Gabriel Gray

The setting sun burnt against his dark skin, Jaryn slowly pulled the silk cloak over his toned chest, trying not to flinch as it rubbed against him. He gave a soft whisper into the ear of his horse, Mira. It came to a steady halt and gave a loud whinny. It was his third day in Seant and he was still an hour ride from the Stryn, it was Jaryn’s first journey outside of Rothen and he intended it to be his last, the blistering heat made even riding at a steady pace with Mira a struggle. He leant to the side of his horse, pulling his last water pouch from its holder and took a swig, if the Algian front didn’t allow him entrance, he wouldn’t be able to make it to Southern Dwyn by the end of the month, which wasn’t much of an option. He placed the near empty pouch back in its holder and gave Mira a light kick in the side, starting Mira in a fast trot. He heard voices, harsh orders being given and harsh replies. Jaryn touched the sheath by his belt warily. He hadn’t come all this way just to be robbed by common thieves. He slid down from Mira, the horse slowly coming to a stop once Jaryn had reached the ground. Three heavily armoured men, not bandits, too well prepared to be bandits. They made their way towards Jaryn without hesitation, tapping their spears on the floor in unison, behind them stood a man half a head taller than the other three, and twice as wide. His face round and lightly tanned, with a white scar crossing his right eye, or what would have been his right eye if it was still there. The one eyed man stared at Jaryn and barked
“Reveal yourself, by order of the Algian front. What’s your business here, Rotherian?” Jaryn slowly relaxed his hand, moving it away from his sheathed sword and replied curtly
“My name is Jaryn Hastyr’th, son of Dwayne Hastyr’th, Lord of Shuran’dir. I humbly request to stay a night in Seant Stryn and refill my water pouches, then be on my way to Southern Dwyn by dawn, if that so pleases the Algian front.” The three men slightly eased their spears, where as the large one eyed man stared at him intensely
“So we are in the presence of a Lord? I assume you have the appropriate paper work proving your royal status?” Jaryn gave him a slight nod, distracted by a long cold breeze, the first he had experienced since leaving Rothen. He withdrew a worn scroll from his belt and passed it to the one eyed leader.
“Who is in charge of Seant Stryn these days? The last I heard a man called Cynthar Defri’th held charge of the Stryn, is there any chance I could meet with him before I rest?” the three guards gave a roar of laughter, while a coy smile appeared on the leaders face.
“Today is your lucky day, young Lord. You are speaking to him.”


Jaryn couldn’t help but look at him suspiciously, this disfigured and overweight man was in charge of Algae’s Stryn? He had seen some over pampered Lords in his time, but never such a reputed warrior in such bad conditions. Cynthar eyed the Rotherian watchfully and explained
“We haven’t had more than a skirmish in over fourteen seasons, young Lord.” He subconsciously touched the scar on his eye “There has been plenty of ale and meat though.” Jaryn couldn’t help but give a hearty laugh, at least the man could admit he had let himself go. Cynthar turned bluntly to his men and instructed
“Harlow, you take Lord Hastyr’th to the ‘Black Thorn’ for the night” he turned to Jaryn “The cleanest inn we have” then to the other two “Pedron and Mykul, I want you two making sure nobody interrupts our guest, that includes beggars and prostitutes, unless our Lord requests them.” Jaryn made sure he didn’t react, he was unsure on how to take the comment, not wanting to offend or encourage in either case, it was a strange custom to adapt to, but adapt he must if he was to deliver his message in time.
“My thanks to you, Cynthar Defri’th, defender of Seant Stryn, may your sword be sharp and your days long.” Cynthar smirked at the Algerian phrase of friendship being used by a Rotherian.
“And may your sword be sharp and your days long too, Jaryn Hastyr’th. If you need anything, Harlow here will be more than cooperative.” The young soldier grunted at the comment, but glanced at the Rotherian to show he understood the command. Cynthar headed off to the south, whereas Harlow, Pedron and Mykul lead Jaryn towards Seant Stryn.


