The Kingdom of Aryol, and its many heroes...please be critical !

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Heya!
I'm 16 years old and wish to pursue the life of an author. This has been a dream of mine since I was very young, and I have never grown out of it. However, I do not wish to make a fool of myself by trying to publish a book which would lack the necessary experience or ability to make it enjoyable. I have posted here the last 3 Essays I did for my grade 10 teacher.

I realize these are incomparable to some of the work listed on these boards, which is why I ask to only receive criticism which may improve upon my writing ability. I know I will need to learn how to deal with rants, but at this stage I would be unable to deal with it! Thanks guys!


----------- First Essay----------

Rathe’s Battle:

Rathe knelt upon the soft conical hill that overlooked an open plain, which in a few hours would be home to the most terrible engagement in history. It would be a battle of biblical proportions, with tens of thousands of men fighting each other, not over the trivial disputes of land, but rather over which race would endure. The humans, the younger race who’d been granted the ability to love, against the elves, the ageless creatures who have lived since time was born, before even the sun knew the difference between night and day.

Rathe enjoyed the early morning, for he knew it could be his last. He watched the sun rise slowly over the horizon, turning the clouds a purple gold and the dew upon the grass into sparking diamonds. “Today is perfect, not a single crimson drop should be spilled today, be it human or elf,” he thought as he fastened his hand upon his claymore, which rested neatly upon his legs.

Rathe prayed to the War God, pleading his sword would forever be strong and that his armor forever resolute, until he was interrupted by his aid-de-camp who warned him that the elves where approaching. Rathe made his final inspection of the ranks, then headed to the first rank, for he believed that to be a true leader, one has to be the first to enter the melee, and the last to leave it.

Rathe could not see the end to the elven army. It seemed to go on forever, lost upon the horizon. The humans lacked such numbers, but they had wizards and sorcerers to support their ranks, along with the immensely powerful Sulok, High Wizard and leader of the Human Council. He alone could dispatch enough elves to fill the 7th lower hell, and when combined with Rathe’s army, the humans had a very good chance of defeating their numerically superior opponents.

The elves screamed gleefully as they sprinted down towards the humans, eager for blood. “Archers, fire volley,” Rathe commanded. The sun was blocked out as the yard long arrows flew through the air. The first two rows of elves fell to the ground, their bodies bloodied and destroyed by the human’s powerful archers.

“First division, march. Second division, 20 yard gap,” Rathe said in a gruff voice as he pulled his claymore from its scabbard. The elves ran over their wounded, crushing them, their battle lust consuming them. The two ranks collided.

Rathe roared his war cry as he cut down his first elf in a spray of blood. He looked up, only quarter sun had passed, and already it was a furious battle. Blood and bodies littered the ground, men screamed and the sickly sweet smell of burnt flesh all were smells of battle and none of them where absent in this one.

A man and elf were engaged. Rathe intervened, slicing the elf across his torso, his intestines covering the ground, while other men fought atop of them, all in a crazed daze.

Rathe engaged another elf that tried to slash him across the face. Rathe grabbed his sword arm, then hit him with his sword hilt. The elf’s head made a satisfying crack before it slumped to the ground. Rathe glanced around. He could no longer see any elves – yes! – The humans had won the battle, yet Rathe did not feel the ecstatic joy he thought he would. “Perhaps there is no winner in war, only the losers and the dead,” he thought as he holstered his sword.

Paragraphs: 15
Lines: 52
Words: 609
Total Editing Time: 76 min

----------- Second Essay---------


The Cavern


Aulon moved silently in the darkness, like a wraith, he made his way deep into the Undergloom, the belly of the world, the depths where only the mad or desperate venture. Aulon was sure that the Grey Elves lived. The terrible creatures of hatred must have endured, for Aulon felt no peace after he had defeated them at Calcuth. Rumors that the Elves had taken refuge in the Undergloom had alerted Aulon, and being the man he was, he felt obliged to explore.



Aulon continued down the streams and old tunnels which made up the maze of the world. His torch died down to embers, emitting a soft glow that was insufficient to lighten even a few feet in this oppressive darkness. The air was stuffy and old, the ground soft and gooey, and the sound terrifying. The cave system was anything but quiet, with drums echoing down the passageways, and chanting smothering out the drips and water splashes, all of which where slowly turning him mad.



Aulon had been in this darkness for a fortnight. His hunger was threatening to consume him, yet he forced himself further. He knew that he was approaching their lair, for the drums where beginning to vibrate upon the walls and floor.



Aulon was temporarily shocked as the amphitheatre came into view. Torches where lit and hung gracefully upon the grizzly statues which had been built out of solid rock. The walls where adorned with extravagant drapes, most of which showed Grey Elves defeating humans. The Grey Elves where kneeling, worshiping a small cloaked figure which stood in the middle of the area. Massive drums made out of dragon wings stood in each corner while gigantic trolls bashed heavily upon them, creating the deafening noise which had guided Aulon.



Aulon unclipped the keg of Black Power from his back, and searched his breaches for his flint and tinder. He would never be able to kill this army of Elves single handedly, he could, however, blow them (along with himself) to the 7th Lower Hell.



