40K Online

Main => Art & Fiction => Topic started by: Myen'Tal on October 30, 2019, 11:41:08 AM

Title: Embers Edition Status Update!
Post by: Myen'Tal on October 30, 2019, 11:41:08 AM
Latest iteration of my Original Work.

I think I'm on to something here with the improvements ;)
Feel free to give criticism if you disagree :)

Qi Burns & Fades


Sirius, the Baleful Eye of the Heavens, scoured the Valley of Carrion with its feverish heat.
Shimmering rays coalesced from the crystal skies overhead, gathering on the barren oasis before him. Aslan felt the kiss of the desert wind, a brief and unreliable reprieve from the blistering warmth on his bronze skin.

Aslan felt as if he would burst into flames, draped in shimmering robes of cream and crimson with glinting chainmail showing underneath. He stayed by the oasis, anchored beside the barren crater by the presence of his brotherhood, eagerly awaiting his command.

“Pity,” Aslan’s voice rumbled like disquiet thunder in his throat. “You see my warriors?” He gestured toward the nearest of the broken Qi warriors, bound on his knees before the edge of the dried oasis. “We merely sought to test our mettle against worthy foes… Do you see me, Qi?”

Bloodied, battered, and a hair’s breadth away from mortally wounded, the Qi being addressed could scarcely lift his head to look Aslan in the eye. It was all that he could do but glance toward Aslan’s feet and hurl a wade of phlegm at them.

“Your first sin was the pride of thinking yourselves of our caliber.” Aslan sneered. He gave the command to dispose of his prisoners with one cutting gesture.

The single rank of Zarquin Guard, a score in number, hacked their unsheathed blades into the necks of each of their assigned charges. For each single stroke, one kill was made. As blood seeped into the arid sands, the Qarthites planted their boots on the backs of their foes and kicked with mighty force.

Aslan shook his head as he watched the bodies topple into the oasis unceremoniously.

“Unthinkable,” A rough, mocking tongue struck Aslan where it thought he’d be weakest. “You’ve stolen their honor as well as their lives. Whatever could these men hope for in the afterlife now, brother?”

“What do the defeated ever want in death, Azat?” Aslan shrugged. “As far as I know, it is nothing.”

“Careful,” Azat chuckled, making light of the massacre before them. “That old fool Ibrahim might come barking at you if he heard such scornful mocking of the higher powers.”

“I do not speak of gods or Ibrahim’s… elder myths.” Aslan frowned in distaste. “It is regrettable that Qarth must be built off of the broken backs of the helpless. Qi does not hope to stand against the might of the Dominion.”

“Ehh,” Azat dismissed him with a sigh, climbing to sit upon a boulder splattered in gore. “Let the dead know their rest. Let the vanquished have their toil. It is simply the way of things. It’s a cycle you see, one that shall repeat until Qarth too is toppled when we’ve become too weak and frail to stand upright.”

Aslan glanced up from the corpse-littered oasis to stare Azat in the eye. “Things must be truly dire if even Ibrahim can say that you doom and gloom too much. Don’t speak such words amongst the ranks.”

Azat cocked his head to one side and shrugged. “Is there any use in fleeing our inevitable doom? What our hands struggle to build, is never meant to last. How much more ferocious would all of Qarth be if they lived by such words?”

“Enough, wayward brother,” Aslan smiled in spite of himself. “This valley burns, and the Qi Tribes are reduced to ashes. Qarth rises from the embers, as it has done so again and again.”

“Very well,” Azat agreed. “Bones cannot be sown in a land of peace, neither can blood flow in streams into the rivers. Salt cannot be sown without hate or prejudice. The conquered cannot be bent by anything lighter than an iron fist and sharpened blades.”

“Good,” Aslan gestured for the Zarquin to fall into formation and resume their march. “My Zarquin are the finest warriors to ever grace Qarthite soil. You think them ravenous wolves, but they are proud lions to a man and woman. I’m entrusting their lives to you, you understand? Don’t test my patience or my judgement.”

Azat heaved with scornful laughter. “I’ve never relied on either of those, Aslan, and never will. I shall see our mission done. I won’t make promises for warriors who’ve sworn that each day would be their last, if need be.”

Aslan frowned, but hid his emotions cautiously. “If such a time comes nearer too quickly, you know my signal.” A vicious smile graced his scarred features. “Remember, your life is not worth more than any one of them.”

“Just be certain you achieve things on your end.” Azat shot back. He gazed out over the horizon with cold, raven black eyes. “Be swift and remove yourself from here. Come dawn, blood shall come flowing back into the canals of Tu’shik.”

“It is only one head, Azat.” Aslan folded his arms and made to join the departing throng of Qarth warriors. “You need not risk everything to steal it off someone’s shoulders.”

“Arpiar!” Azat beckoned to the score of Zarquin lingering by the oasis. Each of them was marked with several lavender bands tied around their blade-arms. Warriors gifted from Aslan’s own retinue to serve Azat and his mission. “Swifter than wind, is there any man who could glide farther than you across the sands?”

“Your command is my sworn oath.” A lean warrior with raven hair that flowed down in straight locks rushed to kneel down before Azat’s boulder. He cupped one fist in his palm and bowed his head. “What would you have of me?”

“Look to the east.” Azat pointed past the steep slope of the oasis into the valley proper. He paused until Arpiar craned his head in the direction of several settlements dotting the landscape. “You see those Qi settlements? Take this…” Azat produced a pristine scroll of bundled parchment, written over with neat and tiny scrawl. “Go deliver this to the chieftains who dwell there. If none deign to reply to the words written in this missive… well, you may slay them.”

