Spartan

This is the first chapter of my story, working title "Tira'Ferma". Each chapter surrounds a different character, witnessing a different important event in this fictional land. Each story has similarities, and some may have somewhat discrete connections. At the end of the book, it is my intent to connect all the chapters completely, revealing some info that will blow your mind.
Keep in mind that this first chapter is definitely not my best. The story gets better as I continue to write.


Chapter 1

Tall grass flowed in the wind upon Central Field of Tira’Ferma. The Heavy glow of Helios reflected off the small pools strewn throughout the plain. Blood dripped slowly into one of these pools. A torn and shredded human body lay beside it. His claws slowly retracted into his fingers, and his digitigrade legs reformed into those of a Human. His muzzle shortened, and once again became a human Jaw.
A dozen feet away, another body lay. His skin was shredded, as if by an animal. His jaw was broken, and his ear had been ripped off. Fangs retreated into his jaw, wings shrank slowly into his back, and steam rose off his body as the sun’s rays hit him.
“Anything you can do for them?”
“Nah...the werewolf’s been bitten, and the Vamp has been in the sun too long.”
“Should we...clean it up?”
No. Let the Dragons have them.”

Diagnosing the dead is not a very rewarding job. The Watch was never ‘thanked’ for their contributions to society. Barely enough money was bade to live by.
But Ezekiel, song of Zacharias, was content. His partner was smart and followed orders well. The Were-Vamp War, as he called it, seemed to be slowing down, though that still meant at least five deaths a day. The Dark Soldiers were gaining ranks rapidly, which meant population of Elves and Goblins was lowering rapidly as well.
The same problem would happen with Dwarves, but they could look after themselves.
“Racists”, sort of. The Dark soldiers were simple humans who felt they deserved power. Humanity should govern all else, they would shout. Ezekiel felt himself neutral. Dwarves, Elves, and Goblins should be allowed to do whatever they want. Not that he was particularly a friend of their kind, but he didn’t really care.
At least the lycanthropes and Caninus Werewolves were neutral towards each other now. In the past they would constantly fight, destroying whole towns. Eventually the Lycanthropes would always win, but it was a close match.
Gods and Demons were persistently at war. They would destroy whole villages in seconds...unless the Wizards stepped in. Staff Wizards and Wand Wizards. Hunted by all, feared by all as well. Wizards were immortal. All, so far, had been heroes; therefore, they Wizards were cautious to accept Humans who could turn against them. Twelve Staff Wizards guarded the twelve elemental regions of the land. Wand Wizards had not been seen for centuries, though some believe they simply went into hiding.
Ezekiel constantly thought of these things. The world in which he lived was a disaster, and people looked to law enforcement to clean it up. So many wars, so many deaths. Everyone Paranoid.
Diseases strewn everywhere.
Population of the diseased was growing.

“Quarrel in Middle Mark,” Ryan, Ezekiels partner said, “Attempts to break it up have been unsuccessful. It is reported to be between a werewolf, already transformed, and a regular human.”
“Caninus or Lycanthrope?”
“I believe its Lycanthrope,” Ryan said.
“Best we back silver arrows.”
“Agreed.”

Ezekiel stepped onto the threshold of the hostage building. Three dead bodies lay not ten feet away from him; their jugulars ripped out. Zeek sighed and stepped over them. In the upper landing he heard a whimper, then a growl.
Blood coated the stairs Zeek had to walk. The Growling grew louder; no doubt the wolf had smelled him already. He crept around a corner into a large sitting room. The sofa and chairs were ripped to shreds. In the middle of the wreckage stood the Lycanthrope.
Lycanthropes are the bipedal version of the classic 4 footed werewolf. It had the head of a wolf, the torso of a very muscular (and very hairy) human, arms of a human (but with claws), and Digitigrade legs, like a dog. The only way to kill a Lycanthrope was with silver.
It stood facing Ezekiel, breathing heavily and shuffling its legs. It did not make to attack, but simply stood there; as if expecting the Human to go first. Zeek reached behind his back and pulled a silver dagger from his belt. He brandished it in front of him, making the wolf flinch slightly. Both beings took small steps toward forward, and then the wolf lunged, throwing Zeek to the ground. Zeek turned the fall into a summersault, and held his silver dagger out in front of him. The wolf leapt to his feet again, brandished his sharp claws and bared his teeth.
Zeek tossed the silver blade up into the air. It glinted in the sunlight on its way down, making the wolf roar, and he caught it smoothly. The Lycanthrope made a swipe at Ezekiel, but missed by an inch.
Zeek Lunged with the knife, and pierced the wolfs bicep. It roared and stumbled backward. Then turned and leapt out of the window behind him. Zeek followed, landing heavily on his feet and twisting his ankle, but he chased the fleeing fugitive nevertheless.
The legs of the werewolf were much better suited for running than those of a Human, and the criminal was soon no where to be found. Zeek turned, and made to walk back to the scene of the crime. He heard a growl behind him, and without thinking, whipped out his dagger and thrust it towards the source of the noise.
The Silver blade pierced up to the hilt in the werewolf’s flesh, and steamed viscously. Red blood, glowing slightly, flowed out of the wound. The wolf howled, fell backward, and began to whine slightly. Ezekiel knelt next to the beast.
It coughed up blood.
Suddenly, the beast roared, and bit Ezekiel on the thigh. This last maneuver wasted the last of its energy, and it moved no more.

Ezekiel walked along a path in a children’s park at midnight; twirling his truncheon. His thigh began to itch, and he dropped to one knee.
The full moon, which had sat behind dark storm clouds, showed itself.
Ezekiel Howled.

__________________

Zorell

"His claws slowly retracted into his fingers, and his digitigrade legs reformed into those of a Human."

I was wondering (not dwelling) if this was a capitalization error, or a special species?


"Suddenly, the beast roared, and bit Ezekiel on the thigh. This last maneuver wasted the last of its energy, and it moved no more."
I also want to say that I love how ambiguous this statement is while still telling you what any fantasy reader knows.