Aulon knelt upon the ground, praying to Xum, the God of Death, that he would be granted access to the Far Plane. He prayed to Ruan, God of Mercy, asking for his family to be cared for. He prayed to Zuak, God of War, asking to be remembered. Aulon lit the Keg.



The world of Aryol did remember Aulon. He was remembered as the man who saved the world, yet even in the Far Plane there where still things Aulon would accomplish. Aulon T. Hunter – Aulon the Hunter – would still save worlds, only next time, he would not be fighting Elves, but Demons, Fallen Angels and a God instead. He would also not be saving a world, but the entire essence of life.



Paragraphs: 9
Lines: 43
Words: 473
Total Editing Time: 49 Minutes




------------Third Essay---------



The High Wizard

The earth cracked open as the mighty beast made its way towards Sulok. Each footstep a thunderous roar which shook the ground and tugged at Sulok’s eardrums. Sulok was facing his last challenge before he was accepted into the High Wizarding ranks. If he couldn’t defeat this monstrous creature, his life would be forfeit, yet if he could, Sulok would be granted his every wish. Fame, fortune and power would all be his – no longer a failure, but a respected man of consequence.

Sulok began his incantation; he gestured wildly and spoke a series of words that where lost upon the wind, drowned out by the giant’s snarls and growls as it approached its prey. He finished the incantation, launching a pernicious fireball towards its immense target. The fireball incinerated all in its path, trees, rocks and animals, burnt beyond recognition within an instant.

“Now,” Sulok said, “ You shall feel the very essence of pain. Pain so terrible, that you shall kneel before me, begging me to finish you.” The fireball hit the giant with a sound so great that blood sprayed out from Sulok’s ears. Sulok would forever remember that sound, for it would be the last he would ever hear. Deaf until his body became one with the world.

The giant was blown asunder, it’s bloody carcass falling heavily upon the ground, turning mountains into plains and turning lakes into crimson pools. The victory had fallen upon Sulok, and he had deserved it, for none could match his power, and it would be so for many years.

Sulok searched for the giant’s head, for he could use the eyelash – the only part of a giant that a single man could carry – as proof of his victory. He heaved upon the heavy lash, then proceeded to cut it out of the giant’s thick skin. He wrapped it around his waist, using it as a belt. A giant’s eyelash was a special thing, a thing which only the brave or wealthy owned. Sulok was now both. “I am a great man now, and I shall change the world.” He thought to himself, as he made his way towards Calcuth, the closest city.


Paragraphs: 11
Lines: 39
Words: 380
Total Editing Time: 44 min

[ December 02, 2003, 16:30: Message edited by: The_Apprentice ]

 

Woah. I've rarely saw such good stuff on CS before.

Some minor editing should be done, but on the whole, it is excellent.

Well done.

 

Thanks Shura!

 

Descriptions are great.
But the first one... the battle is awfuly short. A volley of arrows, one melee attack, Rathe cuts down one elf and breaks head of another and then its over.

Also usualy there are some mid-scenes. Like the end of the first one. Rathe's army just won perhaps the most important and tough battle in their history, and he's alredy philosophicaly thinking about war in general.
They could like, pile and burn the corpses, tend to the wounded and rest. And then he'd have time to think about that... if he isnt too tired of course.
*shrugs* Just the way i'd done of course.

Otherwise, great! (just darn too short

 

Thanks Gothmog, I really apreciate your imput...I can see why you say that its too short, however, I my words where limited so I could not extend the peice about the battle.

Could you elaborate on mid sections please? I really wish to become a great author, and any imput given to me will be used. I just need to understand it

 

Mmmm... very nice. I enjoyed it. My favourite would easily be the second one about the suicide hero - what really grabbed me was the paragraph bout praying to the gods - it gave me chills!

Ummm... as for criticisms, (excluding the length of battle, as it has already been stated)there was one thing in particular that distressed me a bit, though I don't know if it was done because the piece was short or what: that is that there were several assumptions or straight-out statements, eg that "Sulan" (is that name right?) was the most powerful wizard and would be for a long time. Now, don't get me wrong, I understand what you were saying and why. I'm not criticising that, just the way a little... You see, the problem with assumptions or statements like that is that you're, firstly creating boundaries for yourself in later stories, because you cannot change anything, or even add in a wizard that was even more powerful, but just never known about, you know what I mean? Also, I think in the first story, you mentioned that it was the greatest battle in history, or something: that creates the same problem for hidden events in the past.

Anyway, the second problem with doing that is that, generally, readers like mystery, mysticism and wonder. They hate not knowing, yet love to conjecture (Have you ever read a book that switches over to a different character and scene every time something exciting happens? It drives me nuts, but I think its something that needs to be done - it keeps readers guessing and interested). SO, in other words, by telling them thing like that as fact, it limits their conjecturing and may, in the end, predict the happenings in your book a little too well.

I hope that was constructive criticism.

 

Wow En,
That was some great advice. I understand exactly what you mean - Thank you.
It really would limit the eerie, ominious feeling in the world in which I create (hopefuly) my novels, aswell as the creativity I can use within it. Thank You!