Arpiar inclined his head in agreement. “I shall do ask you ask. If they dare return the missive to me, I shall come back with each of their heads. Of this I swear.”

“I trust in your oaths of loyalty.” Azat waved him away. “Go now and do not return until you have succeeded.”

Azat watched Arpiar stalk away in silence, fetch the nearest horse held in wait for him by one of the attendants, and quickly depart.

Azat beckoned toward the Zarquin once again. “Nishan, you may approach. You have something to say?”

Warily, a heavily scarred brute with short locks of auburn hair stepped forward out of the score of warriors. He knelt on the bloodied sand without hesitation, one fist held in the palm of his hand.

“Azat?” Nishan lifted his head to stare Azat directly in the eye with his one good emerald eye. The other stared into the back of Nishan’s skull, only milky white color staring back. “I only regret you’ve chosen Arpiar to venture forth alone. The Qi shall grow bold when they see only one warrior making demands of them.”

“There is nothing to regret.” Azat shrugged. “Arpiar shall return by nightfall, three chieftain heads his gift to me. I would not ask that you venture forth with him. I have other plans for the Scarred Child, you see?”

“Name your demand.” Nishan’s emerald eye glinted with ferocious bloodlust. “By Qarth, I’ll see it done.”

“Look to the east.” Azat pointed beyond the oasis, in the direction of three settlements. “You see those Qi settlements? Take five warriors and raze each of them to the ground. Torch anything defiant enough to stand before you, and let your swords spare nothing they can cleave through.”

“I understand.” Nishan grimaced, but did not seem hesitant. “Blood and ashes will be all that remain.”

“Good.” Azat waved him away as he did Arpiar. “You’re not as swift as Arpiar. That is why I sent him out first. Now go and do not return until you have succeeded.”

Azat watched Nishan bow once out of respect, then shout out five names, answered by five of the Zarquin Guard. Together, they retrieved their horses held in wait for them, and set out across the dunes.

“The rest of you!” Azat beckoned to the thirteen warriors still lingering by the oasis. “Come gather round this mighty boulder and hear my words!”

The Zarquin formed a loose circle around the boulder. They did not bow, but respectfully inclined their heads. Together they intoned, “Your brothers listen!”

“Listen well, then.” Azat replied. “Qi burns, and Qarth rises from the embers. Oaths you have all sworn, and others we’ve sworn again to see through before dawn’s next light.

“All of you are survivors of great wars… Aslan could count each of you among the first generations to march from the Gardens of Tu’shik, sword and shield in hand, to sacrifice your lives for something far greater than glory or fame.

“Sadly, none of us are so young anymore, are we?” Azat grinned wolfishly and earned rumbling laughter from the stoic veterans. “But good men must sacrifice what little they have, so that great men may build better futures. Courage, iron, and steel are the weapons of good men. Prosperity, equality, and quality of life… these are the weapons of great leaders, tyrants and kings.

“Without the former, there is no latter. So, we wield our weapons against foes that stay the hands of great men, so that they shall continue to wield their weapons unencumbered. I ask each of you, right now, who or what do you swear your oaths to? Shall you sacrifice what you promised for Qarth? What say you?”

“Qi fades!” The thirteen chanted. “Qarth rises from the embers!”

“Good!” Azat thundered suddenly. “When I am brought the heads of three chieftains, their villages ablaze in a storm of smoke and ash—I anticipate warriors of legend, an infamous retinue shall come riding out of Reaper’s Lantern. We have our orders to see them all dead before dawn’s next light. Before the fate of this valley is sealed for centuries to come.

“I need not warriors, I require butchers of steely nerves and iron resolve. For certainly even with the fourteen of us, it shall be no easy prey we hunt. Prepare yourselves for carnage and battle, and a dreary demise if the fates are not with you. May the sun rise for all of you tomorrow.

“Dismissed!”

Title: Re: Born of Ashes and Embers (Iteration III)
Post by: Myen'Tal on November 6, 2019, 10:01:20 AM
~***~
 
     Long hours passed since Azat had spoken with the two men he had sent forth. Dusk faded into night. An impregnable darkness crept into the chiseled mountain pass of Reaper’s Lantern. Azat and his entourage of thirteen Qarthite warriors waited till the sun vanished and the stars shimmered in the sky.
   
     They waited out the cold desert night in silence. Only a smoldering flame was allowed at the campfire, but the Zarquin huddled around its warmth as if they would freeze in its absence.
   
     Azat felt the kiss of boredom shift toward a drowsy sleep, but each breeze of frozen air bit him back into wakefulness. The wind bit and bit, until the clatter of hooves on craggy rock finally greeted the Zarquin at the mouth of the mountain pass.
   
     Azat and others craned their heads toward the sound, hands readied on the hilts of their weapons. Cheers erupted from the party instead as a familiar face rode mounted into the mountain pass to greet them. His garb was splattered with blood and his chainmail was battered and rent. In one hand, a blazing torch ate away at the shadows that clung to his face.
 
      The rider tugged on the reigns of his warhorse until the mighty beast reared up to a halt. Arpair dropped the reigns of his mount to tear away a long length of bloodied rope from his back. Azat gazed upon the length of rope that Arpair held up to him so triumphantly, the fearsome heads and matted hair of three chieftains entangled in its bind.

“Arpair, my swiftest herald, what do you return to me?” Azat bellowed with hearty laughter.
“Three chieftains as I had asked? Or did you steal away the heads from unfortunate farmers?”