(Oh, and the chapter wasn't as bad as you thought, but it did kind of feel like a prologue.)

__________________
Life is lighter when you shed your leaves,
better when you nurture your branches,
and more fulfilled when you strengthen your roots.

Spartan

Oh, it was a chapter
I copy+pasted it from another forum i posted it on, and at that time I had considered it a chapter. Its more of an introduction into the world, now.

EDIT: i have a typing problem. I randomly capitalize words.
While humanity i a race/species, it doesn't need to be capitalized.

__________________

Cefor

You capitalised Heavy in the first line of the piece too... was this intentional or not?

Well, I think that it is too much of an infodump. It would work if there was something else after it.... but there isnt so far, so it isnt that effectuve on its own, try to add another chapter and that should make it better.

__________________
Knowledge is Power

Veni, Vedi, Vici - Julius Caesar

Who Dares Wins

Sparx

I commend you on your good grammer and spelling. However, i got some qualms with this piece of the story. Firstly, some parts of the story read like info-dumps for exaple:

The same problem would happen with Dwarves, but they could look after themselves.
“Racists”, sort of. The Dark soldiers were simple humans who felt they deserved power. Humanity should govern all else, they would shout. Ezekiel felt himself neutral. Dwarves, Elves, and Goblins should be allowed to do whatever they want. Not that he was particularly a friend of their kind, but he didn’t really care.

This is all interesting stuff and i understand its a prologue and your trying to give the reader some background information but you could do it in more subtle and interesting ways than simply through exposition. Why not reveal this information through dialogue or weave it though a scene. It would feel less artifical that way.

Apart from the info-dumping at certain points, it certainly sounds interesting. I would love to know more about this Ezekiel character and the whole war between the dark soldiers, werewolves and dwarves.

__________________

"KNIVES AND RHYMES"

Spartan

i said that i have lots of typos, and i sometimes randomly capitalize words. Its accidental.

Yeah, i know... This whole chapter was just meant to introduce everyone to Tira'Ferma. The other chapters focus more on storyline than info, even though i occasionally do venture over to some info-topics.

Haha, I believe i can build characters pretty well.
Unfortunately, like i said in the topic post, every chapter is from a different point of view. You will never, really, see Ezekiel again.

__________________

Spartan

Huh, i had thought i would recieve a lot of comments on a writers forum, but whatever. I have never posted the next chapter this soon...








Chapter 2

Part 1

“You must hold it still!”
“I’m trying!”
“No, you’re not. You’re scared. Concentrate; push those fears from your mind.”
Jonathon held his staff in front of him; he had a pounding headache from so much concentration. His mentor stood beside him, frustrated with John’s apparent stubbornness. He sighed.
“Now, not moving from your position,” the man said, “say the incantation.”
John concentrated even more, said a few mumbled words under his breath, and gasped as a spray of fire burst from his staff’s tip.
The older man sighed in relief.
“Good, good,” he said, “You are getting there.”
“Thank you, sir,” John said.
“Study your notes, and maybe I will be able to find you a mission.”
“I would be honored.”
John stood before his mentor once more, but he was older and much more matured. Two years had passed since he had uttered his first flame incantation. He now stood a whole head taller than his master, though he was barely older than 14.
“I am ashamed, for I have failed one of my tasks,” the mentor said.
“What has happened?” John asked, moving to sit in one of the elder’s overstuffed chairs.
“One of my students has turned from the path,” the man said. “This wizard was never particularly great at magic, but…intelligence was never a problem. More will be recruited within weeks, I know it!”
“Send me after him!”
“I had planned to, but not by yourself,” the man said, “I will send seven soldiers with you. They should insure your safety; at least from mundane weapons.”
“Is there anything you can teach me before I go?”
“There is nothing left to teach you. This is your initiation into Wizardry. You are the youngest wizard to ever graduation successfully.”
“…if I do graduate successfully.”

Jonathon, son of Rhian, set out upon his arduous journey. Upon his back he carried a pack full of food and chemicals. Behind him walked seven soldiers in a single file line; anxious for a fight.
The heel of John’s staff dug into the soft dirt below him. Their path could be seen winding into the distance, and trees were dispersed along the side of the road. An occasional home could be seen to the left and right, in the distance, but those would soon cease as distance from civilization grew.
The journey reminded John of his ‘Coming of Age’.

A silver sword with a silver hilt sat upon Mount Calabria. A swirl of ruby, jade, sapphire, and emerald made up its pommel. John’s glove delved into the side of the mountain. The claws on his fingertips scraped away rock and dirt to give him a better grip; sharp blades attached to his feet and knees helped his in that respect as well.
Slowly he pulled one hand out of the cliff face, swung it up high, and gripped the ledge above him. He pulled himself into a dark cave, and rested by a wall. The cave was deep, and the fact that it was a nighttime made it all the more frightening. A low growl could be heard at the far end of the cave, shrouded by darkness.
John scrambled out of the cave, deciding he would deal with the beast on his way back down: once he retrieved the sword.
In the darkness, he heard a flutter of wings, and a quiet screeching. The Parasite had awoken. Beasts, like bats, that fed on human flesh during the night.
Without a sword, high above him, or a staff, which had fallen and shattered on the ground, he could not defend himself. He quickened his pace. A few of the quicker parasite reached him, and began to poke holes in his skin. John gritted his teeth against the pain, and continued climbing. The rest of the parasite could be heard not far away.
His hand slipped and John fell a few feet before catching himself painfully on a rock ledge. He continued climbing, and, to his utter surprise, found a ledge; there was a small above his head. He climbed to his feet upon the smooth ground. Before him seemed to be an altar; short set of stairs led up to a platform upon which the sword stood; balancing on its point, upside down and vertical.
Entering its light, the parasite bothered him no longer. He grabbed the sword by its glowing hilt, and set off back down the mountain.