In this essay, I tried to lengthen it, and stay away from too much 'infomation'... this one feels like abit of an anticlimax, but your views would still, definatly be apreciated ! I probebly just need more practise writing longer peices, else how will I manage to write my novel?

---- Next Essay --- Please note, this one obviously takes place before both Cavern and Rathe's Battle.


Aulon’s Fear

Aulon hid in the tall papyrus grass as the Elves made their way past. Their grunts and squeals terrified Aulon, who was a man who usually felt no fear. His squadron of men, called Arrowhead, had been stuck in Elfin territory since the last full moon, and the effects where showing. Many of his men had already died, but those that remained where the smartest and strongest in the entire Kingdom.

Aulon’s mission was of dubious origins and motives. He felt little love for the Kingdom – nor did his men – but in exchange for freedom, Aulon was willing to do anything. The sickle-shaped moon passed behind the dark thunderstorm clouds, giving Aulon enough time to move out from the reeds and attack the Elves.

As silent as a cat, as visible as a ghost, as deadly as a serpent, Aulons men attacked the unsuspecting Elves. Throats where sliced quietly, leaving no sound or sight beside the rush of blood which ran down the elves breastplates. After looting the Elves of their precious food and water, Arrowhead dragged the corpses into the reeds, hiding them from the patrolmen and sentries who where frequently posted in this area.

Aulon indicated to his men to follow him as he made his way deeper into the forests which the Elves called home. This was no ordinary forest; it was believed to be home to Sashan, The Elvin Devil who ruled the Elves by sword and sorcery. No man had ever lived to tell of this place, and it was quiet likely, if this mission continued the way it was, no man ever would.

Aulon said, in his gruff voice, “ Men, I feel as much love for the Kingdom as I do for the Elves, but we both know we are at home at neither unless we finish this mission. Our pardons granted, we will be free men again. There is no greater gift than freedom.”

“Aye sir, we’ll give ‘em hell!” his men responded enthusiastically. Their faces where the profiles of rogues and rapists, of men adept at killing, but poor at following orders. Rugon, God of Fate, let these men do what the have trained for, Aulon thought as he drew his mighty Bastard Sword from its scabbard.

As Arrowhead sprinted into the forest, everything became a bloody orgy as arrows and elves appeared from nowhere. Aulon ran deep into the heart of the forest, holding his grand tower shield at guard to take the powerful arrow blows. It sounded like hail as his shield was assaulted by the yard long shafts. Around him, Aulon could see his men dropping. Friends and enemies, dying painful deaths as the Elves screamed gleefully as they cut down their opponents.

Some of his men, the true warriors and fighters -mostly the mercenaries of yesteryear - managed to stay alive and follow Aulon to the heart of the forest, Sashan’s Lair.

Even Aulon was petrified at such evil as they entered the calm land of the forest, the open tree-less area known as the heart. Spirits screams and echos could be heard on the wind, while around them the ground itself was bleeding dark thick mud. In the center of the clearing a gnarled throne was positioned. Made from human bones and skin, its picture would forever haunt the men of Arrowhead.

“So, you’ve finally arrived,” the cloaked figure on the throne said,” I have been waiting to meet you.”

Aulon respondend aggressively, “We have come in the name of the Kingdom and God to end your bloody rule over the humans of Aryol. Surrender now and your death will be painless.”

Sashan laughed a high, scratchy laugh which stung the ears of the listeners, “Do you really think a thousand of your men would be able to kill me?”

Kenji, one of Aulon’s lieutenants responded,” The Humans will defeat you. Be it today, tomorrow or the next century, we possess something you will never have.”

Sashan’s stood up from his throne, his small body cloaked completely by the huge brown garb he was wearing,” And what is that?”

“Hope.”

Kenji rushed to attack Sashan, while Aulon and the rest of Arrowhead, amazed at Kenji’s courage, followed. Sashan, letting loose a huge, maniacal laughter, lifted his right hand. Fierce blue lightning shot from his palm, scorching Kenji within an instant. Aulon dived to the side, narrowly missing the terrible spell Sashan had unleashed. The rest of Arrowhead where too slow, they too died.

Aulon, alone with Sashan, felt fear. He felt fear because he knew he would die. Aulon looked into Sashan’s eyes, eyes seething will hatred.

“Where is your hope now?” Sashan inquired mockingly. He was playing with Aulon before the kill.

“Within my sword”

Aulon sprinted towards Sashan, the thick mud squashing loudly as he ran. Sashan laughed his cruel high laugh again, applauding Aulon for his courage. Time seemed to slow down as he ran, he saw Sashan raise his hand again, and the bright blue lightning shot out. Aulon rolled, picked up his shield, allowing his momentum to carry him up. The lightning shot over Aulon’s head, singing his hair. Aulon continued running, and was now encouraged. For he felt invincible, and Sashan was weak, Sashan’s eyes showed fear now, and he felt none. Sashan gave him a nervous frown, before lifting both his hands, and shooting out more magical lightning. Aulon took the lightning on his shield, which protected him.

The lightning shot passed, hitting the trees on the outer edge of the heart. Flames erupted, and quickly circled the combatants. Locked in a firey ring, Aulon only had one choice now. Kill or be killed. Aulon dropped his shield, and began his run of hope towards Sashan once again.

