blackbones

Sorry, I didnt mean for it to sound like I was begging for reviews... I just meant that i needed lots or critisism.... please don't take it the wrong way. I cant find a way to edit the thread title, so its stuck like that...

Authors note: Every story is a love story. Of course, every story should also have its fair share of violence, bloodshed, angst, awkward moments, cool hats, doomsday bombs, and evil beings that are just misunderstood.





Prologue





In the beginning there was the Kren’shzez, the void. There was no dark or light, just a heavy grey, the color of a thick fog.

In the beginning there was the Khel’nazg, the Void. There was no dark or light, just empty gray, the color of northern fog.
When the first tiny thread of life and matter appeared, it grew and thickened, filled with glowing vibrant silver mist that shone through the glasslike exterior against the gray monotone of the Khel’nazg. The mist was the ether– the base for all magic and all life. This thread, called the Tharu, at last swelled so that it shattered into billions upon billions of broken shards of life to spread across the Void. But the ether inside the Tharu spilled as well, and it affected all the shards it touched so that they changed, and melded together, and the first of the races appeared– the Elves. Fueled by the life force from the broken Tharu, they grew diverse, and multiplied, into three distinct species: the wood elves, the high elves, and the dark elves, who gave themselves the name of drow.
Other races evolved as well– the humans, short lived yet power hungry; the dwarves, natural miners of the earth and metal; the dragons, bestial creatures of great intelligence but rarely of great wisdom, so often were they blinded by wealth… and many others, or variants of the species. There were animals as well– more in tune with the way of the land and sea: the wolves, the panthers, the sharks, and the falcons– these were the hunters, and they had prey– the hares, the sparrows, the minnow, and the rats, among many other creatures. This animate life lived in harmony with the non–animate life– the trees and grass, the microorganisms of the sea. Life flourished.
As the races diversified, so did the shards they lived in. Although they were melded together, each shard built up a strong border, so that it grew on its own and developed its own ecosystem and way of balance. The shards became the worlds– each one a separate plane of existence. As time passed, the inhabitants forgot they were not the only world. Save one. This world was leftover, a little bit of every world that wouldn’t fit where it was supposed to. So in this way every world was tied to the One.
Out of the maelstrom of scraps of life came Istrakune, the Sea. She settled in the One and little by little the rest settled as well, coming to solidify as islands in her great, enveloping arms of salty water. The life that lived in the other worlds grew on the small islands, and over time Istrakune gave birth to a huge continent called Vaerûnoch. And for a while it seemed that the One would become as the other worlds were, separated and without ties to the rest of the broken Tharu. But it was not to be.
The One was still bound to the other worlds, and the ties were weak. Over a space of nine days, three thousand years after the One came into being, two rents were torn in the thin fabric of ether that only just separated the One from the rest of the worlds. The tears started leeching life and magic from the One. Great powers from other worlds recognized this problem, for it was affecting their worlds as well. So they granted the One powerful spirit–gods: six for the elements– Fire, Wind, Thunder, Earth, Shadow, and Light. The seventh element they did not need, for Istrakune, being the Sea, was the embodiment of Water, and already resided in the One. Yet it was no longer always called the One, for when the Seven came, they named the world Elmantis. Together the Seven– Xyrdul-veil, Harrosha, Tzaar’kuax, Lorrelaiden, Khorthage, Uzalos, and Istrakune found and sealed one hole, and to this day a spirit called G'ruune Thadel guards it, and it is regarded as a natural phenomenon. It was named Fyynatis.
But the other rent remained hidden, and if Khorthage knew where it was, only he would know. For the second rent was underground, where the drow elves and shadows resided, and where Khorthage reigned. But it wasn’t accessible, it was buried under tons of sand and rock and water. It lay under Istrakune, deep beneath the surface of the world, and over time it was forgotten. But it still grew, as a rip in a sheet of cotton would grow if you pulled it from both sides. Yes, Khorthage knew where it was, but the great spirit of darkness told no one. He was always manipulating and whispering foul things in the ears of others, so he was cast out of the Seven. The drow worshipped him, and he taught them his ways, of the traitor and the assassin and the evil.
But the evil remained hidden and forgotten underground, so it was ignored, and life in the One prospered. But the Seven, now Six, created spirits for other things as well– the embodiment of the wolf, and the hunting cat, and the snake, and for each of the other animals and things, even lesser personifications of the elements themselves. These spirits multiplied and formed noble houses and clans of their own, but they were regarded with jealousy by the common people of Elmantis. So the spirits of the creatures came to be known as demons, and were shunned.
All this time– a period that still continues today, called AN for ‘After Naming’ for all the changes that went on after the two rents were made in the ether and Elmantis was named– demons, real demons, things of shadow and red fire and dark blood, were crawling out of the underground rip and were slowly bending under the will of Khorthage, becoming slaves for the great dark-god, and even the fire spirit, who resided within the mountain that was also gifted with his name, Xyrdul-veil, began to deteriorate and became tainted by the shadows.
So it came to pass that Elmantis was made. It is fading, yes, always fading, for the bits of the broken Tharu are draining out of the underground rent. Khorthage is helping them along, all the time, he is sacrificing a part of his power to make that rent, at first only the size of a small sailing boat, a little bigger. But what he doesn’t know is that as the ether– magic– of Elmantis drains away, his strength is draining too. So we can only hope that Khorthage’s power will run out before the magic of the One vanishes forever. You see, because Elmantis is bound to every other world, when it fails, all the other pieces of the shattered Tharu will die as well. The fate of Tharu rests, ironically, on the strength of Khorthage…