John felt the reassuring weight of the sword on his belt; it bumped against his leg as he took every step. The group entered a forest, through which their path led. Their surroundings darkened, and a few men stumbled over roots and holes. John tapped his staff on the ground twice, and its tip illuminated.
This helped the soldiers see around them, but seemed to darken the shadows beyond the staff’s light. They did not show fear; fear was for the helpless, not a soldier. Each of them simultaneously drew a long sword, sensing danger approaching. The silver of their blades reflected in the staff’s glow.
But one of the swords was bronze. The soldier, second to last in line, carried a bronze broad sword. John signaled to stop, and walked back to the soldier. The man was not comfortable around wizard: John could tell by the reflection in his eyes. He shivered in the cold, and gripped his sword until his knuckles turned white.
The wizard reached into his belt and retrieved a silver short sword. He proffered the hilt to the other man, who took it cautiously. John then turned around and walked back to the front of the group. They continued forward, the staff’s light leading a path through the darkness.

It happened when it was most expected.
The group had settled down and made camp, keeping particularly quiet. They slept soundlessly, but held their swords in a tight grip across their chests.
There was a snap of a twig and an animal sniffing; a sharp intake of breath. John turned off his staff’s light, withdrew his magnificent broad sword and held it in front of him. There was no source of light around him, but the sword shone like a lantern nevertheless. The glow reflect off a dozen pairs of eyes further down the path. The light was magnificent, for it nearly blinded the creatures staring into it, but only bettered John’s eyesight.
Large, bipedal creatures sprinted among the trees to either side of the path.
John sheathed his sword deftly and raised his staff high above his head. He spun it high above his head, and slammed its heel into the ground. A bright jet of electricity traced itself upon the ground toward the head of the group. As it reached the foot of the lead Werewolf, the ground exploded and three of the beasts were thrown into the air; at least, what was left of them.
The soldiers behind John were up and ready instantly. The wizard muttered something, and light burst forth above their heads. The Werewolves shrieked, but stayed where they were. Three of the soldiers drew bows, and knocked arrows. As they released the bowstrings, a small light ignited upon their tips, and the arrowheads burst into flame as they flew toward the enemy.
Silver tipped arrows mixed with the fire made easy word of the wolves in the front, but more sill pressed forward. Spell after spell, Jonathon cast at the enemy, but their numbers seemed endless.
Soon, the ground was covered in shed hair and blood. John muttered something under his breath: the final spell he could use before his energy was used up. Another flash permeated the forest, and when the soldiers eyes grew accustomed to the darkness once more, they were not in a forest. They lay in a field, surrounded by waist high grass. Each of them stood up, looked around, and counted to make sure of their numbers. Jonathon couldn’t be seen amoung them, but a few minutes searching found him unconscious, lying in a shallow pool. The soldiers moved him from this spot and gave him fresh clothes, but he didn’t wake up for the better part of the day.
The soldiers continued to survey their surroundings. Far in the distance, the forest they were recently in could be seen. On the opposite horizon sat a solitary mountain. It loomed over the whole field, blocking out the sun. Mount Altarone, the most known geographic feature in the world. Hundreds have failed in the attempt to climb to its summit. Only Wizards, Werewolves, and Dragons have been able to reach its peak.

Jonathon slowly opened his eyes and sat up. He hit his head on the low ceiling of his tent. Dazed, he crawled out of the tent and breathed in the cool night air. His soldiers sat around a high fire, which lay in a shallow pit and fed on dead grass around it.
He looked upon the high mountain in the distance. He had always wanted to go there, and was supposed to when he finished this mission. His…official acceptance in Wizardry. The warmth of the fire and the cool air around him reminded him of another time, what seemed like long ago.

A young John knelt by the grass, smelling the air around him. It smelled strongly of decay. The body of a young Werewolf lay in a blood-filled pool. Not far away lay another body; a Vampire. Both bodies were mutilated. It seemed that the fight had started as a simple ‘Were-Vamp’ disagreement; such things were common. The main problem, though, was that the Werewolf had no punctures, and the Vampire would never come out at night if there was a chance he wasn’t going to be back before dawn.
John heard footsteps behind him, and a sound of voices growing closer, and teleported out of the field. He never found out more about the scene.

“So,” a soldier said, pulling Jonathon out of his trance, “are you an official Wizard?” He held a look of puzzlement on his face.
“Yes,” John said, “Sort of.”
“No offense meant,” the soldier continued, “I just mean…there are only, like, ten of ‘em. I had heard the Wizards refuse to teach any more.”
“I was…different,” John said, “I had…potential.”
“That’s cool, I guess.”
John sighed and walked away.

“Uh, sir?” a soldier said. It was the one who John had given the silver short sword.
“Yes?”
“Well, I was just wondering if you were alright,” the man said. John could now tell how young he actually was. “I’ve done a lot of research on Wizards of your kind, and I’ve heard that each spell you cast takes energy away from you. That transportation, of all of us, must have taken a lot of energy. Are…you okay?”
“What’s your name?”
“I am Michael.”
“Thanks, Michael, but I am fine,” John said with a weak smile.
“You were out cold for a long time,” the man continued, “I’m sure you could have died casting that spell.”
“Thanks for your concern, but I knew what I was doing,” John said, but added to himself ‘sort of’, “I have done a bit of research myself. The diseased; Werewolvers, Vampires, Demon; they emit energy. The un-diseased withhold this energy, but the vermin can not do so. This energy…I use against them.”
“That sounds kinda complex.”
“It is.”
“So…if you tried that transportation maneuver without werewolves…it would have killed you, wouldn’t it.”
“That would be correct.”