Jaryn shielded his eyes from the glaring sun, which stubbornly refused to set. A black gate blocking everything apart from the pale blue sky in front of him halted their movements. Jaryn had heard about how secretive the Algians were, along with a lot of other rumours, all of them worse than being secretive, that was for certain. The gates slowly creaked open, two men on each side pulling them apart to let the four men and Jaryn’s horse in. Jaryn looked around the Stryn, it was remarkable. For every hut and house, there was a blacksmiths or fletchers, lightly tanned women wearing little more than being considered decent were carrying around buckets of water to and from the well, whereas most of the men walked around with sheathed swords or daggers, all of whom looked ready to use it. Pedron went Mira off to the stables whilst Harlow and Mykul lead Jaryn to the ‘Black Thorn’. The ‘Black Thorn’ was twice the size of any of the other inns, as Jaryn entered through the murky door to a blast of silence. Heads turned towards the Rotherian, Jaryn was sure that he heard a few hissing at him. Harlow and Mykul towered over him, glaring at the customers.


Her veil covered most of her face, her sharp blue eyes stood out as the only distinguishable feature the girl had. She recognised two of the Rothen front soldiers as they made their way through the ‘Black Thorn’ and there was her target, the Rotherian. Biding her time she waited for the three to settle down and start drinking, to her surprise the dark skinned man refused the offer of ale and wine, insisting he had to go do something. The two men gave him a questioning look until he convinced them he would only be gone for a few minutes, or that was the impression she got from him. She had never been that good at lip-reading, or perhaps it was just the way the man spoke, with a slight accent which seemed to put her off. But surely enough he got up from the table and made his way round the back, the assassin smiled to herself – he was going to fill up his water pouches, a perfect opportunity. She kept to the shadows, ignoring the whistling and grabbing of the louts who spotted her moving towards the back room. One of the two guards glanced over at her, she looked at the floor trying to avoid his gaze. It was no good, he had spotted her and alerted the other, both of whom hurriedly picked up their spears and rushed into the back room after her. She saw the Rotherian slowly filling up his last pouch from the water tanker, she pulled out a jewel encrusted dagger and held back his head forcibly and whispered, with a slight whimper
“For the Dark Lord.” And slit his throat, the two guards came in just after, looking at Jaryn clutching at his throat, a look of dread and panic in his eyes. The woman snarled and lunged at Mykul, who fended her off and held her whilst Harlow lunged at her with his spear. Mykul ran over to Jaryn and held his head as he lay there bleeding to death, he spluttered
“Save the Nisoon, warn Rhalurn… Suran.” His head fell back into Mykul’s arms, who gently closed the young Rotherian’s eyes.


A fierce wind howled throughout Suran, rain poured down without any indication of easing up, the occasional rumble of thunder and the more frequent flash of lightening. A young lad stood motionless in the rain, his long black hair soaked to his skin, along with a silver streak barely recognisable from the rest. His skin was slightly brown, yet so faintly he was barely seen as different from his kinsmen. The one recognisable difference was his ears, pointed at the top, along with his teeth sharpened like a beasts. Not many knew it, but the young lad was what the Lorieans called a ‘Nisoon’, a half-breed amongst men.
“Burn my heart and purge my soul, I won’t be surprised if we all end up flooded.” Riocht murmured, it just wasn’t natural to be like this during the second cycle, there were rumours that the sun burnt its brightest in Algae, yet in Jordan it barely stayed in the sky for half of the day, sometimes even less. Slowly balancing the two barrels on either shoulder, he made his way to the ‘Eyed Mistress’, the only inn Suran had to offer its travellers. Riocht lived there with the landlord, Magnus Fynch, he had been brought up by the old man from ever since he could remember, whenever he asked the Magnus how he came to be looking after a child at his age, he always mumbled something about it being ‘the will of the Gods’ and then making him change a barrel of ale. Riocht got on well with the majority of the young Jordane folk, seeing as he had been brought up with most of them, the fact that he was a good foot taller than the best of them and stronger than the local ox, which had actually been tested after the third cycle’s festival, after a few too many pitchers of ale and the coaxing of his drunk friends. He was no older than twenty seasons, or so he assumed, seeing as Magnus couldn’t tell him exactly how old he was when he started to look after him. Trudging his way through the mud, he cursed the weather and cursed his luck at having left these barrels to go chasing after girls, rather than finishing the job earlier. Seeing the lantern outside of the ‘Eyed Mistress’ he gave the door a kick open with his left foot, cursing yet again when he realised he had left a dent in the door. He crouched to get through the door, giving Magnus a grim smile while he was cleaning the pitchers. Magnus just nodded sourly, he would have to scrub those floors again.