blackbones

The house was burning.
It had been a large house, with three stories and a tall, spindly tower on one end. Large, but not elegant. Constructed of old bricks, stones, warped wood, and bits of scrap metal, it looked like some ancient monster that had risen up out of the marshland that surrounded it.
Built only twenty years ago, it had nonetheless been held together more with magic than mortar, and the flames ate into every spell, every suture. It was violet fire, conjured with a spell and not with oil, and gave off the scent of raw power, much like lightening did.
The house was burning.
Honorius Von Daerthé pulled himself to his feet using a fallen beam. He had given two of the three swords he owned to his mate, Luna. She was clutching them now, her long silver hair whipping around in the wind caused by the raging fire. A little girl of perhaps five clung to her skirts. Glaring at them over his shoulder, he cried, "Luna! Take Rolin and go! Get out of here!"
"I'm not leaving without you!" she called back, her delicate voice almost lost on the wind.
"Get out," he said again, a cold note of finality in his voice.
"But–"
"GO!" Another beam cracked and fell between Honorius and his family.
Tears streaming down her face, Luna nodded, scooped up the child, and ran. As she ran, a change seemed to come over her: bones snapped and crackled as they bent to fit a new shape, muscles rippled down her body. Where a delicate young woman had been was a lithe, powerful wolf– five feet high at the shoulder and coated in fur the same silver as her human form's hair. Seizing her daughter and the two swords delicately in her jaws, she leapt free of the blazing house and streaked across the moors, stopping on a small hillock a safe distance away. Lying down among the large, grey boulders, she coughed, and blood spattered the ground. A hole had been bored into her side by some magical bolt of energy, and had pierced her lung. Trying to rise shakily, it occurred to her that she wouldn't live much longer. "Rolin..." she called, beckoning the child from where she had wandered over to gaze at the destroyed house. She didn't have the energy to say any more. The girl-child walked awkwardly toward her mother, kneeling down next to the huge wolven head.
"Mommy?" she asked quietly. She patted the soft fur on her forehead, gazing directly into those stunning blue eyes.
The wolf gagged and spat out more blood. "Don't... touch me."
She lay there, breathing shallowly, for more than a minute. She had only been able to run out of desperation and the desire to save her child, but doing so had nearly torn her lung in half. With a sudden shudder that rippled through her whole body, Luna gave one last, sad little howl, and died.
"Mommy?" Rolin asked again. She was too young to understand death: to her, the wolf was only sleeping. Curling up by her mother's side, the girl fell asleep, her tiny wolven ears flicking gently above a shock of white hair, drawn back in two pigtails. A little tail sprouted from behind her, and her soft, black nails would one day grow into razor sharp claws. But she would grow up alone.
Honorius watched his mate and daughter run for a moment, and then turned to face his enemy, the one who had set his house on fire, the one who he had been warring with for the last decade.
The other male had dark, ebon skin, and long scarlet hair that waved gently in the fiery breeze. Three sets of horns grew from his head, two that were strait as ramrods, and another pair that curled around his long, elven ears. Even from the distance of several meters, Honorius could see his opponent's eyes glowing red.
"Shame to see such a... great... personage as you fall in this way," Zarrl Kurzaden said suavely. His voice rustled above the sound of the fire like the silk of his robes. Spider silk, Honorius knew.
"At least I don't live underground," he called back. "Surely one who lives so low cannot sink any lower."
"At least I'll be alive," Zarrl retorted, and let a sphere of electrical energy grow in his palm. "Farewell, wolf demon..." A lancing bolt of lightening arched toward Honorius. Acting purely out of instinct, he brought up his sole remaining sword to deflect it–
He remained conscious long enough to see the thunder demon disappear with a soft pop. And then the house came crashing down around his pointy, wolven ears.

blackbones

I hope it wasn't too long winded, it improves significantly as it goes along... I hope. Should I keep it?