The group continued. The seven soldiers had yet to know exactly where they were going. They assumed the wizard would refuse to tell them, yet none of them had even attempted to ask in the first place.
John played with a small pocket knife while he walked; spinning it between his thumb and his forefinger. Soon, a rush of water could be heard nearby, and they stopped by a river to rest. Refilling their water skins, they continued onward. The sun sat above their heads, and their feet soon dragged upon the ground.
Then, as the sun sank behind the horizon, they entered the shade of a small oasis.
“Aw, that figures,” a soldier said, “Just when we don’t need the shade, tit becomes available.”
“Yeah, I’m sure the gods are smiling upon us, Drake,” another said.
“Stow it,” John said.
“No, man!” said the first, “We’ve been following you blindly this whole way. I am not continuing forward until you tell us what we’re doing!”
The soldiers around him agreed, and yelled in a similar fashion. Only Michael stood separate from the others.
“Okay,” Jonathon said, to the surprise of the other soldiers, “We’re heading to…take care of a nuisance to the high Wizards.”
“What is this nuisance? Where is it?”
“This nuisance is another Wizard,” John said. The soldiers remained silent now. “A wizard named Aramonde, who turned against his masters. He has succeeded in recruiting three more men to work for him, and they are now wizards as well.”
“Why did those werewolves attack us, then?” one man said.
“We believe they are being possessed.”
“And you only brought seven soldiers with you?!”
“We must move quickly,” John said, “Sending an army after four people would attract attention.”
“Then were are we going?”
“The capital; Dilerium City.”

Apparently, John thought later, the oasis wasn’t the smartest place to make camp. It attracted attention.
Their group woke up to find themselves surrounded by soldiers clad in black. Their faces were obscured by cloth tied around their heads. They could see out of it, but no one would be able to see in.
Interspersed between them were three tall, cloaked men carrying staffs. They were each flanked by two particularly burly Werewolves. Jonathon’s soldiers stood, looked around, and seemed to deduce that these were Wizards.
“We have a message for Jonathon, son of Rhian,” one of the cloaked Wizards said.
Yes?” John said; non-chalant.
“Aramonde sends his regards. Come with us to the capital, and we will make your life a lot easier.”
“You know, I was just on my way over there!” John said, with child giddyness.
“Most fortunate,” the Wizard said, maintaining a stolid expression, “Would you care to join us?”
But before John could answer, there was a loud yell, and a dozen tall, slender figures appeared inside the clearing; the Wizards and their soldiers quickly fled from the fight.
One of the tall figures approached John and knelt beside him. He was about to ask who they were, but something in his head stopped him from doing so.
“Hello, John,” the man said, “My name is Eoleen. We are the Elves of Altarone Valley.”
John quickly regained his composure, and answered, “Hello Eoleen. Um…I don’t want to sound ungrateful, but you just ruined our chances of safely getting into Dilerium City.”
“Why would they attempt to slow your progress, if they want you there in the first place?”
John could think of no retort, so asked another question. “Why did you help us?”
“Because if you do not defeat this person, Aramonde, our race will be driven out of the land.”
“Oh. So, um, no pressure…right?” John said, smiling uneasily.
The Elf turned and walked away.

“Welcome to Dilerium City, your lordship,” the gatekeeper said, “May I see your certification?”
John drew his sword and places its tip on the gatekeeper’s forehead.
“Um…no certification required,” the man corrected himself, “Haveaniceday?”
“Thank you good sir,” John said, and walked through the open gate. The seven soldiers behind followed.
The soldiers followed in awe as they looked upon the magnificence of the Dilerium architecture. All buildings were multiple stories high, and several were inlaid with gold. Horses walking the streets wore golden saddles and harnesses.
Then the group noticed the body. A charred, scalped, and half-flayed corpse of a middle-aged man tied to a tall pike. The citizens simply walked around it as if it were their normal path. One of the soldiers shuddered and muttered a prayer to the gods.
Jonathon continued forward, and the soldiers reluctantly followed. It wasn’t hard to figure out where the dark Wizard was; a large black building towered over the rest of the city. Soon, the stood at its tall, double doors.
“I must thank you for you help,” John said, “But I must do this alone.”
“No,” one soldier said.
“We haven’t come this whole way for nothing!”
“If you do not turn around right now, I will send you back by other means,” John said.
The soldiers looked heartbroken; betrayed. They looked into John’s face one last time, then turned around and walked away. John turned and walked into the building.


“But what does it mean?”
“I do not know, my lord.”
“Well, figure it out!” a deep, groggy voice boomed.
“Yes, of course, my lord,” a small servant said. It was one of the wizards that had ambushed John in the oasis. Since the event, the man seemed to have had his right hand cut off, as punishment for losing his prey. He stood before a large stone slab, upon which was engraved many lines of confusing pictographs.
John hid in the corner of the giant throne room. The room itself had to be more than five acres long, and John was forced to magically amplify his vision to see the figures across it.
“The…altaar…shall…light…” the man read from the stone.
‘The altar?’ John thought, ‘Only one altar in this part of the land is well known, and nothing is in it anymore…”
“True…power…” the man continued.
“Silence!” the deep voice boomed, and John realized it was coming from the throne behind the stone slab. Whoever was speaking was out of view. “There is someone here. Empty this room before you reveal any more secrets.”
“Master, I assure you,” the young man said, “there is no one here. There are eighteen guards outside those doors, as well as a fire demon.”
“Demons serve no one,” the voice said, “Perhaps it has turned against his word. Go!”
There was a flash of light as John disappeared from the room. The last thing he heard was “Seize him!” before he found himself in a large grassy field. Altarone Mountain loomed before him; its massive size blocking out the sun. Supposedly, it reflects magic. Wizards who had tried to levitate up the mountain had found themselves falling 500 feet onto the sharp rocks below. John was trying to teleport to the summit, but found himself at its foot instead.
Exhausted from so many days without rest, John started up the mountain…

__________________

Spartan

Huh, i had thought i would recieve a lot of comments on a writers forum, but whatever. I have never posted the next chapter this soon...