Lying on his single bed, Riocht stared over at the sword rack Magnus had placed there last season. His first sword was in the middle, shining from the polish he had used just that morning, beside it two long-swords, both belonging to Magnus, not that he had ever seen the old man spa with them. Riocht had often resorted to practising with Lord Rhalurn’s son Caylob, who more often than not gave Riocht a fair enough challenge, even if Riocht did under perform at times, it was worth it so that he could fight in the Palace’s courtyard. He stared outside of his window, counting the stars until he finally drifted off to sleep, not knowing how much his life was about to change, not knowing how much the lives off everyone were about to change.


Light broke through Riocht’s window, waking him instantly. He wasted no time in washing himself and mucking out the stables. Making his way out of the stables, he raised his hand to block the sun – there was something in the far off horizon, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He gave it no more thought, what was off in the distance was not any of his concern, it was for the Jordane Guard to sort out. He rubbed his chin, he could use a shave, and he was in danger of growing a beard at this rate. Considering the possibility of what the girls would make of his beard, he decided he would get it shaved later that day. Squinting again at the black mass in the horizon, it just didn’t seem right, he would tell Magnus about it later that day. His hand swayed to his sheathed sword, an unfortunate reaction he had whenever he heard somebody approach him. He turned to see Lord Rhalurn standing behind him, chuckling
“Careful now lad, you could hurt yourself with that thing.” Riocht gave an embarrassed smile as he let go off the hilt.
“What brings you this far from the Palace, my Lord?” Riocht asked, feigning interest.
“Call me Rhalurn, lad. I’ve been told by a few of the garrison that we might be having some visitors” he turned his head towards the black swarm in the distance “Well Burn my heart and purge my soul, it looks like soldiers of some sort.” His eyes were squinted looking that far, but Riocht noticed it too, they seemed to be carrying flags and banners. Riocht looked at Rhalurn’s face, it seemed to be turning paler by the second
“What is it, Lord Rhalurn? What’s the problem? The Jordane guard often make trips through Suran.” Rhalurn just ignored the boy, patting him on the shoulder murmuring words of reassurance, whilst never taking his eyes off the oncoming army.


Slowly making his way back to the ‘Eyed Mistress’ Riocht kept wondering what Rhalurn had meant, surely there was nothing to worry about, no invading army had crossed into Jordan in over thirty seasons, or so they say. Just the thought of it made him shiver, he knew there were different countries out there, even supposedly different type of people, some who are more beast than man, others who fly like the birds. Riocht considered them a myth, he wouldn’t believe anything until he saw it with his two eyes, he was not one to listen to stories about dark sorcerers roaming the streets, or assassins who are one with the shadow – not seen until they pull the blade from out your back. It was just bandits and street performers scaring country folk who knew no better. According to Caylob, there is a group of men who call themselves the ‘White Warlocks’ supposedly deeply involved in the Northern countries politics, along with claiming to have powers only bested by the Gods. Sometimes Riocht felt like holding the young Lord’s head under ice cold water until he came to his senses, he had boasted to Riocht once that he had something called a Shal’mar’th, apparently a magical talisman of some sort. It looked very impressive when he showed it to Riocht, but after spending two hours watching the young Lord trying in vain to get it to work, Riocht just assumed his friend had an over active imagination, just like the visitors Magnus had been entertaining for the last few weeks. People from as far as Shen’or’th, Broadin had visited the small inn, giving Riocht intrigued stares to say the least, all of whom whispered rumours similar to Caylob’s flight of fancies. He looked at the inn’s door, wincing at the crack in the bottom, reminding him of his over zealous kick the previous night and gently pushed the oak door open.