DavidGil

As someone that writes fantasy, a bit of advice much along the lines of what WordWeaver said, though I haven't read it yet. I will do so and provide my thoughts regarding the piece afterwards.

I think it is indeed best to try and be as unique as possible, with the races used if you want to get it published but if it's just for your own pleasure, then there's nothing wrong with it.

In the first fantasy piece that I wrote on here, I had a race sorta like the elves but I tried to put my own spin on it by renaming, them. Nowadays, its mainly light magic and creatures, medieval themed much like some of the most recent fantasy novels, though I'm trying to use a unique story.


So basically, if you want to be published, I would try to bring freshness to the genre. I'm not saying the book won't get published with orcs and that in, but there may be less of a chance.

Edit: Always been a pet peeve using the same old races and such for me, in terms of my writing.

DavidGil

Okay, before the critique:

I see you worked hard on this. When I came to try and write the creation story for my works, I was clueless as to what I should write so I commend you on this part. It was well put together. I do however, think you could lose this section and explain the world through the story itself feeding small hints. Keep it for your own reference though, by all means.

Hope the critique helps.

DavidGil

I don't have much comments for this part, except maybe to put spaces between the paragraphs towards the end so it's not all joined together. That said, I would look through the piece and see if there's any words that aren't nessecary. Though I don't really think that's much an issue, it is mainly action.

blackbones

Thank you for all the advice, I have used much of it and I think its already looking better. I will repost the edited part when i have time. WordWeaver, I see what you mean, and I agree that the concept of elves is extraordinarily un-original. It plays a part in the story though, and I did not have lord of the rings in mind while I was writing... Anyway elves play little role in the story. Perhaps I will take out the prolouge all together.

On to the first chapter?

Part I

- - -

1

The ceiling blurred. Rolin could no longer make out the crack that radiated two feet from the light fixture, huge though it was. She wasn't really looking at the ceiling, anyway. She was meditating, feeling her lifeblood coursing through her veins. It gave you the most interesting feeling: you knew you were alive. She would get punished for this, she knew: Saphta, the prefect, would report it to the warden and the warden would tell the Headmaster, and then Rolin would be punished. That's what always happened. Yes, the punishable offense this time would definitely be 'loitering' or 'procrastinating' or something in that category.

Rolin despised Saphta. Saphta could stand out without even trying. Her long, golden-blonde hair was always silky smooth. She came first in every subject, every year, except Fighting Arts, which "proper young ladies shouldn't learn anyway." She was rich. She was popular. She was the same age as Rolin. And she always made sure that Rolin was severely "punished" at least once a week.

Rolin was Saphta's exact opposite.

Rolin was somewhat of a loner, and could stand out just as easily as Saphta, but not in a good way. She wore a trenchcoat, a garment made out of a black, silky material, and anything that didn't have ruffles, lace, sparkles, rhinestones, embroidery, or any other form of decoration save cynical messages. Her hair, which was cut in a shag just above her earlobes, was mouse brown. Her eyes were amber, but they leaned more toward the yellow side then brown.

Rolin had come first in Fighting Arts, but not as high in every other subject– especially math– because she simply didn't see the point. She couldn't see why she would need to know how to use quadratic equations in later life.

Her mother and father had died in a fire caused by an arsonist near the end of the war between Zael'drenath Hurele and the Spineatian government. No one knew how five-year-old Rolin had escaped the fire, but she did. She had been sent to the Eclaver College for Young Ladies (Established 1309) when she was discovered on the open moors three days after her parent's mansion had been burned. That was nearly ten years ago now. Rolin was fourteen, and she was going to turn fifteen in two days. Fifteen. She would be old enough to get a job and earn enough money to buy a pair of decent swords. Rolin had spent hours looking through a catalogue, and had ended up choosing a pair of very plain scimitars.

