroom, Noah Phoenix lay sleeping. The small window was open and swayed a little in the calm night breeze. The curtains were still beside the window, flowing every now and then as the breeze picked up. A couple of owls could be heard way off in the distance calling to each other. The second after the breeze died, Noah opened his eyes. It didn’t pick up again, and the owls had stopped. He lay motionless for a few seconds, stuffing the fear deep inside him. His heart began to race; he could feel his heartbeat in his ears and felt the short dark hair lying over his forehead gently brush his head with each beat. He could hear them, scuttling about in the yard. Four, maybe five, he guessed. His father’s voice floated into his head as he lay; Always listen for the noises that aren’t there, son; always be ready. There was little comfort in those words now. He shook the thought from his head, as his eyes darted to his sheathed sword by his bedside table; it bought him a moment’s comfort before he heard the terrible crash of broken glass from downstairs.

They were inside.

Noah woke with a start, sitting bolt upright in a cold sweat. He was a tall, muscular young man, with dark eyes and even darker hair. This had brought him a lot of attention from the girls at the local village school, and rather a lot of jealousy from the other lads. But none of them had ever been jealous enough to do anything about it and those who thought about it usually ended up hating themselves after finding out they actually quite liked Noah.

He looked to his left to his bedside table, his sword still sat where it always had. The light coming in from the window stung his eyes and told him rather harshly it was morning.

‘Another bad dream, eh? You’ve got issues, Noah, real issues,’ said a small but firm, well spoken voice from the end of his bed.

Rubbing life into his eyes, Noah focused on the foot of his bed, and saw the familiar image of a ten-inch high fairy wearing a leather jerkin, dirty brown trousers and boots, stood arms crossed, an accusing look upon her fair face beneath the long blonde curls of hair, ‘Morning Madison,’ he said, ‘It was just a dream; what time is it?’

‘Time you got rid of that useless lump of meat you asked to move the woodpile yesterday, I’d say.’

‘What?’ he said.

‘He burnt it; useless blinking lump. Do us all a favour and sack him! Your brother would have done it there and then, but I can’t find him!’ Madison pleaded, pacing up and down the end of the bed.

The farm stood two miles southwest of the twin villages of Locke and Paddletoe, which sat opposite each other on the shores of Lake Orsead. The lake stretched almost all the way across Endershall, and separated the capital city of Kernost and the Palace from the rest of Endershall. The country itself stood like the prow of a ship from the Varsil Mountains, as if reaching out into the vast ocean that surrounded two of its sides. At the point where it stepped out from the mountains, the country was just over sixty miles wide, thinning to a point at the very ‘prow’ to just a mile wide, forming a ragged triangle of desert, farmland and forests. The Palace Of Endershall stood at the prow, looking out over the vast ocean, sat upon the very edge of the country. If it wasn’t fully supported, it would have plummeted the thousand feet down the steep cliffs into the raging storm below. The storm was constant and stopped any vessels or explorers from getting anywhere near the foot of the cliffs. Endershall was once part of the country of Ascarin, but six hundred years ago, the War of the Titans separated them forever.

‘Alright, alright, I’ll go talk to him, but I can’t sack him. And Ethan wouldn’t have either, he knows better than that. Go and get the milk ready for Golding, please. I’ll be down in a minute.’

Madison unfurled her wings and glided out of the room, grumbling under her breath as she descended the stairs and made her way out to the cow shed.

Noah sat on the side of his bed for a few moments, gathering his thoughts. It was the fifth night in a row he’d had the same nightmare. It was always the same, and it always ended at the same point. The thing that made it worse was that it wasn’t just something his mind was making up to tell him in some unconscious way that he had ‘issues’ as Madison put it, but he was remembering a night he so longed to forget. He had no idea why the dreams were tormenting him now; it had been four years since they had attacked. It had happened three months after his father, Alderaan Phoenix, had been finally convinced to go to war. Alderaan had put up a fight as long as he could after he promised his wife and family that this time he was staying at home. There was always a war on; they were always trying to keep that Vandaal character out of Endershall. Every time he reared his ugly head, there was a war. But this war was going ill, and locals were either coming back from the front lines in pieces, or not at all. They were running low on skilled soldiers and Noah’s father was the most feared and respected warrior in the land, and had fought in the last war and almost won it single-handedly; his skills were badly needed. On the night his beloved father left, Noah had said things he shouldn’t have said. He hated his father for breaking his promise, more for his mother than anything else, and in one day had gone from idolizing his father and his skills, to loathing everything Alderaan and the ridiculous army stood for. He vowed never to step into his father’s shoes, and scorned him for leaving them when he should have been at home, protecting the thing that should have mattered to him the most.