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Non Serviam

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BoredMormon

Makings of a good stroy. Lost the thread a few times when you switched characters. I'd be interseted in seeing what happens next. One easy improvement would be to cut your sentance length a bit. Some of them have a few ideas all stringed together. Would be easier reading to seperate unrelated stuff.

eg He placed the near empty pouch back in its holder and gave Mira a light kick in the side, starting Mira in a fast trot just as he heard voices, harsh orders being given and harsh replies to the one giving them.

Would read easier as: He placed the near empty pouch back in its holder and gave Mira a light kick in the side. Mira started in a fast trot. He heard voices, harsh orders and harsh replies.

See what i mean? But its your story, do what you want. Have fun.
BM out.

Gabriel Gray

Blood covered the floorboards and the ‘Eyed Mistress’ walls, Riocht emptied his stomach all over the floor as he saw Magnus’ body was laying in front of him, his head nowhere to be seen. His eyes darted around the inn, Jayne Erian’th had been cut in half, Krystof Macrion was so badly beaten it had taken Riocht a minute to recognise his face and Iyan Strorin’th was stuck against the bar, two pikes leaning out of his chest. Iyan gave a jolt, blood dribbling down from his mouth as he coughed. Riocht’s face was pale white, rushing over to the man, he asked softly.

“Who did this to you Iyan?” the man gave a splutter “Calm down, it’s alright I’ll go get the maidens.” Clambering out the door, desperately trying to keep himself together long enough to find one of the Healing maidens. Irene lived the closest, just a few minutes spring from the inn. Slamming his fists furiously against the maidens door caused more than just her door opening.

“Burn my heart and purge my soul, who is making all that commotion!?” Irene asked, half asleep with her hair all askew, half of it stuck to the side of her face.

“Irene, please quickly… come to the inn.” Riocht panted, desperately trying to get the words out “Dead… all dead… help Iyan, oh burn my heart, come quick.” Irene barely noticed the blubber coming from the young lad’s mouth, all she knew was that her healing was needed in the inn, to help some poor soul called Ian, or Iyan. Trudging through the thick mud towards the inn, she looked over at the young mans face, no tears were in his eyes – but there was something there, deep sadness etched in his expression. Her steps barely touched the ground. She gave a growl as she walked through the blood soaked tavern.

“We haven’t had a murder in Suran for over fifty seasons, let alone three in one night.” Riocht just gave a slight whimper, the only sign the lad had shown of feeling uneasy throughout the night. Irene hadn’t ruled out the possibility that this boy had been the cause of this mess. There was no doubt that the locals would blame him for it, unless she could save this Iyan in time. Carefully observing the two pikes impaling the merchant that squirmed in front of her,

“Boy, Riocht I believe?” he nodded uneasily “Could you remove the pikes for me? I need to tend to the wound, I’m afraid I don’t have the strength neither the stomach to remove it myself.” Riocht stared at her cautiously and proceeded to pull out the pike that had been wedged through Iyan’s shoulder blade. She tended to the wound, glancing at Riocht every so often. Something etched on the pike caught her attention, it stopped her from sewing Iyan’s shoulder back up mid-stitch.

“Maiden, in the name of Jhora; don’t stop now.” She looked up at the Nisoon’s face, giving him a sympathetic look.

“Riocht, I want you to listen very carefully to me. Take this pike to Rhalurn, trust nobody – he will know what is needed to be done once you arrive.” He stared at her as if she was crazy “Go! Nobody must stop you from living, you must live long enough to bring about the prophecy.” That was enough for him, he had heard enough of this supposed prophecy from Magnus, not that he took a word of it for truth. Yet here he was, staring at the decimated corpse of his guardian, the man who had cared for him as if he was his own flesh and blood. Dead, because of some damned prophecy. Wiping the blood off the pike on his trousers, he left the maiden to do her work.