She was bored. The alive feeling had lost its interesting sensation, so she got off her bed in the corner of the tenth-year's dormitory– it was summer, and with the end of the last term had come the placement of the students in their new dorm rooms, walked down four flights of spiraling stairs, and went into the kitchen, where she snagged a couple of cookies from a bowl on the counter. She put most of them in her pocket, but kept one out for eating immediately. She left through the back door into the courtyard.

Saphta was there.

"Well, well, if it isn't the reject to rule all rejects. What's that in your hand?"

"Cookie." Rolin said through a mouthful of the said food item. "What, may I ask, do plan on doing about it?" Rolin spat, more than a little miffed at the comment, despite the fact things like that were said to her on a daily basis.

"Calm down. You'll hurt yourself. As for what I'll do about the cookie, I shall have to confiscate it. Anyway, what were you doing up in the dormitory so long? Dreaming about your stupid swords?"

"We know you failed Fighting Arts, but that's no reason to persecute it," Rolin said smoothly.

"I wasn't persecuting it. You have been obsessing over those swords for weeks. I mean really. They're just hunks of metal." Saphta retorted.

"Yes, but sharp ones. And ones with souls. Tell me, Saphta the delicate, have you ever held a sword with a soul? It speaks to you, and tells you of its longing for blood, its longing to kill. You get to know what it's like to be a 'hunk of metal', as you call it."

"You are so... morbid. That's disgusting." Saphta wrinkled her nose.

"Joy." said Rolin sarcastically.

"You know, that coat of yours. It's quite ugly. I mean, who do you think you are?" Saphta tried to change the subject.

Rolin shrugged. "Myself. And I've never been one for fashion."

Saphta rolled her eyes. "Anyway, I shall inform the warden about your possession of food outside of the dining hall, and give you an hour of detention."

Rolin put her hands behind her back, as if reciting a lesson. "I could not care less. You see, I, unlike you, do not especially care about spending sixty minutes sitting on a splintery bench. It's really not that bad. And it's no different than sitting in the dormitory. Or the courtyard." She popped another cookie into her mouth. "As for that meringue... I believe you now have absolutely no evidence that I ever had it, although, I confess, I have more. " She turned, her coat billowing in the breeze, (for in Eclaver, the northernmost of the islands of the Spine, the archipelago country on the planet of Terakis, was also the coldest, even in summer) and left, heading in the direction of the detention room, leaving Saphta standing there, her mouth hanging open in annoyance.

- - -

The detention room was dark and musty, the only light coming from a lone light bulb on the ceiling and a grimy window in the back of the room. Rolin plunked the rest of the cookies on the detention master's desk and he gave her a book. It was a pact they had: she brought him food and he lent her books to read during the long hours of detention.

"Thank you, punk." He addressed everyone as "punk", for reasons unknown.

"Any time, Mr. Halbrig." She looked at the cover of the book. It was entitled "The Topography of the Spine." It looked okay. Rolin shuffled to the back of the room and sat herself down on the bench. She opened the book to a random page. It was the beginning of a chapter: "Chapter Sixteen: The Island of Fyynatis." She gasped involuntarily. They had never been taught about Fyynatis in geography! (not that she ever paid attention, but...) Before now, she had thought there were only fifteen islands. Intrigued, she started to read.

"The island of Fyynatis is not a true island. In fact, there is no land in it's region at all. It is the opposite of an island: Fyynatis is a great sinkhole, with a diameter of over two hundred yards. It is located at the 11N latitude and the 83E longitude, quite far removed from the rest of the Spine. This is fortunate, as the Intake Current that surrounds it has a general circumference of roughly forty hundred yards. There is also a whip-tail current that extends in the direction of the "main" Spine that leads to Fyynatis and has been used by the people of the Spine as a transport for the dead to the burying ground, of which Fyynatis serves it's only rational purpose. Fyynatis has also been used as a genocide tool for various power holders throughout history. It is also said to be a portal to the Land of the Dead.

The name Fyynatis comes from the Ancient language: the words "Fyyn" (final) and "Atis" (death). Final Death. The place of eternal slumber.

When flying directly over Fyynatis on the back of a hippogriff, you may catch a glimpse of fire within its depths. This is simply a natural phenomenon caused by undersea volcanos in that area. There is nothing else known about the mysterious sinkhole of Fyynatis, or if there is, I have not had the opportunity to learn it."