Ethan, Noah’s brother, felt differently, however. He still revered his father, and had always wanted to be just like him. Noah worried that the admiration would turn him into his father the older he got.

Noah felt that he should have been at home in case something happened. Ethan was eager, but didn’t have the skills of Alderaan. Noah however did have the skills, but not the will. There was no way that they could protect the farm if anything happened. Three months later Noah was proved right when a pack of wolfbanes managed to sneak through the forts on the front lines of the border with Kadan, and trek across the fields and forests of Endershall unchecked. That is, until they reached Noah’s farm. He would never forget that night, or the days and months that followed. He learned that the night the wolfbanes attacked was the very night his father had died on the front lines. It hurt Noah to know that whilst his father was off playing soldiers in a useless and unwinnable war, his family was literally being torn apart. That decision to leave for the war not only cost him his life, but the life of another on the farm that night.
And that was just one more reason for Noah to hate his father. He loved his mother with all his heart and he hated to see her like she was then. It still tormented him now, to think of all that heartache she had to go through after that fateful night. He had been a good son and brother, and kept his feelings about his father hidden from her and Ethan, and did his best to console them. But even Noah soon realised it wouldn’t be enough. He very quickly saw what a loss too great to bear did to the purest of people. Ethan too was just as distraught. He could not bear the thought that his hero, the hero of Endershall, was dead. Ethan was a clever young man, and soon realised Noah’s true feelings on his father’s decision. It had come between them often, but the strong brotherly bond that had been nurtured a loving family had kept them from tearing each other apart. And now, even after all this time, he still felt the cold rush of pain slip up his spine, and the cold, empty feeling still haunted him almost four years later.
Which was what made the dreams even harder to understand, it was over years ago, and he had dealt with it; hadn’t he?

Right now, though, there were other things to worry about, like how the farms helper had managed to burn all the firewood; again. And where was Ethan? He was supposed to be helping Oz.

Noah got out of his bed, washed his face in the water bowl Madison had provided, and got dressed. It was going to be a long day.

When he arrived downstairs, his mother, Tilley, was preparing the morning meal. She was never away from her oven, and the constant smell of cooking and baking was one of the many reasons Noah had never even thought of leaving home. He took a couple of seconds to take her in, the nights dreams had brought back to him the deep sense of loss he wished would leave him. At those times he remembered, he always took the time to take in the things he cared about, he always wanted to know that the people he cared about knew how he felt. He never wanted to have the feeling that there was someone in his life that felt uncared for or not looked after. She was especially radiant this morning for some reason. Perhaps it was how Noah was feeling, perhaps, he thought as he stood, his own feelings projected some new light onto her that made her glow even brighter than normal? Her long, golden hair plaited tightly down almost the full length of her back swayed gently as she moved, like long golden stalks of corn moved by the gentlest of summer breezes. She wore her usual long light blue dress and pinafore, which was gratefully stained with years of good old-fashioned home cooking. Her frame was slight and well looked after, her appearance was her pride. She always made time to walk and take in the local views, which were second to none. Tilley was one of the kindest people Noah had ever met, and her generosity bought them nothing but debt, and, of course, eternal gratefulness from the locals. She would feed anyone who came to see her, from the most noble of barons to the roving nomads of the plains in the north. And she would bend her ear to anyone willing to talk, and thought nothing of sitting for hours listening to anyone who would take the time to talk to her. Perhaps that was the loneliness coming out in some way; something Noah had always known had troubled her, although neither of them would ever say as much.

Her radiance at that moment comforted him, forcing away the thoughts of dreams. Her smile as she turned to him warmed him in a way he could never fully describe.

‘Why do you stare at me?’ she said in her usual cheerfully light tones. ‘I have something on my back, don’t I? If I catch Ethan…’

‘No, mother, you don’t have anything on your back; I was just looking. I love to see you cook; you look so…content.’

‘Thank you, Noah, but enough or you’ll make your poor old mother blush, so you will,’ she smiled again and turned back to her frying pan. ‘Eggs and a rasher or two for you? We’ve got no milk though; Madison is sorting out Mr Golding at the moment.’

‘I know, I can hear her ‘sorting him’ from here,’ Noah sighed.

‘He won’t take any notice of her tone; he knows her bark is worse than her bite. Now, eat up,’ she said as she passed him a plate.