Making his way through the streets of Suran, glares from his fellow townsfolk followed him as he quickened his pace slightly, if Irene was to be taken for her word, surely that meant that someone out there had meant to kill him, not just those who were unfortunate enough to be where he was supposed to. Three deaths all because of him, he stifled a sour laugh; he hoped it was only three. The mutters grew louder from the townsfolk, a smash nearly made Riocht jump out of his skin. A lantern had been thrown at him, encouraged jeers lead to another two being thrown. Had Irene expected this? Surely they couldn’t think he would kill old Magnus, or the others. He had grown up with most of them as friends, he had even taught some of them the way of the blade. A group of four men emerged from the crowd, each having their blades out, staring at Riocht with the look of murder in their eyes. The encouraging jeers quietened a little, threatening the lad was one thing, but this was nothing short of cowardice. Four grown blades-masters challenging a lad no older than twenty seasons, the crowd seemed to grow despite the concerned looks on their faces. He recognised one of the men, Petyr Bainstrin’th – the man who had taught him how to hold his first blade.

“Creature, Riocht as you do be called; you stand here today accused of the murder of Magnus Fynch, Jayne Erian’th, Krystof Macrion and hopefully just the assault of Iyan Strorin’th. May the Gods have mercy on your soul.” Petyr quoted, every word of which was the required way of accusing one of such crimes. Riocht knew the quote well, Magnus had been a court magistrate of Rhunia back in his youth. He had insisted on Riocht knowing the traditions and laws of Jordan. Riocht knew how to answer it all too well
“Petyr Bainstrin’th. I stand here today accused of crimes I have not committed, the murder of Magnus Fynch,” he flinched regrettably “Jayne Erian’th. Krystof Macrion and not of causing any harm upon master Iyan Strorin’th, who according to Irene, one of the Healing Maidens, wouldn’t be alive now if I hadn’t been so agile and quick with my words. You have no right to accuse me of these crimes, only Lord Rhalurn can stand before me and punish me if he so sees it fitting.” A smug smile fitted the four men’s faces, this worried Riocht to no end, surely they wouldn’t have…
“Regretfully the Lord and his son have been found murdered inside the Palace, the culprit – a servant, his name escapes me, has confessed to the murder and was hung immediately. As blades-master of Suran, I take command in Rhalurn’s name, may the Gods guide him to the passing.” Several weeps and wails came from the crowd. Riocht’s face was numb with shock. Five murders in one night, three of whom were the only three he could trust and in turn knew of his innocence.
Shaking his head slowly, he rested his left hand by his sheathed blade – he wouldn’t take a life if he could help it, but he wasn’t going to stand idly as they wrapped a noose around his neck either.

“Let it be known that I, Riocht Nyvern, have not spilt the blood of any man, nor woman in my life. I am caught up in something I care not about, but I shall not abide this corruption, I shall avenge the death of my dear Magnus, the father I never had. I shall avenge the deaths of Jayne and Krystof, two people I barely knew, yet deserved not this cruel fate.” Petyr nodded, indicating that his terms have been acknowledged, that he had refused to admit his guilt – he would now fight to the death. Petyr ran his index finger against his blade, the three men behind him withdrawing their blades, still with that sickening look of satisfaction on their faces. It had just dawned on Riocht what was happening, if he was killed here, that we be the end of the investigation. Glancing at the spear in his hand and the sword safely sheathed, he noticed the indented symbol on the spearhead, the mark of the Suran Guard. Why Irene had ordered him to go straight to the now deceased Rhalurn was painfully clear, the guards had been bought. That meant, surely that was impossible, the Suran Guard had killed their own leader, Lord Rhalurn. Riocht was sure that if he hadn’t already of spilt the insides of his stomach just under an hour ago, he would of done so again.