Sashan was now scared, shooting off all manner of spells. Aulon had become cold, calculating and deadly. He sidestepped a fireball, spun round and stabbed his great bastard sword deep into Sashan’s robed chest. Sashan screamed loudly, so loudly, it shook the ground in its might. Sashan was not yet dead though. He clawed at Aulon’s hand, continuing to cast his spells.

Thick blue flames clawed their way up Aulon’s powerfully muschled arms. The pain was unbearable. Aulon began to feel lightheaded, but knew he was too close to give up. Sashan was laughing now as he saw Aulon begin to die. Blood was squirting out of Sashan’s mouth, a show of how Aulon had almost killed the godlike magician. Aulon mustered the remainder of his strength, and twisted the blade. The flames on his arms disappeared instantly, and Sashan’s laugh turned quiet. He was still laughing, but no sound was escaping his destroyed body.

Aulon heaved his sword out of the magician’s torso; the soft-sucking noise as the blade was loosened disgusting Aulon. Aulon then preceded to cut-off the magician’s hand, a token to prove to the King that he was successful in his mission. Bloodied, battered, cut and burnt, Aulon then ran as fast as his fatigued legs would carry him. He ran like he had never run before. He was a free man. All he had to do now was get back home.

Aulon would forever remember that day as the day his life changed. Later in life, Aulon, once a commited murderer, would become a Hero and a King. Yet at that stage, Aulon did not know this, and knew only that something in his life had changed. He believed in the power of humans.

Paragraphs: 26
Words: 1256
Editing Time: 135 minutes

[ December 05, 2003, 11:35: Message edited by: The_Apprentice ]

 

This really is some great work! Like most other folk here though, I must agree that that the battle in Rathe's Battle was far too short, and you're writing prior to it had me excited to it's coming. Otherwise it is excellent work

 

Thanks Morningstar, I really apreciate that. I would however, ask if you could see any other flaws in the writing? While positive feedback is great, positive critism is far more usefull.

Once again, I thank you for taking the time to read my peices.

Oh yes, In case some of you havn't realised, these essays are in muddled order, and that some characters, even after their deaths, are seen in later essays - such as Aulon's Fear, Sashan is killed, but he apears again in The Cavern, even though I wrote that before I wrote Aulon's Fear...hope this doesn't confuse anyone =)


Please note: the next essay takes place after Aulon's Fear, but before the rest of the essays.


Sashan’s Return: part 1

Cuskan began equipping himself for the long expedition to find the Grey Elves lost mage. He pulled on his heavy leather tunic, the rough material leaving dark red scratches on his otherwise perfect, pearly-white skin. He searched the armory for his sword – a sword of kings it was – believed to have been wielded by Xambak, the greatest of Grey Elven warriors. He found it quickly, its beautiful metal reflecting the sun into a million different colors, lighting up the otherwise dark, gloomy room. He admired the sword for a second or two, marveling at the craftsmanship before holstering it in its matching scabbard, also made from the finest quality metal, adorned with countless rubies and gems.

Cuskan’s mission was an honor for him. Tiskash, the Queen of the Elves, had asked him to search and find Lord Sashan’s corpse, and then to locate Aulon, the warrior who had killed him. Lord Sashan, greatest of all wizards, killed by a single man, Cuskan couldn’t believe such things. If true, it would test Cuskan’s skills in combat. No man was believed to have been able to kill a magician – least of all a human. Well, they do have the tenacity of a cockroach, Cuskan reminded himself as he saddled up his warhorse.

The icy winds stung Cuskan’s face as he galloped his mighty steed towards Sashan’s forest. The blizzard is terrible today, Cuskan thought as he felt his eyes freeze and his mouth dry hard. Fortunately, Grey Elves had lived on the icy peak known as the Gateway to the Gods for centuries, and could withstand such cold. It was still unpleasant though.

It took several days of hard riding before the ice thinned out and wildlife could be found. His horse, skinny and frostbitten from the terrible weather, died on the outskirts of Sashan’s Forest. Cuskan quickly found Sashan’s body, its sickly sweet smell of rotting flesh an easy way to locate it. Cuskan held his breath as he pulled down Sashan’s hood in order to see his face. The eyes rotten out and infested with maggots, the mouth split open as a trail of ants ate his tongue, Sashan was a mess. It would take hundreds of magicians to rejuvenate the corpse. Cuskan, disgusted at the job ahead of him, heaved the rotting corpse onto his shoulder and made his way back to the icy peak of the gods.

“Well, I’ve finished the first section,” Cuskan told himself as he played with the heavy bag of coins given to him,” Now all I need to do is kill this Aulon character.”

By the time Cuskan made his way down to Calcuth, the capital of Aryol, spring was already visiting the lush lands. Birds tweeating and rabbits running, it was a beautiful time, but it did not lift Cuskan’s mood. He still needed to kill the most dangerous soldier alive.

At midnight, Cuskan snuck into the city, the drunken guards wandering around pointlessly, he quickly dispatched them with a well placed crossbow bolt. He hid the corpses in the sewer system. By the time the corpses where discovered – if they ever where – Cuskan would be long gone. He crept quitly towards the tavern Aulon was known to visit – The Friendly Arm In.