“My Lord, for you!” Arpair threw the heads at Azat’s feet, his expression victorious. He pointed toward the three settlements on the horizon. “Gaze upon your work, completed!”

Azat casually glanced toward the east, where three infernos blazed into the night like great comets fallen to the earth.

“You do the Lion honor.” Azat acknowledged him with an inclination of his head. A gesture scarcely seen in the darkness of night. He pointed toward the severed heads. “Are you still worthy to fight?”

Arpair grinned through untamed, matted hair. “I fought from midday to dusk, my lord. My armor is damaged as surely as my sword and shield. But they are yours, if you need me.”

“No.” Azat dismissed him with a wave. “You’ve done enough, my swiftest. Ride forth into the night and rejoin with Aslan’s retinue. You will not want to be here when the time comes for battle.”

“As you say.” Arpair hid his skepticism well, but seemed to know well enough not to second guess his commander. “May the sun rise for all of you tomorrow.”

Azat and the others did not watch Arpair depart, but their exhalations spurred him on into the night.

“Douse the flames,” Azat commanded his warriors. “And welcome the embrace of the shadows. We lie in wait for our quarry for the rest of the night. Stay near one another, the cold’s bite will be sharp.”


~***~
   
     “Qi fades…” Nishan recited the mantra to himself, basking by the great inferno his five men weaved across the Qi village. “Qarth rises from the embers…”
 
       Five warriors on horseback galloped through blood-slick roads. They rode in separate directions, their torches setting fire to any unblemished structure from one end of the village to the next. By the time they had ridden to the settlement’s end, the fires had taken root long enough that the Qi warriors hidden amongst them were forced to flee out into the open.
 
      Nishan sighed with great relief that many of the common folk had fled weeks prior. He would not have hesitated, but his desire to slake his bloodlust with that of the unworthy was non-existent.
 
      Nishan watched scores of Qi warriors amass amidst the flames of their burning homes. As was their want, they garbed themselves in the hides of exemplary beasts of the wilds and laced their skin with piercings of their bones.
 
       The Scarred Child gazed upon them and saw no fearful men amongst their number. They barked ferocious war cries and hoisted their weapons high. Nishan watched them from a safe distance, noticed their wrathful gazes studying him in return.
 
       “Warriors of the Qi!?” Nishan thundered. “Have we stolen your spines!? Will you not fight for what blazes around you!?”
 
      The Qi stood their ground, but did not answer him.
 
      “Fine,” Nishan snorted derisively to himself, then bellowed like thunder in a clear sky. “Zarquin, attend your master’s command! Let their blood wet the sands!”
 
      Nishan did not wait for confirmation from his men, but spurred his horse toward the Qi with frightening speed. He unsheathed the wicked sword bouncing on his hip with a shrill cry and held his buckler tight across his chest.
 
       An uproarious wave of cries erupted from the Qi as Nishan bellowed a ferocious war cry. In the corner of his one eye, he caught the silhouette of another horse charging into the Qi from the opposite flank. He spurred his horse to the quickest speed, readying himself to trample men underfoot.
 
      The Qi scattered at the last moment to let the other rider through. Nishan realized too late that it was headed on a collision course.
 
      “Magar!? Hovan!? Avedis!? Change your course!” Nishan commanded. He lifted his hand to announce himself as a comrade, but froze at the sight of a corpse, without either limbs or head, galloping toward him.
 
      The collision slammed Nishan with force enough to throw his own mount into the blackened dirt. His warhorse toppled on top of him with a sickening crunch of shattered bone and twisted muscle. A primal scream tore itself from out of Nishan’s throat, the world before him nothing but a blur of motion.
   
    Several bursts of sudden, agonizing pain lanced into his gut and chest in rapid succession.
           Then the world shifted into hues of permanent black.

~***~
 
      “Nishan!?” Magar screamed in defiance. He flicked his wrist and a Qi’s sword hand toppled away from the wrist. Before the mounted warrior could ride past him, Magar smashed the rim of his shield across the back of his foe’s head and sent him toppling into the dirt after his severed hand. “Where in all the hells could he be!?”
 
      Another Qi hidden behind the facial mask of a fearsome beast rode up to strike Magar down from behind. Magar pulled hard on the reigns to turn, but knew he was too slow. Hovan charged past him at full gallop and unseated the masked warrior with a well-placed thrust of his spear through the Qi’s vulnerable neck.
 
      Blood lashed out to slather Magar’s face, but he saw clearly enough to parry a strike from another passerby.
   
     “Death from afar!” Avedis cried from the shadows. An arrow darted into the back of the rider seeking Magar out. The Qi galloped several paces onward before he fell away into the arid dirt.
 
      “Magar, Nishan’s likely dead!” Hovan cast the torch in his offhand so that the flames exploded into ashes and embers in the face of another foe, interrupting their charge. He rode past the blinded warrior and cut him across the throat. “He was at the other end of the village last we saw! A score of men I saw him charge into! We should fall back while we can! The mission is done!”
 
       “I won’t flee while there’s Qi blood yet to be spilled!” Magar parried a powerful strike from a wooden club, splinters and shards flying from his shield. “Do you hear me!? Your masks do not frighten me!”
   
     “Enough, Magar!” Hovan circled around Magar, his spear warding off a dozen foes closing in for the kill and slaying another pair of the masked riders. “Come, let’s ride! I won't linger to see if you’re still at our backs!”

        “I’ll cover the both of you!’ Avedis loosed volley after volley into the masked Qi. Several warriors were forced to limp out of the fight back toward their blazing village. A handful of others laid sprawled on the earth from his attacks. “Get your hides out of there!”
 