Noah looked down at the food in front of him. Bacon, fresh as daisies and as tasty as anything he’d ever had before. He knew how to rear the best pigs. Noah had learned his skills with animals from his father. Although that was something he drove from his mind the minute it entered.

He looked up at his mother, who was inspecting him, ‘Is something wrong?’ she said. ‘You looked a little pained just then; nightmares again?’

The look on her face told him that there was no point even trying to say there was nothing the matter, as Madison had obviously said something on the way out the door, ‘The same one I always get, but it’s nothing; just dreams.’

‘Don’t make light of your dreams, Noah. Dreams are what make us who we are; no matter whether they are good or bad. Our dreams drive us, they shape our decisions. Don’t let it get to you, please. Your father wouldn’t have wanted you to dwell.’

‘There are lots of things he wouldn’t have wanted, and lots that he wanted, but he’s not going to get them, is he? He made sure of that.’

‘Now, Noah, don’t let’s start that again, you argue enough with your brother. I don’t want to fight with you. Please, eat, and don’t worry so much.’ With that she left him to his food before he could argue any more. Damn her, he thought, how can she be so right and so wrong at the same time? He knew she was right, he shouldn’t dwell on the past, but unfortunately his dreams were something he had little control over. What he decided he must get control of, though, was Madison’s worryingly ever-increasing volume.

* * *

Agatha Pimplepot stood at her bedroom window, gazing out into the dark woodland beyond the border of her immaculate garden. Her buxom frame almost filled the small single-pane window, with her tall, pointed hat brushing the low ceiling gently as she swayed a little. Her thick fingers gripped the gnarled, heavily grained wood of the sill tightly for a second, turning her knuckles white. The Order Of Magic seal hanging from her neck as it always did by its gold chain clinked against the sill almost to the beat of her heart. A single tear rolled gently down her heavily lined face, picking out the deep laughter lines of her cheek. Sagging a little, she spoke with her thick country accent, ‘Tis no good, they got no use for the likes 'o me anymore.’

She took one hand away from the sill and smoothed down a few crumples in her bright purple dress and pushed a couple of stray black hairs back up under her wide-brimmed hat. Pride in appearance was a trait it would be almost impossible to take out of Agatha Pimplepot; her appearance was everything to her. It was public image that made her what she was; no-one would have ever taken her seriously if she didn’t at least look the part.

And so every day when she dressed was the same; deep purple dress, tall black hat placed neatly over her tightly tied back hair, and one fake boil placed firmly on her unfortunately moderate nose. It would have looked a little more convincing on a proper witches bent and crooked nose, but the last time she tried magically altering a part of her body, it took six days to get rid of her new bright red tail. Altering your own genetic make-up was not something she had ever had to learn, even given her years of learning. There was always another witch or wizard that specialized in that sort of thing hanging around to do it for you. And now they were all gone. She knew full well that no-one would believe that sheep dung could heal a wound without the pointed hat and black cat at her heels. People expected certain things from her sort. Well, they used to anyway; not so much anymore. Six hundred years ago, she was a celebrity, the crème de la crème of the social world. Now she made creams and ointments for irritations and problems in places she would really rather not be looking into. Things were certainly different now.

As if making her mind up on something, she straightened, and turned, ‘Time to go,’ she said, walking over to her old, four poster bed. She sat with one hand rested on her chest.

Downstairs, there was a gentle knock at the door. She sighed, closed her eyes, and began mouthing words softly. No voice issued from her mouth, instead it flowed softly from the door knocker downstairs, straight into the ears of the cloaked visitor, ‘I'm not ‘ome right now, Bovril,’ it said, ‘but I'll see e soon, an Nancy.’

Bovril stared at the door. He pulled back the hood of his damp travelling cloak, and took a moment to think. He was a young man, although a little weathered by years in the rain of the plains. He had a kind face, and a pleasant manner. He wasn't stupid, just a little slow, and easily pleased.

‘How'd you know it were me?’ he inquired at last.

‘’Cause I knows everythin, Bovril,’ said the door.

‘Oh, O.k. then....er...you be 'ome thedayafteh tehmorra?’

‘I dunno. If I ent, I’ll see Fidget brings e round me Special Goat Tonic. Cheers now, Bovril.’
The "cheers now, Bovril" wasn't the sort of goodbye you answered with anything other than,

‘Yeah, cheers then, Miss Pimplepot.’ He pulled his hood back on, turned, and walked off down the garden path, dragging a rather worried looking goat.