He pulled up his cloak around his long spiky ears, and the visor of his helmet down. Long ears or pail skin, both would easy identify him as an elf. Cuskan walked casually into the bustling inn. A penniless bard played a merry tune in the corner while a few tavern girls danced on one of the wooden tables. Men stood around the table, bashing heavily upon it with their mugs, applauding the dancing girls. The sounds of laughter and happiness could be heard all-round, but Cuskan ignored it. He still had a mission to do.

Cuskan quickly identified Aulon. He was a massive man, an elephant of a man. Standing at 6,6ft and weighing in at 220 pounds, he was a formidable opponent. His dark intelligent eyes showed that he was well trained, always scanning the room for possible threats. He was a true warrior.

Cuskan sat at a table in the corner of the room. So far, Cuskan’s disguise had worked; he appeared to be a mercenary from down south, one of the border-men. Aulon sipped his pint of ale slowly, evidently enjoying every sip after returning from his terrible mission up north. Cuskan studied Aulon carefully. He could see the palms of his hand where scarred from sword practice. His scabbard around his waist, he was always armed, even when sipping ale with a group of friends. His dark brown eyes distinguished him as a loner, an intelligent man who although enjoyed company of others, was only at home with himself, he struggled trusting anyone.

Cuskan sighed heavily as he ordered another mug of ale. The small inn was quieting down now, as guests made their way upstairs alone, or with the whores, while the regulars began their drunken, unsteady walk home. It wouldn’t be long now Cuskan told himself as he took a sip.

A few hours later, the burly innkeeper began packing up his tables and chairs, his heavy gut hanging heavily as he wobbled down the inn, politely asking the guests to either rent a room, or leave. With a thick bully-club hanging on an oversized girdle, none of the guests caused any trouble. A quick shake of the club helped them decide very quickly.

The room quiet now, only Aulon, the innkeeper and Cuskan, he knew that now was the time for him to make his move. Cuskan stood up, pulling his crossbow out from his cloak in one graceful movement. He pulled the trigger. The innkeeper was thrown back 10 foot, a hole the size of a horse’s shoe blown out of him. The innkeeper screamed for a few seconds as he tried in vain to hold his ruptured organs inside his body. His hands covered in dark, thick blood as he tried to cover the gaping wounds. It took seconds for the man to die. Aulon instinctively pulled out his sword.

Cuskan pulled out his elegant longsword then kicked the tables and chairs out the way, giving him some room to wield his blade. Aulon’s sword was a great deal bigger, a mighty Bastard Sword it was, also magnificently casted, it would take the average man two years to save up for such a blade.

Cuskan made the first move, lunging low; Aulon had to use all his speed to parry the thinner blade. They circled round each other, both very aware that this was a battle to the death, and that they both faced experienced fighters in their prime.

Aulon swung wide, his thick blade slicing through the air as Cuskan nimbly jumped to the side. Cuskan knew the battle must end soon as the innkeeper’s scream must have alerted the town guard, if he was caught, he would be tortured for details regarding his mission. He would have to bite off his own tongue in order to keep his secrets safe, for none could resist the torture of the Kingdom.

Aulon feinted high, slicing low. Cuskan jumped onto one of the chairs, which was sliced from under him. Shattered completely, Cuskan lost his balance and fell heavily. It felt as if time slowed down, for he knew he had made a fatal error. Aulon swung down towards Cuskan’s head. Cuskan, dived underneath one of the nearby tables. Aulon’s blade clanged noisily against the tavern’s tiles.

Cuskan had managed to find his feet again and attacked aggressively. Slicing left, right, up and down, Aulon’s large blade could never match Cuskan’s smaller blades speed. Cuskan scored a hit, slicing deep into Aulon’s left arm. Aulon uttered a cry as he jumped back from the pain. Blood seeped through Aulon’s thick leather jerkin, covering his arm and dripping onto the ground. If Aulon didn’t finish this fight soon, he would die, either by Cuskan’s blade or by blood loss. Cuskan grinned sadistically at Aulon. For the first time, Aulon could see that Cuskan was not a mercenary, but rather an elf. He knew that Cuskan’s mission would be sinister, and if Aulon didn’t dispatch him, many lives other than his own would be lost tonight. He ignored the pain, gripping his Bastard Sword with two hands as he prepared himself.

Cuskan launched another savage attack, laughing gleefully as he did. Aulon parried all of them, the loud metal clash echoing in the small wooden room. Aulon then swung a powerful left attack, which as he expected, Cuskan dodged neatly. Aulon then continued his swing to carry him round, doing 360° before slicing straight down on top of Cuskan. Aulon’s blade was a blade not designed to maim or damage, it was designed to kill.

Cuskan couldn’t focus, his vision shaking. He felt strangely detached after Aulon’s massive strike. He couldn’t understand why he couldn’t feel his right side. It just wasn’t right. It didn’t make sense. Cuskan looked down at himself, bleeding pools of blood which squirted sporadically from the stump of an arm, he knew something was amiss. He couldn’t concentrate enough to figure out what though. Aulon, also bleeding badly, sat down next to Cuskan.