       “Your backs shall break building our cities!” Magar spat defiantly. He wheeled his warhorse around to trail Hovan’s retreat toward Avedis. “Remember these words!”

~***~
Title: Re: Born of Ashes and Embers (Iteration III)
Post by: Myen'Tal on November 7, 2019, 09:10:05 PM

   “Azat!”
       
      “Azat!”
   
      “Azat!” 
 
 
  A singular cry rolled over the craggy rocks of Reaper’s Lantern. The sound crept behind the unturned stones and echoed into the frozen breeze, before it vanished somewhere deep within the impregnable darkness.
 
      A sickening feeling welled from deep within Azat at the sudden taunt. The thirteen Zarquin clustered tightly around him like a living bulwark of flesh, iron, and steel. As their master remained appraising and silent in response to the challenger, so did the Zarquin refrain from ushering even a loud breath.
 
      “Come forth, son of Qarth!” The champion thundered from shadows. “I have brought you a gift fit for kings!”
   
     Suddenly, a lonesome torch blazed into life in the very heart of the mountain pass. Where shadows once clung, a warrior three heads over the tallest men stood, his stance challenging. His form was lean, but rippling with whip-chord, heavily scarred muscle. Swirling patterns of obsidian circles flowed over his trousers.

The stitched together hides of a pair of Lantern Tigers draped the otherwise bare upper body. The hides were crafted in such a way that either tiger head graced both of his shoulders.

In one fist, the freakish warrior lifted a lengthy rope entangled with three bloodied heads. Azat instantly recognized the casualties: Nishan, the Scarred Child stood starkest amongst them. Yervant, one of the five warriors he had sent with Nishan. Arpair, who Azat had incidentally sent to his doom.

The nauseous feeling churning within Azat’s stomach stoked and burned until it became a ferocious fury.

“You say that your gift is worthy of kings?” Azat countered from the shadows. “But you bring only three heads instead of the six that ventured from here. Did the other half elude you somehow?”
The Giant of a man heaved with vicious laughter, his tone brutally short, and his accent barbaric in its coarseness.

“Your fourth head!” The Giant ripped free another loop of rope dangling from his waist. Azat counted the head of another Zarquin entangled in its bind. Azat did not recognize it. “But this is unfit for either of us! You hide in the shadows while I stand out in the open like a fool… unveil yourself, let us speak warrior to warrior.” 

“Azat,” One of the Zarquin tilted his head towards him and whispered. “Tell him to unveil his army first, the deceiving bastard!”

“No,” Azat smirked. “This is not how things will play out… all of you remain where you stand. If I cannot strike down this brute with my own sword… fall back to Aslan and relay what happened.
“And before you fret at your command, I’ll demand your safe passage in return for my head to this brute.”

A chorus of whispered disagreements and denials assailed Azat’s shrinking back as he pushed forward to meet with the giant. The Zarquin cursed themselves, but did not dare disobey their orders.

Azat made a point to clamber loudly over the rocks of Reaper’s Lantern as he drew nearer to his challenger. To his credit, the giant merely held his ground and waited in patience for a silhouette to emerge from the dark.

“Here I am, mighty Qi.” Azat waved his hand and stepped into the torchlight. “You have found me… How do you know of me?” He looked respectfully up and down. “You do not fit your legend very well. None of them mentioned you were a half-giant.”

“Kin and foe alike call me Baal.” The half-giant grinned, showing surprisingly pearl white teeth, too chipped to be perfect. “And I am merely an emissary, sent on behalf of my people to be Qi’s champion.”

“Qi’s champion?” Azat scoffed, then barked with laughter. “Why would you do such a thing?”
“Because Qi fades,” Baal gritted his teeth and rasped. “And Qarth rises from the embers. You threaten to break all of our backs upon the foundations of your empire.”

The laughter stifled in Azat’s throat as he considered Baal’s words. “You speak of an alliance between your people and the Qi? Your honesty baffles me… why would you say this to your enemy?”

“Why does it matter?” Baal grinned again. “When I’ll shatter your spine across my knee and claim your head as my own?”

“Personal combat, then?” Azat asked, then nodded in agreement. “If you should slay me, then allow my men safe passage to fight another day. If I slay you… your men will break anyway. Qi fades, after all.”

“Not for much longer.” Baal frowned. “But I’ve heard your terms and accept none-the-less. Before dawn breaks, the Tribes of the Qi and the Clans of Khanar shall celebrate over your broken corpse.”

A hundred cries, so close in proximity that Azat froze from the abrupt blast of their combined voices, shook the earth with defiant battle cries.

“Qi remains! Qi remains! Qi remains!”

“Shall we begin?” Baal asked. “No point in shirking from the inevitable.”

Azat smiled with that wolfish, confident smirk he had. He spun on his heel and turned his back to
Baal without a word and stalked away. He heard Baal bristle with soft, rough laughter and called for a choosing of several weapons to be brought to him. On the other side of the mountain pass, the Zarquin Guard waited with bated breath.

“Nishan and his retinue? Aripiar too?” One of the Zarquin questioned Azat as he approached.

“Dead.” Azat quipped. “Most of them. Magar, Hovan, and Avedis may still be alive.”

“Aslan would lay this giant low without even blinking.” One of the Qarthites spoke up. “You shall do it in his place, Azat, of that we are certain. Bring honor to the names of the fallen.”

“What do the dead care of honor or any of those things?” Azat countered. “Rather we not bother them with demands to follow the living. Let the dead have their rest… Be prepared for any fate.”