“How much gold did the dark one offer you, Petyr?” there was a harsh silence, “How long have you been planning to betray Suran, your own Lord, for gold?” his voice sounded rasp, an accusation which was only founded by happenstance. The dark glimmer in Petyr’s eyes merely confirmed the accusation Riocht had embellished, no admission of guilt would come from this traitor’s lips. A sense of justice and revenge came across the young man, if it had been him fighting four guards who believed he was such a monster, then his blade would of hesitated before the final strokes. Yet these were no guards of Suran, not any more. They were Dark minions, servants of the Emperor Jerayn Dreayrn, slaves to the Dark God himself – Nythorn.

A roar came from the first of the guard to attack him, Frederick Jaresrim his name was. Riocht remembered days when the giant of a man would teach him how to be one with his blade, speaking of honour and patience. Those words were dust to Riocht now, the pike blocking each blow as Frederick countered the young lad’s moves. A snarl covered the man’s face, every move Riocht made was being cancelled out. Riocht stumbled as Frederick charged at him, slamming his shoulder into the boy’s chest. The man held his sword pointed against his throat.

“I taught you most of these myself, boy. You shall taste steel tonight.” A gurgled laugh came from Frederick, blood pouring from his mouth. Confusion swept over Riocht’s face, along with those belonging to the three others. As Frederick fell to the ground, a small dagger remained lodged through the back of his head. Irene stood but twenty yards away, two blades in hand, one left sheathed.

“Dark minions, I smelt you miles off.” She gave a snarl at the three, Healing maidens were masters of herbs and healing, yet if Caylob was right, the light protect his soul, then Riocht had more than a chance of surviving. Hope overcame fear - he stepped forward towards the three remaining minions. The pike turned into a blur of steel, arced semi-circles keeping the three at bay. Irene’s hand threw two of her remaining blades at Petyr, one of which he blocked precisely with his sword, the other remained stuck in his thigh.

“Foolish maiden! Your little blades and half-breed won’t do enough to protect you.” Petyr sneered, pulling the dagger from his thigh with a contained yelp. The other two guards continued to fight Riocht’s pike, which he was treating as if it was a staff, continuously keeping the two blades away from him. Irene fingered the last dagger in its sheath, smiling at Petyr’s comment she withdrew it from its sheath and said

“You’re right, I don’t need the blade to protect myself,” She dropped it on the floor, “you are also right about me not needing the Nisoon to protect me” she waved a hand dismissively at Riocht, he was sent flying into Old Jarian’s barn. “What you do not realise it, foolish minion of the dark, is that I have been sent to protect this young Nisoon by the White ones themselves.” The remaining crowd gave a gasp, all slowly edging away from the confrontation. Not only was the Suran guard and Healing maiden fighting, but she was sent to Suran by the White Warlocks personally! One of the guards, who had gone over to finish the now unconscious Riocht off, dropped his blade at the revelation. Nobody used the White ones name as an excuse unless it was true, even as Dark minions they would not risk the wraith of the White Warlocks. He fled from the fight, leaving only Petyr and Naythan Leiron’th with their blades out.

“It is interesting that you accuse me of such crimes, black maiden.” Petyr spat, Irene’s face was distorted with outrage.

“How DARE you accuse me, Dark minion? Will you stoop so low as to accuse me of serving the God of Murder and Pain? After you have betrayed all sense of goodwill and honesty by killing the Lord you serve? Also needlessly slaughtering five others?” Riocht winced not only at the pain in his head, but at the comment. Poor Iyan, he was simply at the wrong place at the wrong time.
Had he just been slammed into that barn? He must have been caught off guard, whoever threw him that far must have been strong, dangerously so. Looking up at the two minions eyeing Irene nervously, he dusted off his trousers and removed his sword from the sheath.

“Now the numbers have evened out I see,” Riocht roughly shouted, “Perhaps now you could explain why you killed Magnus? Lord Rhalurn? Poor Caylob?” his eyes were now stinging, if he had to choose a time to mourn for those dead, now was not that time. Why were there only two of them left? Perhaps the third had been struck by one of Irene’s blades? If so, where was the corpse? He would ask Irene later, for now he would have to settle for fighting for his life.