Aggie sat and sighed again. She looked down at her dress and realized that it seemed to look a little paler than normal. She was sure it was loosing its colour. As she contemplated this, the room began to grow steadily darker. The shadows crept insidiously across the room, blanketing it in an eerie silence. As Aggies breath became a little erratic, a thin mist began to billow out from under the bed. It moved along the floor like a nest of snakes, almost as though it was itself alive and seeking something out, changing direction and winding its way around the furniture.

'Now...I wondered when e wou...would show,' she gasped.

The bed jolted suddenly, almost tipping her and the bed up. There was a low rumble and then a deafening roar as the Bogeyman under the bed began to take shape. The sound itself was the most terrible thing Aggie had ever heard, it leaped inside her head and ricochet around with such ferocity it made her bounce about on the edge of the bed even more.

Amid the terrible noise, Aggie took a deep breath, ‘Get stuffed, Ragnorok!’ She screamed. All at once the noise stopped, the bed was still once more. The mist hung about loosely, unsure of what to do next. ‘Now get out of ‘ere...I ent dead yet.’ From under the bed, the Bogeyman sighed in defiance. It tutted, shuffled about a bit, then drew the mist back under the bed, and went to find somewhere to sulk. The shadows crept back to their original places, and the room, although night was fast approaching, seemed lighter than it had before. ‘Now...if I can jus...just get some peace...’

A few wisps of hair floated down in front of her, and she considered them with confusion. ‘They're white...’ she said, ‘I dun ‘ave white hair...’

The pain in her chest hit like a sledgehammer. She gripped the top of her dress at her chest, gathering up a handful of skin underneath as she did so. Grimacing with the pain, she moved across the bed slowly and lay down. For a short while she lay, wincing every now and then with the pain and not taking her hand away from her chest.

‘Come on...’urry up!’ Nothing happened. She was now beginning to writhe in agony, the pain almost too much to take, ‘You bas...ba....ahhh, come on!’ she shouted.

The air in the room suddenly realised someone had entered and that some of it didn’t have much choice but to vacate. It didn’t know how that someone had got in, or even who it was, but laws of physics weren’t something you said get lost to. The newcomer stood by the bedroom door, looking over Aggies body. It wore a very long and very black robe, the hood of which was pulled over its face. Something about the stranger made it obvious seeing its face wasn’t something you would want to do anyway, ‘Well?’ it said.

The newcomer’s voice seemed to flow like treacle through Aggies ears and settle on her brain. The pain was so intense, she would have found it hard to compare it to anything else she had ever felt. She had witnessed many different forms of pain; childbirth, intense perpetual grief, the severed limbs of soldiers in the war, and even a six year long toothache. And, as a witch, she had taken their pain into herself and away from her patients, but none of it seemed as real to her as this was right now. It was mixed with fear. She was feeling the fear of the unknown for the first time in her life. She didn’t know what was coming next.

‘Well...what? Do it, end it...’

‘Very well.’

Aggie had closed her eyes against the pain, but now it had stopped, she opened them. There was no need to look around the room for the body to attach to the voice, she knew he was there, and where he was. She however, suddenly realized she didn’t know where she was in the room. Looking ahead of herself, she saw that she was stood at the end of her own bed, looking down on her still writhing body, ‘Hang on...I ent dead yet. Me body is still ‘ere, an very much alive!’ Aggie looked down at herself and saw right through to the floor, ‘an now I be a ghost! How can I be alive and a ghost at the same time?! And what e done to me dress? It's almost grey!'

‘So?’ said the visitor, a little impatiently.

‘You can’t just turn up, take me soul an canter off again before I is even dead! There's rules, ways things should go!’ She turned towards the door and faced her visitor. The now silent, black robed figure was taller than the room itself, but somehow managed to fit inside it, ‘How come I can’t feel it anymore, then?’ she said. Aggie had seen Death quite a few times now, being around it so much dulled the dramatic effect after the first few times.

‘You are what is called Disconsolidated. The fact that you are about to die is just that, a fact. Why delay? I have a busy evening.’

‘What? Oh, it's all so...clinical,’ she thought for a second, ‘but I ent dead then. If I was dead you would ‘ave said I’m what’s called dead, right?’

‘That is correct.’

‘No, this aint correct, my boy. This is MY time, right? I decide when I go; I decide what I’m called when I die.’

‘Then you are what is called wrong.’