Chapter 2

Part 1

“You must hold it still!”
“I’m trying!”
“No, you’re not. You’re scared. Concentrate; push those fears from your mind.”
Jonathon held his staff in front of him; he had a pounding headache from so much concentration. His mentor stood beside him, frustrated with John’s apparent stubbornness. He sighed.
“Now, not moving from your position,” the man said, “say the incantation.”
John concentrated even more, said a few mumbled words under his breath, and gasped as a spray of fire burst from his staff’s tip.
The older man sighed in relief.
“Good, good,” he said, “You are getting there.”
“Thank you, sir,” John said.
“Study your notes, and maybe I will be able to find you a mission.”
“I would be honored.”
John stood before his mentor once more, but he was older and much more matured. Two years had passed since he had uttered his first flame incantation. He now stood a whole head taller than his master, though he was barely older than 14.
“I am ashamed, for I have failed one of my tasks,” the mentor said.
“What has happened?” John asked, moving to sit in one of the elder’s overstuffed chairs.
“One of my students has turned from the path,” the man said. “This wizard was never particularly great at magic, but…intelligence was never a problem. More will be recruited within weeks, I know it!”
“Send me after him!”
“I had planned to, but not by yourself,” the man said, “I will send seven soldiers with you. They should insure your safety; at least from mundane weapons.”
“Is there anything you can teach me before I go?”
“There is nothing left to teach you. This is your initiation into Wizardry. You are the youngest wizard to ever graduation successfully.”
“…if I do graduate successfully.”

Jonathon, son of Rhian, set out upon his arduous journey. Upon his back he carried a pack full of food and chemicals. Behind him walked seven soldiers in a single file line; anxious for a fight.
The heel of John’s staff dug into the soft dirt below him. Their path could be seen winding into the distance, and trees were dispersed along the side of the road. An occasional home could be seen to the left and right, in the distance, but those would soon cease as distance from civilization grew.
The journey reminded John of his ‘Coming of Age’.

A silver sword with a silver hilt sat upon Mount Calabria. A swirl of ruby, jade, sapphire, and emerald made up its pommel. John’s glove delved into the side of the mountain. The claws on his fingertips scraped away rock and dirt to give him a better grip; sharp blades attached to his feet and knees helped his in that respect as well.
Slowly he pulled one hand out of the cliff face, swung it up high, and gripped the ledge above him. He pulled himself into a dark cave, and rested by a wall. The cave was deep, and the fact that it was a nighttime made it all the more frightening. A low growl could be heard at the far end of the cave, shrouded by darkness.
John scrambled out of the cave, deciding he would deal with the beast on his way back down: once he retrieved the sword.
In the darkness, he heard a flutter of wings, and a quiet screeching. The Parasite had awoken. Beasts, like bats, that fed on human flesh during the night.
Without a sword, high above him, or a staff, which had fallen and shattered on the ground, he could not defend himself. He quickened his pace. A few of the quicker parasite reached him, and began to poke holes in his skin. John gritted his teeth against the pain, and continued climbing. The rest of the parasite could be heard not far away.
His hand slipped and John fell a few feet before catching himself painfully on a rock ledge. He continued climbing, and, to his utter surprise, found a ledge; there was a small above his head. He climbed to his feet upon the smooth ground. Before him seemed to be an altar; short set of stairs led up to a platform upon which the sword stood; balancing on its point, upside down and vertical.
Entering its light, the parasite bothered him no longer. He grabbed the sword by its glowing hilt, and set off back down the mountain.

John felt the reassuring weight of the sword on his belt; it bumped against his leg as he took every step. The group entered a forest, through which their path led. Their surroundings darkened, and a few men stumbled over roots and holes. John tapped his staff on the ground twice, and its tip illuminated.
This helped the soldiers see around them, but seemed to darken the shadows beyond the staff’s light. They did not show fear; fear was for the helpless, not a soldier. Each of them simultaneously drew a long sword, sensing danger approaching. The silver of their blades reflected in the staff’s glow.
But one of the swords was bronze. The soldier, second to last in line, carried a bronze broad sword. John signaled to stop, and walked back to the soldier. The man was not comfortable around wizard: John could tell by the reflection in his eyes. He shivered in the cold, and gripped his sword until his knuckles turned white.
The wizard reached into his belt and retrieved a silver short sword. He proffered the hilt to the other man, who took it cautiously. John then turned around and walked back to the front of the group. They continued forward, the staff’s light leading a path through the darkness.

It happened when it was most expected.
The group had settled down and made camp, keeping particularly quiet. They slept soundlessly, but held their swords in a tight grip across their chests.
There was a snap of a twig and an animal sniffing; a sharp intake of breath. John turned off his staff’s light, withdrew his magnificent broad sword and held it in front of him. There was no source of light around him, but the sword shone like a lantern nevertheless. The glow reflect off a dozen pairs of eyes further down the path. The light was magnificent, for it nearly blinded the creatures staring into it, but only bettered John’s eyesight.
Large, bipedal creatures sprinted among the trees to either side of the path.
John sheathed his sword deftly and raised his staff high above his head. He spun it high above his head, and slammed its heel into the ground. A bright jet of electricity traced itself upon the ground toward the head of the group. As it reached the foot of the lead Werewolf, the ground exploded and three of the beasts were thrown into the air; at least, what was left of them.
The soldiers behind John were up and ready instantly. The wizard muttered something, and light burst forth above their heads. The Werewolves shrieked, but stayed where they were. Three of the soldiers drew bows, and knocked arrows. As they released the bowstrings, a small light ignited upon their tips, and the arrowheads burst into flame as they flew toward the enemy.
Silver tipped arrows mixed with the fire made easy word of the wolves in the front, but more sill pressed forward. Spell after spell, Jonathon cast at the enemy, but their numbers seemed endless.
Soon, the ground was covered in shed hair and blood. John muttered something under his breath: the final spell he could use before his energy was used up. Another flash permeated the forest, and when the soldiers eyes grew accustomed to the darkness once more, they were not in a forest. They lay in a field, surrounded by waist high grass. Each of them stood up, looked around, and counted to make sure of their numbers. Jonathon couldn’t be seen amoung them, but a few minutes searching found him unconscious, lying in a shallow pool. The soldiers moved him from this spot and gave him fresh clothes, but he didn’t wake up for the better part of the day.
The soldiers continued to survey their surroundings. Far in the distance, the forest they were recently in could be seen. On the opposite horizon sat a solitary mountain. It loomed over the whole field, blocking out the sun. Mount Altarone, the most known geographic feature in the world. Hundreds have failed in the attempt to climb to its summit. Only Wizards, Werewolves, and Dragons have been able to reach its peak.