Naythan sprung up into action, smashing his blade against Riocht’s with such passion it nearly overpowered the Nisoon before he could returns the blows. He could feel Petyr and Irene watching himself and Naythan fight, neither flinched when Naythan slashed at Riocht’s face, blood pouring down his face. Riocht fought back with brute force, for somebody so young, he over towered Naythan and even out powered him for a time. Riocht stared at the somewhat more experienced fighter that lay ahead of him, he licked his lips, the taste of blood seemed bitter – yet it gave Riocht what was necessary to continue. It gave him the memories of Magnus’ dismembered corpse, Caylob’s face flashed through his mind. He gave a cry of anguish, slashing the sword against Naythan’s chest. Another vicious swipe at the man, blood poured down Naythan’s chest. He fell to his knees, looking pleadingly at Petyr for help. Riocht stared intently into the man’s blue eyes, his life was in Riocht’s hands – at his mercy. Just as Magnus’ had been, the Nisoon swung the sword with such speed that Naythan’s head hit the floor before his body did. That was his redemption, but most importantly, that was his mourning.
Petyr gave a disgusted look at his companions on the floor. Two dead, one had fled like a coward. It was he who was now outnumbered, one of whom had the look of a man possessed, the other had used some sort of magic to cast the Nisoon aside, without uttering a word. If she hadn’t of tried to kill him, he would have bowed before her, surely only one of the Dark one’s minions could have done such a thing. Unless she was a Drornsoul, he flinched at the thought. No, she was adamantly denying she served the Dark one. Such a thing would be punished most severely by the Dark Lord later on, so she was either more than a Healing Maiden, or a suicidal Dark minion.

“Maiden, you have lived by my rule for nigh on twenty seasons. You choose today to reveal yourself? What do you expose yourself now for? Watch this filthy half-breed” he spat the name “die at my hands?”
Irene’s expression hardly wavered, a half-smile had appeared on her face when Naythan lost his head, but that’s as close as she got to showing real emotion. Something caught Riocht’s attention, there was a small talisman attached to the Maiden’s belt. There was something that Caylob had said to him which seemed immensely important now, yet he just couldn’t remember what it was.

“Shal’mar’th…” Irene’s head turned sharply towards Riocht, who looked equally as surprised with what he had just said. She gave him a slight nod as if acknowledging his statement. Irene raised her arms with such enthusiasm Riocht half expected flames to extrude from those fingertips. Instead he just heard a howl coming from Petyr, he had been thrown across the town. So it had been true, all of it. Shaking his head incredulously at Irene, it must have something to do with that talisman. She raised her hands again, sending the shaken Petyr another hundred yards, slamming into the back of a market stall. A groan came from the Dark minion, his body was shaking with fear. Riocht didn’t blame him, the fact that such magic existed terrified him, he had no idea how much worse it was for the one on the receiving side of the beating. It hit him like a cold winter’s breeze, he had been on the receiving side of her magic.

“I never thought it to be true… Can other people do such things? Could I do such things?” Riocht asked, Irene stared at him with fascination, she thought he off all people wouldn’t accept it that easily. Irene replied

“With training, perhaps. For now we have more important matters to attend. Such as what to do with this dark minion, Pedron was it?” a snarl came from Petyr’s throat as he screamed

“Petyr! Servant to the one who will have your soul, witch.” Irene gave a dry laugh

“That may be so, Petyr. He will not have my soul tonight, neither shall he have that of his loyal servant. I feel two will suffice for one day.” Glancing down on the corpses, as if they were nothing but dust in the wind. Riocht waited patiently for Irene instructions, he didn’t know any more about her than he did any of the Healing Maidens, yet she had saved his life; out of everyone here in this bloody town it was her who had vouched for him. The rest could burn for all he cared. he had to get out of Suran; out of Jordan.

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mwd

Gabriel Gray

Thanks for the help, i'll edit when i come home from work (Y).

I knew i had a few mistakes, i was just struggling to find them. Thanks for giving it a read, it's going to be continued (well already has been) for quite a long time if it interested you enough to want to read more.