Aggie was becoming annoyed, ‘I dun see why you get to take my soul when I ent dead. That’s it, I just won't go.’

‘Again, you seem to be wrong, you have kept me at bay long enough with your feeble potions, crone. You are now paying your debt to me,’ there seemed to be a little air of satisfaction about the way Death had said it.

‘You're enjoying this, ent you?’

‘Not at all. This is just...my kind of justice. The inevitable should not be avoided lightly.’

Aggie seemed to remember something, ‘Ha! There you go then. Final proof! I did cheat Death. Madam McGuiness owes me a new Cannon and Belise Brothers hat, then.’

‘Madam McGuiness died almost six hundred years ago.’

Aggie bowed her head, ‘Thought so. Did they all die? I never knew....I knew it would all come crashing down though those over confident, pompous...Hang on, was she actually two months older than me? You would know!’

Death wasn't listening, he seemed to tilt his head to one side, ‘You are sure?’ he said.
‘Hmm? Sure about what? I'm sure I was the older, if that's what you mean?’

‘If that is your will; very well.’

‘You talking to me or the fairies, me boy?’

Death seemed to straighten again and leaned over to Aggie as she stared at him, perplexed. ‘It seems someone up there likes you. The gods have spoken. Interfering in my affairs here is not something they would do lightly. You are to receive a vision of some importance. It is clear someone still has need for 'your sort'.’

‘A what? The gods talked to you bout me?’ She was becoming more and more confused. What could the gods want with me? She thought, They en’t bothered with me fer years. En’t bothered with any of us fer years fer that matter.’

‘Correction, you have not bothered with them. You will understand what to do when the time comes. Just so you know; I don't like this one little bit.’

She paused in thought, ‘So today aint my day, then?’ she said uneasily, turning back to her body. ‘Hadn’t you, er, better put me back in there while I’m still alive? Can’t do much of that visualisin stuff wivout me eyes! Don’t look like I got long left.’ Aggies body was beginning to go limp as she spoke.

‘This is not...’

‘Fair?’ she replied. This time it was her voice that contained the slight air of satisfaction.

‘Yes. This does not seem fair.’

‘Well, that’s life; or death. Or whatever it is to you.’

Death leaned closer, raising a large, pale bony fist up to her, 'I'll be back.' With lightning speed, and a flash of brilliant white light, he struck her chest with his fist, sending her flying through the air towards her waiting body.

She woke with a start, the remnants of the pain just fading away. Raising a hand to her forehead, she wiped away the sweat. Looking about her, Aggie noted Death had gone, and heaved a sigh of relief. She leapt off the bed, hopping from one foot to the other and waving her arms in the air, ‘Woo-hoo!’ she yelled. ‘That showed him, eh?’

With that, she collapsed in a heap on the floor.

[Noah Phoenix]

Why won't it indent? How annoying...

[Noah Phoenix]

I'd love some feedback on this, the general flow, the idea, the characters. Any grammatical errors? Thanks very much for reading....

[chrispenycate]

Long. And yes, formatting doesn't transfer too well, does it?

In the dark, still of the night, they moved

unfortunately "still" as a noun has a meaning (a device for distilling). That would have to be "stillness"

the insatiable ever-constant hunger was all they could think of, it consumed their every thought, every muscle and bone in their evil, twisted bodies screamed in hunger

three sentences separated by commas.

The small window was open and swayed a little in the calm night breeze. The curtains were still beside the window, flowing every now and then as the breeze picked up

the window sways, the curtains are still except when they aren't? This isn't painting a very clear picture for me.

He looked to his left to his bedside table, his sword still sat where it always had.

the repetition of "to his" stutters a little, and there should be a semicolon or a full stop, not a comma.

and saw the familiar image of a ten-inch high fairy wearing a leather jerkin, dirty brown trousers and boots, stood arms crossed, an accusing look upon her fair face

"standing" rather than "stood"?

The farm stood two miles southwest of the twin villages of Locke and Paddletoe, which sat opposite each other on the shores of Lake Orsead. The lake stretched almost all the way across Endershall, and separated the capital city of Kernost and the Palace from the rest of Endershall. The country itself stood like the prow of a ship from the Varsil Mountains, as if reaching out into the vast ocean that surrounded two of its sides. At the point where it stepped out from the mountains, the country was just over sixty miles wide, thinning to a point at the very ‘prow’ to just a mile wide, forming a ragged triangle of desert, farmland and forests. The Palace Of Endershall stood at the prow, looking out over the vast ocean, sat upon the very edge of the country. If it wasn’t fully supported, it would have plummeted the thousand feet down the steep cliffs into the raging storm below. The storm was constant and stopped any vessels or explorers from getting anywhere near the foot of the cliffs. Endershall was once part of the country of Ascarin, but six hundred years ago, forever.

bit of an infodump, no? and I'd do some pluperfect ((If it hadn't been, Endershall had once been,the War of the Titans had separated them )

It still tormented him now, to think of all that heartache she had to go through after that fateful night.

no comma

but the strong brotherly bond that had been nurtured a loving family

in a loving family?