“Well, It would have been nicer if the winner had been easier to identify,” Aulon said grimly as his own vision began to swim.

Cuskan opened his mouth to talk, but nothing came out. He tried again. He felt a giddy feeling inside, as if this was some joke.

Shortly afterwards, the town guard arrived. Unprepared and poorly armed, had they arrived earlier, they would be dead men. The commander quickly realized Cuskan’s appearance was a façade, and that they needed him – as well as Aulon – alive. He gestured to one of his foot soldiers to find priests…lots of them.
The foot soldier returned with all priests, from all the churches, of all the gods. They needed many priests to save the injured combatants.

Weeks later, Cuskan stared out of his cell wall. He held the bars tightly with his left arm, dreaming of the snow covered mountains in which he and his family lived. He wished he was back there. He looked down at the mess his body was. His right arm had been completely cut off by Aulon’s sword, and the priests had said they couldn’t regenerate it. The stump depressed Cuskan. He knew he would never wield his sword again. He moved the stump cautiously, it moved slightly up and down. He was still trying to get the movements right. Perhaps one day he’d be able to get a metal attachment? At least then I’d be able to hold things, Cuskan told himself grimly. The rest of his body was no better, his right side was completely destroyed, and it had taken many months of hard work from the priests to save him. He couldn’t twist his waist or bend down. He also couldn’t use his right leg properly.

Cuskan sighed heavily as he heard the torturer coming towards him,” I failed my country, my people. I am a failure. Was trying to kill the warrior worth it? My country lost their best fighter. I lost my arm, and soon, I will have to loose my tongue.”

Screams, but no words, where heard at Cuskan’s cell. He would serve The Grey Army till the end -Be it his, or theirs - he was forever a soldier in the Grey Army.


Paragraphs: 32
Lines: 154
Words: 1929
Total Writing Time: 147 minutes

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I can't help but feeling that the longer my peices get, the less descriptive they become. Can anyone comment on this ?

[ December 05, 2003, 11:37: Message edited by: The_Apprentice ]

 

I've been going over this with The Apprentice in #sorcerers. To sum it up:

1) Lacks Detail,
2) Needs more characterization,
3) Needs more infomation or action on whats happening,
4) Characters need motives and ambitions, as well as likes and dislikes,
5) Don't like the butchering of elves. Might as well just create a new name instead of slapping a known name on an new race.

 

Aye, I apreciate your advice..wish more people gave as much as you did!

Thank you SO MUCH bro, look forward to reading more posts from you soon

 

I would like to agree with what Aikinaro has said, and also to say you must slow down.

You obviously love your story, and it comes from a rich and varied background, but you must stop the pace just a little- the battle with Sashan for instance was over far too quickly for a godlike-magician (and others have allready mentioned the first battle). Slowing the pace down a will also give you an oppurtunity to include descriptions of your characters (and their character if you will), their environment, and perhaps the history of your world.

This said, the work is quite good, it just needs to be refined a little. There were some minor grammatical and spelling errors, but these are inconsequential, and can be fixed at any time. I might reccomend some changes to the wording in some places (like for example, replacing 360* with full-circle or something similar) but these are definately up to you, and do not need to be changed necessarily. I think you may be on to something here, if you can stop enjoying your writing so much it is of course necessary to do so, but it is too easy when you enjoy it too much to get caught up in the writing and forget that we can not see the images of the story inside your head I hope you realize I am not trying to be offensive, merely offering the critisism you have asked for.

 

Your feedback is great. To be frank, although I had apreciated Aik telling me the flaws in my work, it had made me dispondent. I think slowing down will allow me to improve my writing without doing much extra 'effort' ...I would also like to say, you hit the nail on the head. I occassionaly type faster than I can think, and come out with vague descriptions - not because I'm impatient, but rather because I become so caught up in my writing.

As for the Elven comment above, I do respect your opinion Aik, and I know that many of the points you raised where true, but I still feel that in order for my story to make sense (it won't be apparent to you guys yet) my race needs to be called Elves..

I thank all of you for commenting on my work, and apreciate all of it. Even if I disagree with it, such as the Elves comment, I still respect it. Diversity of opinions make this world interesting.

Once again I thank you.

 

Ditto for most of what Aikanaro said.

About descriptiveness: you should not worry overmuch if you feel that you are skipping over detail in favor of plot and content. If the nature of the landscape, weather, or attire of the character can be suggested by the events that befall him/her, it's good enough.

Besides, overdoing descriptiveness only results in wordiness, something that most writers want to avoid with modern prose.

Pretty good work. Very good work in fact in comparison to the likes of Padeen Grammarbane, Paladine the intellectually disabled, and Nighthawk Wordbutcher who post their terrible work here and expect overwhelming praise. Keep it up!

And lastly: KILL THEM ELVES!

 

Great stuff!

but.. lots of times it is written "Where" instead of "were". Its quite confusing. Also skin can be pale but not pail.

Also the stories are very focused. Not a bad thing, but when writing a novel your story'd have to be bloody long to fill a normal book without any sideplots, substories,...
What i also really like is the slowness of a Bastard sword compared to longsword. Very nice

 

Wow, thanks guys. I have written this today, with some of your comments in mind... It follows on from the last essay I did. Please tell me what you think.