Rolin was suddenly interrupted from reading the rather morbid excerpt as the door to the detention room swung open. A young girl with reddish hair and freckles who was probably in grade four reluctantly approached Mr. Halbrig's desk.

"What are ya here for, punk?" It was evidently the little girl's first time in detention.

"For the use of chalk in an improper manner. I am to stay for ten minutes."

Rolin snorted. The use of chalk in an improper manner? It was quite obvious that the warden was being even more strict than ever. Or it simply could have been the effect of Saphta being a Prefect.

"Very good, very good. Now if you will take a seat..." said Mr. Halbrig. "As for you, Rolin: no talking, noisemaking, etceteras during detention. I am adding fifteen minutes on to your sentence."

The little girl looked at Rolin, amazed. She had never heard of anyone getting over twenty minutes of detention. Her amazement escalated. This was the 'genetic mistake', apparently, that the blonde Prefect had been muttering about.

Mr. Halbrig continued: "What's your name?"

"Coliina, sir."

"Very well, punk. Go sit down." Coliina went over to where Rolin was sitting.

"May I sit here?"

"Sure."

Coliina looked at the book in Rolin's hands. "Mr. Detention Master–"

"Halbrig."

"Mr. Halbrig, this... genetic mistake–"

Rolin glared at her. And being glared at by someone who is much older and taller then you is rather frightening.

"Rolin."

"Mr. Halbrig, Rolin has a–" Coliina continued quietly, afraid of receiving another death glare.

"Book. Yes I know. I gave it to her, for a price. Now be quiet."

"Can... can I have a book?" Coliina asked tentatively.

"I said for a price. Do you have something that would be worth anything to me?"

"Like what?"

"Food. Apparently you don't have any. And you know what? You're not going to be here very much longer anyway."

Coliina looked at Rolin in distaste, and stuck out her tongue. "I'll be out of here sooner than you!" She whispered.

Rolin shrugged. "Shut up, brat. I'm trying to read."

She turned back to the book. She flipped to the next page, but there was nothing more on Fyynatis. That was it. In fact, the rest of the pages were completely blank. Disappointed, Rolin closed the book and started reading it from the beginning.

- - -

Exactly sixty-four minutes after Rolin began reading The Topography of the Spine and fifty-three and a half minutes after Coliina had left, Mr. Halbrig rang the 'Time Up' bell. Startled, Rolin dropped the tome and, slightly embarrassed, reached down to pick it up. She dusted it off and got up to put it on the Detention Master's desk.

"Mr. Halbrig, do you know where I can get any more information on the sinkhole called Fyynatis?" she asked politely.

"I'm afraid I don't know any more specific volumes on it, punk. But you could check the Chapterhouse."

"Oh." The Chapterhouse was located on the other side of Eclaver, and students were almost never issued permits to go there. "Can you give me a permit?"

"No. I do not have that authority. You could ask for a permit as a birthday gift. As I recall, you have a birthday in two days. Right?"

"Yeah. I guess I could try. Thanks. Bye, Mr. Halbrig!" Rolin rushed out of the Detention room. It was already dusk. Her favorite time of day. Quickly, she located the school's astronomy tower, and ran over to it. She looked at the prefect guarding it and grinned at her good fortune. It wasn't Saphta. Nodding to the guard, she pushed open the door and began to climb the narrow wooden stair.

The stairway looked the same as ever, with plaster peeling off the walls and coating the already dusty steps. Climbing up the last flight, Rolin ducked her head to avoid knocking it against the door frame, and entered the little room at the top of the tower.

Stepping through it, past the mechanism that made the oxidized, green roof rotate, the huge, ancient telescope, another machine that closed the slit in the roof where the telescope looked out, and over a fuzzy carpet of unnamable color, Rolin unlatched a door opposite the one she had just entered and stepped outside. Ignoring the puddles of rainwater that coated the rubber sheets on the floor of the balcony, left there from the latest storm, Rolin skirted around to the south end of the tower and leaned out against the cast-iron rail.

The purpose of scaling the astronomy tower, for Rolin anyway, was to watch. Specifically the violent eruptions of the ever-active volcano island of Xyrdul-veil, which was just close enough for it to be visible, but far enough not to be dangerous. But today...

There was no telltale glow emitting from the volcano, and no rain of sparks and lava decorating the sky in their pyromaniacal splendor.

Something was very, very wrong.

~Kouryuu~

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