Right now, though, there were other things to worry about, like how the farms helper had managed to burn all the firewood; again.

why the semicolon? A dash, perhaps, or a full stop if you really need a big pause.

When he arrived downstairs, his mother, Tilley, was preparing the morning meal.

No comma after "downstairs".

He took a couple of seconds to take her in, the nights dreams had brought back to him the deep sense of loss he wished would leave him.

semicolon after "in", night's

At those times he remembered, he always took the time to take in the things he cared about, he always wanted to know that the people he cared about knew how he felt.

Three sentences. Or is that "At the times he remembered" (still two sentences)

It would have looked a little more convincing on a proper witches bent and crooked nose

witch's

it took six days to get rid of her new bright red tail.

it had taken

She was sure it was loosing its colour.

losing

As Aggies breath became a little erratic,

Aggie's

Aggie took a deep breath, ‘Get stuffed, Ragnorok!’ She screamed.

Full stop after "breath", no capital"S" for "she"

looking over Aggies body.

Aggie's

to flow like treacle through Aggies ears

Aggie's

Aggie had seen Death quite a few times now, being around it so much dulled the dramatic effect after the first few times.

Semicolon rather than comma

‘No, this aint correct, my boy.

either "ain't" or, to be consistent, "ent"

‘So today aint my day, then?’

either "ain't" or, to be consistent, "ent"

Aggies body was beginning to go limp as she spoke.

Aggie's

There's a lot of Granny Weatherwax in here; all right, she's an archetype, but she's also a well loved character from an author you don't want to be accused of stealing from. Not dangerous, yet, but deserves attention.

And please don't get impatient; this is a long piece (which will scare off several potential commentators in itself) and takes time to prepare (we do try and give more than "I liked it" round here) And people are in all sorts of time zones; it can take a day or two before the results are in.

[Noah Phoenix]

I appreciate your help very much. No matter how many times I re-read this, I don't pick up some things. So thank you!
As for the Granny Weatherwax thing, I completely understand what you're saying, but the character I have in mind is very much a mix of her and Gandalf. I love that type of guiding force behind everything, and that is something that is integral to the plot. I wouldn't change anything about that, as there are differences. I'm not out to do anything drastically new or create characters never seen before; I'd just like to write what I'd like to read, which also happens to be Pratchett. I wanted to have so archetypes in there, and a few others with a little twist, hence Fidget.
But I notice you make no mention of Death and TP?
But thanks again, I deeply appreciate your comments.

[pyan]

Chrispy is too polite to point it out more forcibly, Noah, but it is rather too long. It's rather off-putting when you face critiquing something this size

Did you read the stickies at the top of the thread? They're there for good reasons...

[Noah Phoenix]

My apologies. I'll chop it down a bit!

[Noah Phoenix]

O.K, maybe I won't. It won't let me now...Dang.

[Teresa Edgerton]

No, you can't shorten it now. Just remember the next time you post something for critique to give us a shorter excerpt.

Because it is so long, I didn't read very far. Aside from the things that Chris corrected, I was struck by two things:

One, you tend to be a bit redundant. For instance you use "enticing" and "tantalisingly" in the same sentence. Either word makes the point.

And two, you give too much information before it's needed, which breaks up the flow. For instance, when you describe how everyone at school thinks about Noah, which has absolutely nothing to do with the scene where it appears.

[pyan]

No, you're way past the time for the edit function to be still working - it cuts off after about twenty minutes to stop people re-writing post history.

What you can do, is copy and paste about a quarter of it, and re-post, taking in any of Mr Penycate's suggestions...

[Noah Phoenix]

I agree with you, Teresa. Perhaps it would be better suited in the scene with Tilley.....I've re posted as suggested with the changes also suggested. Thanks again!

[Teresa Edgerton]

Thread closed. Everyone with further comments please post them here:

Re-posted (shorter) Draft of Rise of the Titans