Azat turned his back on the Zarquin Guard and proceeded into the no man’s land between them and the opposing Qi forces. In the center of that empty space, Baal waited for him with a patience born of surety and confidence. Strapped upon the half-giant’s back were several javelins and a shield, a sword sheathed on his hip, and a two-handed great axe gripped in both of his gnarled hands.

Azat unsheathed the wicked sword sheathed on his waist and locked his shield tight across his chest. He approached with caution, until Baal’s misty breath breezed over his raven hair.
 
      Torches once hidden behind invisible men were brought out of the masses of the Qi horde. Practiced in the tradition of blood feuds, the Qi hand picked to bear the blazing lights marched around the combatants until they encircled them in one sphere. Azat noticed their perfect spacing. He witnessed the way they held their torches up high to reveal their stoic faces, scarcely concealing their untamed bloodlust.
 
       In the limelight of the torches, Azat could barely make out the Zarquin Guard clustered together just outside of the arenas bounds. Their silhouettes were unmoving as if they were built from stone instead of flesh. He knew they watched the duelists with expectant eyes.
 
       In the limelight, Baal loomed over Azat, his stature even more apparent than it was before. The Half-Giant gazed off in the direction of the Zarquin Guard, then slowly crept his gaze back to Azat.
 
       “If this were another day and time,” Baal flashed a vicious grin. “I would regale myself with tales of your exploits. Some of your warriors are men of legend. Legends hacked apart under my axe. Know that I acknowledge their sacrifice and honor their courage.”
 
       Azat lifted his gaze to look Baal in the pit of his ocean blue eyes. His eyes reflected a similar admiration. “May the gods call you with the next sunrise. If that is your fate.”
 
       “Have you made peace with your past?” Baal asked. “For I am eager to spill blood and proclaim myself victor.”
 
       Azat tightened his fingers around the handle of his moderate buckler. Obsidian, his wicked sword, gleamed in the flickering flames of the torchlight.
 
       A confident smirk crept its way into Azat’s stoic expression. “Do your worst, son of Kharan.”

        Baal screamed with such concussive force that Azat’s hearing was drowned beneath the whistling tune of deafness in an instant. The sheer shock quickened his scattering footfalls and cleared him away from the first decapitating strike.

Baal pounced forward, his stance like that of a primal tiger. The single-headed axe whirled around the half-giant’s head before lashing out in a great arc. Azat dug his feet in and cut to the left of the rightward swing. The axehead bit deep into the wooden shell of his buckler, raised overhead. Splinters and shards sprayed both combatants.

Azat pushed under the axe and answered Baal with one keening cut. Obsidian glimmered briefly like light glancing over a vein of quicksilver. Baal cried out, the sound more ferocious roar than pained. An arc of blood spurted after Obsidian’s exit from Baal’s flank.

A vicious elbow thrust toward Azat, but he slid across the sands to a safe distance. Baal followed into the movement with a downward chop, then ended the sequence with a low sweep. Azat slipped away from the downward arc without effort, but the end of the sequence off-footed him enough that he tripped over himself.

Azat followed his descent into the sand with a fluid roll. Baal’s crushing boot landed with enough force where he had fallen a moment ago that cracks ran in rivulets in the rock below. Azat pushed himself back onto his feet, but Baal was upon him and sent him flying with a mighty kick to his midriff.
 
      The night sky raged in a blur of motion, but Azat sketched out Baal rushing toward him full tilt. Baal ran him down in the span of a breath and brought his axe down in one momentous blow meant to cleave him apart.
 
      Azat ripped Obsidian free of his own bloodied skin and cut with the reckless precision of a blinded serpent. The blade whipped out toward Baal’s dwarfing silhouette and smacked some part of him with a meaty thwack. The sound was followed by a singing cut that drew an infuriated scream from Baal.
 
       The axe impacted into Azat’s right shoulder, but Obsidian had stolen much of the force out of the blow. Azat still cried out in pain, blood spraying from the rent chainmail and splashing Baal in his neatly wounded face.
 
       A mighty fist clenched Azat by the throat, lifted him partially into the air, then slammed him back into the rock and sand with a loud thud. Azat answered with a strong sweep of his buckler into Baal’s stony jaw.
 
          Baal took the blow in stride and picked himself out of the arid sands of the arena. Fingers clenched around Azat’s throat, he found himself pulled onto his feet with the half-giant.
 
       “Do you see me, Zarquin?” Baal spat flecks of blood through battered teeth. His face was cut and battered to hell, but he smiled as if he had just experienced all the joy in the world. A joy that he could only find in the chaos of battle. “You’ve met your match…”
 
       The Qi watching from the arena outskirts chanted in unison. They called for Azat’s sacrifice. They called for his blood. They called for an end to all that he had wrought.
 
       Azat cut with obsidian with all of his strength, but Baal accepted the ragged wound carved into his ribs as if he hadn’t felt it at all.
 
       “I never told you,” Baal heaved with grim laughter. “Baal is my name, because I am a demon of battle! I finish my foes by crushing their throats with my bare fist, and removing their heads with brutal force… this is sacrifice enough for the Qi.”
 
      Azat tried to spit in Baal’s face, but the leaden force pushing his throat in sapped him of strength and concentration. Blood rushed to his head. His lungs struggled to breathe. The world began to shift into non-distinct hues. His hearing began to degenerate into nothing but chaos…
 
          “For the Twelve Tyrants of Qarth!”
 