Cuskan’s Power


The cold dark prison was Cuskan’s enemy. It seemed that the very walls were his foe as the cold black granite bit icily upon his pearly white skin, while the thin sliver of light, penetrating the oppressive darkness hinted at the beauty of the day outside, tormented him. The soft drip as water fell from the leaky roof reminding him of his unquenchable thirst and the maniacal laughter of his fellow prisoners reminding him of lost friends. Cuskan was slowly dying

He shivered uncontrollably as he sat in the darkest corner of his cell, his clothing no more than rags which offered scant protection against the terrible cold which plagued the prison, both physically and mentally.

He stared outside longingly as birds chirped and the reassuring sound of the sea soothed him. He was trying desperately to forget what the High Inquisitor had done to him. He glanced down at the mess his body was. His right arm had been hacked off in his capture, it’s improperly healed stub seeping thick creamy puss which oozed out from his month old bloodied dressing. His torso was terribly disfigured, not only from his capture, where his right side had been hacked so that he now resembled a hunchback, unable to straighten his torn and ripped muscles which refused to heal correctly, but also from his torture, where his inquisitor had burnt him with fire, drawing crosses and pentagrams and all manner of strange devices in an attempt to draw out his secrets. His dark, unreachable secrets of The Grey Army.

The prison warden could be heard walking down the passageway, his heavy metal boots clanging noisily against the cold tile floor, an echoing sound which terrified the crushed prisoners, all of whom had experienced the warden’s wrath.

“You’ve a guest, you bastard scum,” The warden said in his low, gruff voice as he placed a powerful kick between Cuskan’s bars, sending Cuskan whimpering across the floor. Once a great warrior, Cuskan was now a weak man, unable to even stand up to the warden, a short, portly, balding man who took his anger out on weaker men.

Cuskan continued to hide in the dark shadows, covering his face with his hand, a feeble attempt at both protection and mercy. The obese warden pulled out a thick wad of keys, flicking each one over until he came to Cuskan’s key. Cuskan’s key, Cuskan’s desire, he prayed each night asking for either a blade to cut his own throat, or his key, so that he could escape. The warden grunted as he found the large key which he placed inside the huge keyhole. It clicked loudly as the warden’s chubby hand turned the key.

The cell door creaked with protest as the warden pushed it open, allowing a cloaked man to enter Cuskan’s cell.

“It has been a long time,” the man said as he pulled down the hood which had been covering his head, “It appears it would have been longer for you than it has for me though.” Aulon smiled kindly as he looked down at the mess of a man before him.

Cuskan uttered a soft whisper, his thin chest heaving in and out from the effort it required,” You….You ruined my life, why have you come here? To torment me further?” The words where slurred, hard to hear.

Aulon’s friendly smile never left his face. He tried to put the poor elf at ease, he wanted the elves help, and he wished no harm to the poor creature.

“I have come to offer you a deal, it –“Aulon was cut off by the elf

“Many have offered me deals, none I have accepted, what makes you think you will have any more luck?” Cuskan was a confused soul. He wished nothing more than to be free of this prison, but had refused to tell of any secrets. He had even tried to bite off his own tongue.
Aulon sighed, he had heard of the Cuskan’s pride, nay unmatchable it was. Aulon flicked a piece of imaginary dirt off his cloak,” I think you will accept my deal because it will grant you your freedom, in exchange for information… “Aulon stared deeply into Cuskan’s eyes, judging how much he could draw from the damaged elf, “information, such as, why you tried to kill me?”

Aulon too had been permanently damaged when Cuskan had been captured – for he had been the one who had done it. Aulon’s eyes flickered to his damaged left arm, the thick orange scar which ran from shoulder to wrist. Fortunately, priest had been able to restore his arm to nearly the same strength as it was previously. Left with only stiffness and the spider web scar which ran like a puzzle down his left arm, his wounds had been far less grievous than Cuskan’s had.

Both men sat in silence as Cuskan thought over the proposal. The sounds of screams could be heard from one of the cells as the torturers did their gruesome trade. Cuskan shivered as he thought of what they had done to him.

“Fine, consider it a deal.” Cuskan said at last. He had tried to maintain a standard tone, but Aulon could tell that Cuskan was crying silent tears, leaving pearly white patches on his otherwise grey, filthy skin.

Aulon had stuck to his word, and three weeks later, Cuskan was being released after telling Aulon of his mission.

The warden walked Cuskan down to the front of the prison, his bare feet slapping the ground noisily as he walked. The prisoners, like brothers, where as pleased about Cuskan’s release as he was, even if he was a murderous, vile, dirty grey elf.

The closer Cuskan came to the front of the prison, the more light filtered in. After spending three years in a dark, moldy prison, the light blinded Cuskan as he hobbled down the passageway, his hunchback even more distinctive while he was walking.

“This be yer affecs at time o’ capture,” the warden said grimly. He had enjoyed kicking Cuskan. Not often did he get the chance to kick a Grey Elf. He would miss that.