Jonathon slowly opened his eyes and sat up. He hit his head on the low ceiling of his tent. Dazed, he crawled out of the tent and breathed in the cool night air. His soldiers sat around a high fire, which lay in a shallow pit and fed on dead grass around it.
He looked upon the high mountain in the distance. He had always wanted to go there, and was supposed to when he finished this mission. His…official acceptance in Wizardry. The warmth of the fire and the cool air around him reminded him of another time, what seemed like long ago.

A young John knelt by the grass, smelling the air around him. It smelled strongly of decay. The body of a young Werewolf lay in a blood-filled pool. Not far away lay another body; a Vampire. Both bodies were mutilated. It seemed that the fight had started as a simple ‘Were-Vamp’ disagreement; such things were common. The main problem, though, was that the Werewolf had no punctures, and the Vampire would never come out at night if there was a chance he wasn’t going to be back before dawn.
John heard footsteps behind him, and a sound of voices growing closer, and teleported out of the field. He never found out more about the scene.

“So,” a soldier said, pulling Jonathon out of his trance, “are you an official Wizard?” He held a look of puzzlement on his face.
“Yes,” John said, “Sort of.”
“No offense meant,” the soldier continued, “I just mean…there are only, like, ten of ‘em. I had heard the Wizards refuse to teach any more.”
“I was…different,” John said, “I had…potential.”
“That’s cool, I guess.”
John sighed and walked away.

“Uh, sir?” a soldier said. It was the one who John had given the silver short sword.
“Yes?”
“Well, I was just wondering if you were alright,” the man said. John could now tell how young he actually was. “I’ve done a lot of research on Wizards of your kind, and I’ve heard that each spell you cast takes energy away from you. That transportation, of all of us, must have taken a lot of energy. Are…you okay?”
“What’s your name?”
“I am Michael.”
“Thanks, Michael, but I am fine,” John said with a weak smile.
“You were out cold for a long time,” the man continued, “I’m sure you could have died casting that spell.”
“Thanks for your concern, but I knew what I was doing,” John said, but added to himself ‘sort of’, “I have done a bit of research myself. The diseased; Werewolvers, Vampires, Demon; they emit energy. The un-diseased withhold this energy, but the vermin can not do so. This energy…I use against them.”
“That sounds kinda complex.”
“It is.”
“So…if you tried that transportation maneuver without werewolves…it would have killed you, wouldn’t it.”
“That would be correct.”

The group continued. The seven soldiers had yet to know exactly where they were going. They assumed the wizard would refuse to tell them, yet none of them had even attempted to ask in the first place.
John played with a small pocket knife while he walked; spinning it between his thumb and his forefinger. Soon, a rush of water could be heard nearby, and they stopped by a river to rest. Refilling their water skins, they continued onward. The sun sat above their heads, and their feet soon dragged upon the ground.
Then, as the sun sank behind the horizon, they entered the shade of a small oasis.
“Aw, that figures,” a soldier said, “Just when we don’t need the shade, tit becomes available.”
“Yeah, I’m sure the gods are smiling upon us, Drake,” another said.
“Stow it,” John said.
“No, man!” said the first, “We’ve been following you blindly this whole way. I am not continuing forward until you tell us what we’re doing!”
The soldiers around him agreed, and yelled in a similar fashion. Only Michael stood separate from the others.
“Okay,” Jonathon said, to the surprise of the other soldiers, “We’re heading to…take care of a nuisance to the high Wizards.”
“What is this nuisance? Where is it?”
“This nuisance is another Wizard,” John said. The soldiers remained silent now. “A wizard named Aramonde, who turned against his masters. He has succeeded in recruiting three more men to work for him, and they are now wizards as well.”
“Why did those werewolves attack us, then?” one man said.
“We believe they are being possessed.”
“And you only brought seven soldiers with you?!”
“We must move quickly,” John said, “Sending an army after four people would attract attention.”
“Then were are we going?”
“The capital; Dilerium City.”

Apparently, John thought later, the oasis wasn’t the smartest place to make camp. It attracted attention.
Their group woke up to find themselves surrounded by soldiers clad in black. Their faces were obscured by cloth tied around their heads. They could see out of it, but no one would be able to see in.
Interspersed between them were three tall, cloaked men carrying staffs. They were each flanked by two particularly burly Werewolves. Jonathon’s soldiers stood, looked around, and seemed to deduce that these were Wizards.
“We have a message for Jonathon, son of Rhian,” one of the cloaked Wizards said.
Yes?” John said; non-chalant.
“Aramonde sends his regards. Come with us to the capital, and we will make your life a lot easier.”
“You know, I was just on my way over there!” John said, with child giddyness.
“Most fortunate,” the Wizard said, maintaining a stolid expression, “Would you care to join us?”
But before John could answer, there was a loud yell, and a dozen tall, slender figures appeared inside the clearing; the Wizards and their soldiers quickly fled from the fight.
One of the tall figures approached John and knelt beside him. He was about to ask who they were, but something in his head stopped him from doing so.
“Hello, John,” the man said, “My name is Eoleen. We are the Elves of Altarone Valley.”
John quickly regained his composure, and answered, “Hello Eoleen. Um…I don’t want to sound ungrateful, but you just ruined our chances of safely getting into Dilerium City.”
“Why would they attempt to slow your progress, if they want you there in the first place?”
John could think of no retort, so asked another question. “Why did you help us?”
“Because if you do not defeat this person, Aramonde, our race will be driven out of the land.”
“Oh. So, um, no pressure…right?” John said, smiling uneasily.
The Elf turned and walked away.