        A thick spray of blood slathered Azat and immediately, Baal’s crushing grip slackened into nothing. Azat collapsed upon himself into the blood slick sand. As clarity quickly came back into focus, he made out Baal’s headless corpse half buried in the sand.
 
       “My Lord, for you!” Azat sucked in gaping mouthfuls of air between wretched fits of coughing. Hand on his throat, he looked up to the mounted figure gazing down upon him, sword pointed toward Azat in salute.

“Magar!?” Azat managed a ragged word between heaved breaths.

Magar did not pause to see to Azat’s person, but instead pointed his sword to Avedis and Hovan charging past him at full tilt.

“Tear their ranks asunder!” Magar bellowed to the moon itself. “Litter the valley with their bones!”

Hovan crashed into the ring of Qi, who now fled for their lives. Several men vanished beneath the hooves of his stallion, crushed into the sand. His spear struck like a serpent’s kiss, again and again into any Qi brave enough to stand before him.

Avedis swept in from the left, but kept a short distance. He answered the nearest Qi with a volley of arrows. Goaded by the sudden attack, the Qi sounded their war horns and countered charged blindly into the night. One hundred men clambered relentlessly into Reaper’s Lantern until it seemed as if a living wall were going to drown the Zarquin in a tide of death.

Azat recovered himself quickly and readied obsidian and his shield. Rushing footsteps from behind betrayed the presence of the thirteen warriors who came to reinforce him. He did not have to give the command. The Zarquin Guard locked their shields together, formed a bulwark, and braced to receive the charge.

“Always one to fight on your own, brother!” A wrathful voice that could only belong to Aslan seemed to thunder over even the war cries of one hundred Qi. “But Qarth was never built on the sacrifice of one man alone!”

A dirge of a warhorn sounded behind Azat at the mouth of the mountain pass. The night sky, once dim and ominous, brightened with the light of a thousand flaming arrows descending from it. The tide of Qi writhed and shrank as they were showered by flaming death. The few who remained amongst the hale and healthy in that horde shattered in an instant before the army approaching them from the other end of the pass.

“I’m aware that I did not forbid your death.” Aslan clapped Azat hard across the back as he approached from behind. “But I thought it went without saying.”

Azat managed to grin through his exasperated, bloodied, and bruised features. “I’m still here, aren’t I?”

“Where are all of my men?” Aslan made a point to count each and every living Zarquin with lavender bands tied around their wrists. “You’re missing some.”

“I made no promises,” Azat grimaced. He cleaned the blood out of his eyes with the sleeve of his robe. “Remember?”

“Of all of them, you lost the Scarred Child and Arpriar?” Aslan frowned deeply. “A shame, that…”

“I won’t dwell on those about to perish here today.” Azat countered. “You wouldn’t have come with…” Azat gestured to the seemingly endless column of warriors marching into the mountain pass. “Such an army unless the Qi have come in greater numbers.”

“Worse than that,” Aslan folded his arms and watched the remaining Qi scamper out of the mountain pass. “There’s a detachment of Kharan Half-Giants headed straight for Reaper’s Lantern. I think you met their emissary?” He gazed down upon the headless corpse at his feet. “Quite the diplomats, eh?”

“Hah!” Azat barked. “You could say that.” He sobered. “What would you have of me, brother? You’ve always been Erasyl’s chosen. I’ll lend you my sword.”

“Erasyl executes the defense of the Gorgon dunes.” Aslan informed him. “Select several units from my forces and rendezvous with him. The Qi and the Kharan will be bringing the brunt of their force into that wasteland. They know where we are weakest.”

“And here I thought we’d finally draw swords together.” Azat finally replied after considering his orders. “A shame, truly.”

“Why?” Aslan shrugged. “Erasyl himself shall arrive soon to lead the counterattack from your defense. You’ll fight beside the most exalted of us all. And you know he’d have it no other way.”

“If it must be so, then let it be.” Azat sketched a mocking bow before he turned to depart. “Zarquin Guard, attend your master! I have other business to attend to…”

“My Lord,” Amidst the countless thousands now crammed into Reaper’s Lantern, Magar saluted Azat the moment he turned to face him. “Four worthy kills shall I reap in your name! Each in retribution for the men who died in your service! The dead would sing your praises for avenging them!”

“The dead are reciting the myth of how Magar slew the half-giant at Reaper’s Lantern.” Azat dismissed him with a flick of his wrist. “They care not for the man that nearly had his head ripped off by the giant himself.”

Azat did not glance behind him as the Zarquin Guard chanted his, Aslan’s, and Magar’s name and vanished into the endless throngs of warriors.


~***~

Well, if you've discovered this post, there's a good chance that you've finished reading the first the chapter of Born of Ashes and Embers!!! You've my admiration and gratitude for coming so far! It's been an arduous journey, but I think I've produced a first chapter and story foundation that I'm really quite fond of.

All the criticisms and advice (Mainly from you, Alienscar ;)), and others, I think have really helped me progress. I say that like I've received a lot of feedback from this third iteration :P ;), but what I've received so far, has been positive.

There is no comment or suggestion that I would not hear so long as it's made objectively and fairly. So I am open to all ears.

Special thanks to the lurkers who are still reading ;D. Special rare thanks to those who lent their expertise to aid me further.

If you could not already guess, I shall not be making any additions beyond the first chapter here on the 40k forums or anywhere else.