I've edited the original post adding another page or so of the story, if you've only read upto Jaryn and his neck.

Thanks again,

Gab.

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>KârK<

Looking good. MWD has covered most of the minor grammatical niggles. I have to say that I was not in the least disorientated by the changes of character, (I thoght you did that rather well) but by the sheer quantity of names, places, nationalities etc. I'm sure that it would all come together nicely in the whole story. Keep it up!

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>Kârk<

Gabriel Gray

Just a quick question to thos reading it, would you prefer me to get rid of the guards names, leaving you only with Jarayn and Cynthar at the beginning?

Thanks for the comments, i'll be updating this regularly.

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OddGodHMK

There is some grammar I would change, though too much to point out. For example, though, there are some incredibly long sentences where the subject changes after a comma when you would be better using a full-stop, or some incredibly long ones that could be segmented allowing a better flow.

I think the death of Jaryn was too quick. The detail in the scene doesn't stand out as exciting - rather, it seems a little on the plain side to me. Perhaps use more description and again, cut down the sentences. If they're smaller, they read quicker, and can make the reader feel more excitement.

'Lightning', not 'lightening'. Also, you use 'lead' instead of 'led' at one point further up.

Is Riocht the Nisoon? I'm unclear.

I don't know what I think about dropping the guard names. Try it both ways to see what you think is best.

Hope this helps.

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Gabriel Gray

Just adds more things to the list

As for excitement, it's an introduction - to a potentially very long book. I don't think it possible for me to have you hanging on the edge of your seat whilst describing somebodies reaction to the heat, or being questioned about his royal status.

If i could keep that element of suspense going for over 125,000 words, i would.

Thanks, i'll take some of what you said into consideration, most of which is going over what others have said.

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Wilem

So far I like it, nice descriptions and I was rather surprised when Jaryn got murdered. Very interesting would like to read more.

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Gabriel Gray

This is an on-going story guys, if you are interested with what i've posted so far; then keep viewing this thread etc.

I've edited my second post with more of the story, thanks for the comments and corrections.

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Gabriel Gray

I hope i'm not being rude here but; if you read my story, if you like/dislike it, but you have read it; then could you please post your views on it? I'm sure that all of the 144 viewings on this weren't just me, surely at least 10% read it? Common courtesy, really.

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DavidGil

Gabriel I want to be honest here. I skipped through quite a bit of the first post because I did admittedly find it a bit hard to read. But it's not all bad, you wanted my comments on the story itself. It seems that you have put a lot of thought into the work and it does seem complicated. It seems particularly well done because you seem to be focusing on politics with the backstabbing? So you did good on this aspect and I hope you continue it. But I did find it hard to follow.

I think what the piece would benefit from is some proof reading and quite a few of the sentences being split up into two or more. Now the switching, I don't have much of a problem with it now having talked to you about it. But I think there are certain instances, where the piece would benefit from scene dividers. So a simple **** in-between the two paragraphs where the switch occurs will help in that regard.

Now the dialog from your second post onwards from what I can see is much better. So well done on that front.


So basically to sum it up, I think it needs tidying up but you could have something good on your hands here. It's probably not what you wanted to hear regarding the negatives, but I don't believe in just saying that I think you could have something good on your hands here without pointing out faults.

I don't really know what to go over for you either, hence the lack of an in depth critique. There's too much here I think for me to critique in one sitting, also.

Anyways, I hope this helped at least somewhat and I wish you the best of luck with the piece.

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Gabriel Gray

Very much so, i've been slowly changing the first part with help of someone on this forum. I pretty much just need people to read it and go "Right this bit held me, this bit totally lost me, i was intrigued by this, this put me off..." pretty much like you just did, along with some personal friends.

I explained certain bits to a friend, where he was confused; he re-read them and appeared alot more encouraged by the story. So perhaps it is just the way i put it across, i feel this has potential if i can stick to it.

Thanks for the comments, believe it or not; they do spur me on, rather than coming back to my old posts.

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