“Welcome to Dilerium City, your lordship,” the gatekeeper said, “May I see your certification?”
John drew his sword and places its tip on the gatekeeper’s forehead.
“Um…no certification required,” the man corrected himself, “Haveaniceday?”
“Thank you good sir,” John said, and walked through the open gate. The seven soldiers behind followed.
The soldiers followed in awe as they looked upon the magnificence of the Dilerium architecture. All buildings were multiple stories high, and several were inlaid with gold. Horses walking the streets wore golden saddles and harnesses.
Then the group noticed the body. A charred, scalped, and half-flayed corpse of a middle-aged man tied to a tall pike. The citizens simply walked around it as if it were their normal path. One of the soldiers shuddered and muttered a prayer to the gods.
Jonathon continued forward, and the soldiers reluctantly followed. It wasn’t hard to figure out where the dark Wizard was; a large black building towered over the rest of the city. Soon, the stood at its tall, double doors.
“I must thank you for you help,” John said, “But I must do this alone.”
“No,” one soldier said.
“We haven’t come this whole way for nothing!”
“If you do not turn around right now, I will send you back by other means,” John said.
The soldiers looked heartbroken; betrayed. They looked into John’s face one last time, then turned around and walked away. John turned and walked into the building.


“But what does it mean?”
“I do not know, my lord.”
“Well, figure it out!” a deep, groggy voice boomed.
“Yes, of course, my lord,” a small servant said. It was one of the wizards that had ambushed John in the oasis. Since the event, the man seemed to have had his right hand cut off, as punishment for losing his prey. He stood before a large stone slab, upon which was engraved many lines of confusing pictographs.
John hid in the corner of the giant throne room. The room itself had to be more than five acres long, and John was forced to magically amplify his vision to see the figures across it.
“The…altaar…shall…light…” the man read from the stone.
‘The altar?’ John thought, ‘Only one altar in this part of the land is well known, and nothing is in it anymore…”
“True…power…” the man continued.
“Silence!” the deep voice boomed, and John realized it was coming from the throne behind the stone slab. Whoever was speaking was out of view. “There is someone here. Empty this room before you reveal any more secrets.”
“Master, I assure you,” the young man said, “there is no one here. There are eighteen guards outside those doors, as well as a fire demon.”
“Demons serve no one,” the voice said, “Perhaps it has turned against his word. Go!”
There was a flash of light as John disappeared from the room. The last thing he heard was “Seize him!” before he found himself in a large grassy field. Altarone Mountain loomed before him; its massive size blocking out the sun. Supposedly, it reflects magic. Wizards who had tried to levitate up the mountain had found themselves falling 500 feet onto the sharp rocks below. John was trying to teleport to the summit, but found himself at its foot instead.
Exhausted from so many days without rest, John started up the mountain…

__________________

DavidGil

I'm not going to go through nitpicking or anything and I won't comment on the story. I do have some concerns on reading through your comments though. Or, you could call it advice.

First question: Are you writing for fun only?

If the answer's no and you would like to seek publication at some point, then some advice/my concerns.

It is fine using different point of view characters. But normally, the point of views reoccur again at a later point. And by that, I mean more than once or twice. At least, the one's that are there to show events etc.

You probably know this as well but the above is worth mentioning I think.

The dangers the way I see it:

You could have a lot of a chapters and thus, lots of different characters. This in turn could lead to readers being confused by the switching or just not feeling attached to any character.

But, all this depends on the size of the chapters. If they're long, then I see no possible problem. And by long, I do mean long.

Also, I'm all for going against the grain but this is one instance I'm not too sure of.

Regarding receiving comments on your work:

It helps to give critiques out before seeking responses. And, I'm not meaning the 'it's great, keep it up!' comments.

Normally, people are only too happy to return the favors. But obviously, it doesn't always apply.

Also, it might be an idea to hop on over to the introduction forum and introduce yourself.

Hope this helps.

Edit: Just wanted to add to the above that if the characters are for the most part close together, i.e in the same area, then there shouldn't be as much to worry about regarding continuity issues. At least that way, there's a good chance of characters readers already know crossing paths with the new point of view characters.

__________________
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http://www.helium.com/users/404647/show_articles

I aim to have a wide selection of articles eventually, covering different topics.

Spartan

the problem with replying to other people's stories with anything but 'I like it', is that I have a very select criteria of what i read. I read lots of Fantasy and Sci-fi, but...not just any fantasy or sci-fi...

I know, its kinda cheap, but I can't do anything about it.

Also, i find it hard to read stories on a monitor.

__________________

Cefor

Ok, so your second chapter...

It's not so great compared to the first one. First thing I'll mention is that you changed your spelling of his name plenty of times... sometimes it was John, others Jonathon. Sort that out.

The dialogue in this chapter was way too... planned. As if the characters were just reading from a script, a basic script. It sounded like they were only saying what you wanted them to say, and not what they would say as characters.

I won't go through and nit-pick each mistake, there was a few, but I'll mention another thing, when he gets to the city and the Guard says 'certification please' and John puts his sword to the guys head... it so unbelievable it's almost laughable. No guard in their right mind would let someone in to the city if they drew their weapon on them, that is the kinda thing they are there to stop happening. If John, a child of 14 no less, had drawn his sword on a guard, he would most likely be killed instantly. However, if you had had him show some magical abillity to get into the city then fine... by all means yes that would work; as there are few wizards, and as such their powers will be 'OMG' to the ordinary folk.

Another thing, it seems only the Werewolves are prepared to fight anything. The Elves walked in and the wizards walked off, without saying anything, showing any emotion or trying to resist them.