I'm making good strides in the story's continuation. I'm already through much of the third chapter! Here's to forging more stories! I hope people view all the issues I've chronicled with my writing and learned somethings. There is no greater reward for me than hearing I may have inspired others with a passing interest to stop and think, "That might be cool." Much like I was back in the day ;D...
Title: Re: Born of Ashes and Embers (Ver. III, Chapter I Completed)
Post by: Dread on November 9, 2019, 01:09:37 AM
I really enjoyed the read. Good job! Would love to see minis of them.
Title: Re: Born of Ashes and Embers (Ver. III, Chapter I Completed)
Post by: Myen'Tal on November 9, 2019, 10:46:11 AM
I really enjoyed the read. Good job! Would love to see minis of them.

I appreciate the compliment, Dread ;D! Thanks!

Mini versions of the characters would be interesting!
Title: Re: Born of Ashes and Embers (Ver. III, Chapter I Completed)
Post by: Sir_Godspeed on November 13, 2019, 11:45:13 AM
It's been a while since I dipped my feet in writing and feedback, but your persistence deserves attention.

First off - thanks for the enjoyable story. While it's the first chapters of presumably several, it does feel like somewhat of a finished arc - though I did grasp for some additional context at times. Even if the conflict was fairly clear, the barrage of names made it a bit difficult to keep it all in order at times.

Speaking of context, I see you called this an original story, but I think I recognized the name Qarth from A Song of Ice And Fire? Is it set in that universe, or did you just borrow the name?


I hope you don't mind me listing a few suggestion below.


Quote
“Sadly, none of us are so young anymore, are we?” Azat grinned wolfishly and earned rumbling laughter from the stoic veterans. But good men must sacrifice what little they have, so that great men may build better futures. Courage, iron, and steel are the weapons of good men. Prosperity, equality, and quality of life… these are the weapons of great leaders, tyrants and kings.

The above paragraph has a second part (from "But good men..." and onwards) that seem like it should be in dialogue marks, since it does not fit with the tone of the narrative voice of the rest of the text. The narrator in the story is mostly very direct and to the point, whereas this line seems a lot more poetic, which felt jarring.

Quote
Then they continued to wait in the cold desert night in silence. Only a smoldering flame was allowed at the campfire, but the Zarquin huddled around its warmth as if they would freeze in its absence.

This might just be a pet peeve of mine, but new paragraphs should generally start with new thoughts, events, etc. "Then" is a narrative conjunction of sort, tying the new thought together with the previous thought, signifying continuity. I would slot with paragraph together with the last paragraph to make it flow more easily.

Quote
“I’ll cover the both of you!’ Avedis loosed volley after volley into the masked Qi. Several warriors were forced to limp out of the fight back toward their blazing village. A handful of others laid sprawled on the earth from his attacks. “Get your hides out of there!”

The first of several minor technicalities, but I believe a "volley" refers to several arrows or missiles being fired. As Avendis is just one person, presumably just letting loose one arrow or javelin at a time (I forgot which - does it mention?) it would not really be a volley.


Quote
“Worse than that,” Aslan folded his arms and watched the remaining key scamper out of the mountain pass. “There’s a detachment of Kharan Half-Giants headed straight for Reaper’s Lantern. I think you met their emissary?” He gazed down upon the headless corpse at his feet. “Quite the diplomats, eh?”

I think "remaining key" is a misspelling, right? Did you mean to put "remaining Qi"?

Quote
The stitched together hides of a pair of Lantern Tigers draped the otherwise bare upper body. The hides were crafted in such a way that either tiger head graced both of his shoulders. Their lolling tongues slid down his arms and their eyes gazed off in opposite directions.

This is another technicality, and I might be wrong in this, but I can't imagine a properly flayed animal skin keeping the tongues in. For one thing, tongues are good food, and secondly, and perhaps more importantly, they are wet tissue, which rots quickly, especially in a desert/hot environment. Generally, pelts like these will be completely devoid of wet tissue. That being said, maybe there is some cultural statement going on here that I'm unaware of - although other readers would be so too.

As you can see, my critique is mostly fitting together some of the minor joints at this point, since the story itself as a satisfying rise and end. The characters, while very much in the "epic" tradition (larger-than-life speaking patterns, philosophical discussions, etc.) feel interesting and show some of their personalities through interaction with each other. I can only hope they'll continue to be fleshed out as the stories go on.

Cheers!
Title: Re: Born of Ashes and Embers (Ver. III, Chapter I Completed)
Post by: Myen'Tal on November 13, 2019, 02:39:39 PM
Quote
It's been a while since I dipped my feet in writing and feedback, but your persistence deserves attention.

Hi Sir_Godspeed,

I appreciate you stopping by! That sentence alone means a lot ;D.

Quote
First off - thanks for the enjoyable story. While it's the first chapters of presumably several, it does feel like somewhat of a finished arc - though I did grasp for some additional context at times. Even if the conflict was fairly clear, the barrage of names made it a bit difficult to keep it all in order at times.

Thanks! I'm glad that you enjoyed the chapter overall.

As for the barrage of names, I figured that was going to be something that'd crop up at some-point. But I kind of wanted to experiment with it. I wasn't too happy with the previous iterations of the Zarquin Guard, because I felt that they had become an army of *red-shirts*, rather than something that any of the main characters would care about.

I figured lending out names and personalities to notable figures within the Zarquin Guard, and having them actually play roles in throughout the chapters, would give them more of the warrior brotherhood vibe that I envisioned.

However, the point you raise is a valid one. I did cram several names in the a small space, not even if you include the likes of Qarth and Qi. What would be your advice on trying to balance too-many-names as opposed to no-name-red-shirts? Perhaps I could have introduced them a bit more piecemeal or made them more distinct somehow.