Cuskan looked into the crate of his belongings, his warped left hand making slow work as he sorted through the pile. He gasped as he came across his magnificent longsword. Even after sitting in a wooden crate for three years, it still had the power to awe him. He tried to lift it up with his left hand. He struggled to hold it upright, and would never manage to swing the thin blade. The light glistened off the blade as it had done so many years before, reflecting the meager light into a million colors in a million directions. As he held up his sword, the prison was no longer dark. He placed it down on the wooden counter. It may be a lovely sword, but Cuskan was no longer strong enough to wield the blade – or even hold it – he would need to sell it before he began his long journey home.

“Warden, your sword is old and rusted, I will give you this sword in trade for 3 gold pieces and your food for the day,” Cuskan announced.

“mmm…’dis a mighty fine blade, but all me food? With 3 gold pieces? You must be mad! I’ll give you me food, and 3 copper piece.”

They bartered for a few minutes before they settled on a price. 1 gold, 3 silver and his full food ration.

Cuskan pulled on his black robe, pulling the hood up high to hide his disfigured face. The army may have granted Cuskan safe passage, but the inhabitants of the Kingdom certainly wouldn’t. Cuskan hobbled out the prison, finding himself in a busy street, with smells and sounds and sights that he had seen too long ago.

The cobbled street was covered in filth, the thick brown human excrement winding its way down the drains on each side of the street, finding their way into the sewers at the bottom. Whores at every stopping doing their trade, merchants shouting prices over the bustling crowd while small boys pick pocketed the unsuspecting nobles.

An old rundown carriage made its way towards him, the skilful driver flicking the whip just behind the horse’s ears, keeping them at a steady speed. The back wheel was skew, moving suspiciously as the cart rumbled slowly towards Cuskan. As it pulled to a stop, the neat driver dropped down onto the road noisily, his metal tipped, black shoes clicking. He pulled out the old, rusted folding step, which grinded noisily. He opened the small side door, gesturing for Cuskan enter this old, yet serviceable, carriage.

“Compliments of Sir Aulon Hunter, ‘me Lord,” The driver said, bowing to Cuskan,” He tells me ‘ye be wanting to travel to Durugath, and then on to The Gateway to the Gods. I be the only man ‘vir the job,” The driver said reassuringly as he did a little tap dance.

Although Cuskan would never be the fighter he was, his mind was still as sharp as ever. He wondered what Aulon was up to, for no human gives without thinking of rewards. He scratched his messy beard with is left hand, sprinkling lice and filth onto the otherwise clean carriage,” They think they’ve destroyed my patriosm when they destroyed my body. There are many ways for an elf to kill a man,” Cuskan told himself as he thought into the future. He closed his eyes, thinking of all the ways in which to enact his revenge. His evil smile appeared terrible, his grotesque face amplifying his features.


Words: 1638
Total Writing Time: 96 minutes

 

This is fine stuff. And while I do not promote the slaughter of Elves, I think that your new view on the race gives your stories added depth and a 'feel' of their own.

On the whole, I think I agree thus far on any suggestions the others have given. Especially with Gothmog's comment on the battle in the first essay. I'm one that enjoys reading five pages of furious combat.

 

Thanks! can't wait to finish my next peice for you guys to read =)

 

Hey The_Apprentice!
Nice stories here. Keep up the good work.

My only critisism would be that you seem to be having difficuly in envisaging group battles where masses are involved.
Your first story might be excused as having word limit problems. But you were writing a full scene in Aulon's Fear, right? Yet, here again you have elves appearing, a battle scene and then an abrupt entry into Sashan?s Lair. Did the Arrowheads defeat all gaurds or did they just cleave though them to get to the mage? In the second case did the firewall catch the elves, tosting them? If not then how could a lone battered human get past the enraged alarmed elves?

Your head to head fights are very good. Both of Aulon's fights were detailed beautifully. Try to carry some of this detailing to you group battles.

Another thing is your grammer. You are now up against the 80:20 rule. 80% of the time spent correcting 20% of the mistakes. The grammer and spelling mistakes might no longer be caught by the word processor, but they will be caught by a human reader. So get your stories vetted by someone else to catch these tiny fish.

Finally a small thing. In Aulon's Fear you end by saying he becomes a hero and a king. Yet you send him to self destruct at the grey elves' hide out. A King would only go for such a misson if he had lost his kingdom, to extract revenge for all those who would no longer benefit from prayers. Do keep a small scrap note of all the things you admit to a charecter so you dont make such mistakes.

 

Thanks! I can see what you mean about group combat. in my latest story (which can be viewed at Aulon's Crusade - another thread) I have given Aulon some companions to work on my group combat as I realied it was flawed.

As for the other critisism,the part about not tieng up loose ends, I also agree with you - they are flawed. I am working on solving these problems by adding in more companions to Aulon's Pary, thereby making it easier for me to come up with a realistic 'escape plan' rather than simply dropping your gear and running.

Your last comment, about statements I have made such as Aulon becoming a Hero and a King, I still hold by, and I still intend for him to become both.

I apreciate your imput, and would be honored if you would mind commenting on my other work (viewable at Aulon's Crusade, continued...).

Thanks guys, you all know I apreciate any, and all feedback, and take it all to heart.

Thanks for taking the time to read my stories and to leave your feedback bro, look forward to your comments soon !