Sorry that everything has been negative, it's just that it seems like you didn't spend much time checking for errors before you posted.

Oh, and another thing about getting critiques is that someone has to be bothered to read most, preferably all, of your story and then be able to write a post. If you take my words well or not so well is up to you, but remember that taking everything everyone says into consideration is a way to get better.

Cefor

__________________
Knowledge is Power

Veni, Vedi, Vici - Julius Caesar

Who Dares Wins

*Angel

i'm gonna go through and read this later tonight when i have a moment, but before i logged off i wanted to touch on this

you don't go around and critique other stories here only for the sole bases that you enjoyed it and it enthralled you. you do it to help the other members on the site.

after all I don't think their are too many stories submitted here that the members critique that they would find of such quality that they would curl up by their fireplace and sit down for hours reading.

Also going through critiquing other stories not only helps those writers but it would help you greatly as well. you learn a lot when you go through a story and read what others had to say about it.

though if you still don't want to that's fine, but just don't expect a large number of replies or speedy responses. a lot of people post here everyday looking for reviews, and the average person will go through and read the stories of members they recognize, chatted with, that have commented on their works. before they'll go to an "un-known" member.

just common courtesy is all.

DavidGil

Do you think I only comment on things I like? I critique the technical aspects of writing mainly and when I say good writing, I refer to that and not the content. I don't seek to read the best story ever here, though there are plenty of talented writers here.

And to first receive, you must give. What you're saying is akin to: Oh I want feedback on my story and once I have it, I will bugger off without helping others. Well, the forum isn't here just for you to receive critique on your story. It's here for us as a community to receive feedback, while giving and receiving.

I noticed how you basically didn't address any of what I said as well, except for the receiving comments part.

There's a few reasons I didn't comment on the story and only on your responses. I skimmed through it, and I saw mention of things I dislike. So a quick critique of the first few lines turns up several dislikes and grammar faults. Dislikes bolded and underlined, the grammar in different colours:

Tall grass flowed in the wind upon central field of Tira’Ferma. The heavy glow of Helios reflected off the small pools strewn throughout the plain. Blood dripped slowly into one of these pools. A torn and shredded human body lay beside it. His claws slowly retracted into his fingers, and his digitigrade legs reformed into those of a Human. His muzzle shortened, and once again became a human jaw.

Suggest simplifying if possible. Quite frankly, it's also the first time I've heard of someone having a problem with randomly typing caps as well.

A dozen feet away, another body lay. His skin was shredded, as if by an animal. His jaw was broken, and his ear had been ripped off. Fangs retreated into his jaw, wings shrank slowly into his back, and steam rose off his body as the sun’s rays hit him.
“Anything you can do for them?”
“Nah...the werewolf’s been bitten, and the Vamp has been in the sun too long.”
“Should we...clean it up?”
No. Let the Dragons have them.”

Diagnosing the dead is not a very rewarding job. The Watch was never ‘thanked’ for their contributions to society. Barely enough money was made to live by.
But Ezekiel, song of Zacharias, was content. His partner was smart and followed orders well. The Were-Vamp war, as he called it, seemed to be slowing down, though that still meant at least five deaths a day. The Dark Soldiers were gaining ranks rapidly, which meant the population of Elves and Goblins was lowering rapidly as well.

The underlined part which is bolded seems like a copy of underworld.

The same problem would happen with Dwarves, but they could look after themselves.



Right, I haven't attempted to go into sentence structure here and this is harsh but you obviously had no intent of even giving feedback to others. So, I don't mind saying my thoughts on grammar and the story now even if it is harsh.

Further on, you have mentioned wizards as well. So, is there a dark lord in there as well? You certainly didn't waste any time in mentioning quite a few of the fantasy cliches. As far as I'm concerned with this being the novel start, you may as well have all of them in there. That is one main reason I would pass over this story and so I would reccomend you try to avoid the cliches and focus on being unique.

As harsh as this was, I hope you decide to take my advice.

Oh and by the way, you don't like reading stories on a pc because monitors hurt your eyes? Well news-flash, others will be reading your story and their eyes will possibly be hurting as well.

I haven't given this sort of critique nor have I gone overboard with grammar comments for a long time either but I hate people posting with no intention of contributing/returning favours. As soon as they get what they want, they normally leave. Sorry if it isn't you Spartan but you gave me the impression of someone like that.

__________________
My Helium portfolio:

http://www.helium.com/users/404647/show_articles

I aim to have a wide selection of articles eventually, covering different topics.

Spartan

Okay, i shall first comment on this:

I didn't feel it necessary to comment on every point you stated. Some I took to heart, some i mentally justified, and some I put to use. Aren't the critiques you offer supposed to improve my story, rather than make me justify them out loud?
Just a thought.

And since you feel I should comment on everything, I shall.
If I was going to bugger off once I got feedback, I most likely would have left already due to the lack thereof.

Well, considering I type 140 words per minute, and i have the attention span of a goldfish (which is why i type so fast), my simple mistakes in capitalization shouldn't be that big of a problem.
And even so, you dislike a (sort of) rough-draft story just because there are a few mistakes in capitalization? If so, you must hate Harry Potter. I've seen over 50 mistakes in half of the 6th book. Also, if the only thing you disliked about the story is a mistake in capitalization and the very occasional word choice, i must say my story has impressed me.

Hm...
Well, thanks. I'll actually take that to heart. Some other people have pointed that out (most asking wtf it was), but I couldn't think of anything to replace it with. I've looked it up, and there is no synonym.
Any suggestions?

Woah, I'm sorry that i forgot to capitalize one of the titles. See above.


Hm...
Well, I've never seen underworld. I really wouldn't know.
Though I do know, when i was looking up the word Lycanthrope, that Underworld werewolves are called Lycans, not Werewolves

I joined less than 5 days ago. I haven't even looked at any other sections yet. You seem very quick to judge.