Quote
Speaking of context, I see you called this an original story, but I think I recognized the name Qarth from A Song of Ice And Fire? Is it set in that universe, or did you just borrow the name?

This is a universe that I've created, which is why I called it an original story. That said, and I know this is blasphemy, but I haven't read too much of the ASOIAF series. I did do a quick google search on it and I do realize now that Qarth is a Port City in Essos.

I can definitely see where the puzzlement is coming from ;) :P. The Dominion of Qarth, where this story is set in, was unintentionally given the same name as this Port City in ASOIAF.

I actually came up with the name due to inspiration from Classical, maritime Empire of Carthage :).

Quote
I hope you don't mind me listing a few suggestion below.

Certainly, I've looked over your suggestions and criticisms, and I certainly agree / have learned from them. I'll be making some corrections soon in reflection of this feedback.

Quote
As you can see, my critique is mostly fitting together some of the minor joints at this point, since the story itself as a satisfying rise and end. The characters, while very much in the "epic" tradition (larger-than-life speaking patterns, philosophical discussions, etc.) feel interesting and show some of their personalities through interaction with each other. I can only hope they'll continue to be fleshed out as the stories go on.

Cheers!

I appreciate your critique, Godspeed! It's good to hear that you think I'm on the right path with these iterations!

I know I mentioned that I wouldn't be sharing any further progress on this story.
However, I might share the prologue for further opinions. I'd be curious to know what others think about it.  ;D
Title: Re: Ashes and Embers (Ver. III, Chapter I Completed)
Post by: Myen'Tal on November 16, 2019, 11:54:02 AM
I've now posted the most updated version of this chapter, which now reflects the feedback that has been given. I read through the entire piece again, and made subtler changes, additions, and deletions that I hope make the read feel even smoother.  :)


Alright, one last, sneak peak, that has been snipped out of the chronological order. I did this so that I could show some other aspects of the story off.

~***~


        Tabia lifted her hood so that it fell over her eyes and tread gently across the limestone bricks that paved the Grand Canals’ dockyards. A gilded framework surrounded each kilometer length of brickwork, chiseled by generations of the finest artisans so that they worked like a living map, pointing to any nearby dockyard, ferry, storage facility, or administrative headquarters.

   Usually bustling with maritime life, the endless hordes of Qarthite sailors, merchants, and foreign emissary delegations waned into the smallest of trickles as the evening progressed toward midnight.

   Warriors of the Zarquin Guard clustered around the dockyard of a particular ship Tabia rapidly neared. A short man with a vicious voice barked at a group of Kharan Half-Giants nearly twice his size. Tabia gleamed enough of the conversation without trying. She gingerly passed the great Quinquereme by as one of the Kharanites revealed an axe and neatly cleaved the short man’s head almost completely off his shoulders.
   
       The other Zarquin Guard did not lift their swords. Tabia still heard foreign screams as hidden archers shot the Khanites into the crystal cyan waters of the canal. She heard swords being drawn in the distance and a command to storm the ship before she slipped out of sight.
   
       A stranger’s voice greeted Tabia from scant feet away.

       “Jumanah’s light on your path, stranger.” A youthful woman’s cheery voice struck Tabia like a lightning bolt. Tabia gently turned her head toward a wooden bench, where a woman with hair of both rosy red and burnished chestnut watched her with a broad smile.

       “You tread softly,” The woman mentioned with a mirthful smirk. “But you’ll never avoid every eye out here in the canals, understand? Best to tread loudly with a caravan of armed soldiers, if you truly wish to be left alone.”

       “You speak in truths, young lady.” Tabia lifted the hood off her shoulders, a sign of acknowledgement. “But where are your guardians? They’ve vanished in the dark of their own shadows, as far as I can see.”

       “My kin call me Shoushan.” The woman reclined further onto the wooden bench. In the wane moonlight, Tabia noticed the soft glimmer of chain-mail beneath her flowing robes of crimson and cream. “My warriors are taking care of the dispute you just witnessed on that Quinquereme you passed by earlier.”

       “You’re Zarquin?” Tabia felt her heart skip a beat. “Forgive me, sister, I’d not mean to come off as beguiling.”

       “It matters little,” Shoushan lifted a hand in a gesture for calm. When she spoke, Tabia was reminded of the warmth of the hearthfire. Her smile could melt the ice off blackened hearts. “I was only curious about the hooded woman sneaking around my Grand Canal. My only suggestion is that you do not cause trouble in these late hours. My Zarquin can be more forgiving when the heat beats us all into lazy indifference. But at this hour, ill things could betide many a stranger who rouses their wrath.”

       “I am…” Tabia bit her tongue sharply before she uttered the rest of her retort. “I am on my way into the Great City. I am headed for the ferryman.”

       “You were going to say you aren’t afraid.” Shoushan gracefully rose to her feet in spite of her armor. Tabia spied several wicked scars that marred her skin, but only added to the untamed flame of her natural beauty.

       “Curious,” Shoushan encircled Tabia until she eventually came to rest directly before her. “Why aren’t you?”

        “Remove yourself from my path,” Tabia suddenly commanded. “I have the God-King’s authority.”

        Shoushan arched her brow and considered Tabia with a long, cool look. Her bright expression quickly transformed into something stony and sinister. The Zarquin Commander’s hand rested intently upon the hilt of her sword.

        “I won’t hear such lies in the Throne City!” Shoushan hissed. “You have one chance to show me proof. If I judge you a liar, I shall cleave your head off of yours shoulders with one blow.”

         “Calm yourself, Shoushan!” A familiar voice interrupted the argument. Tabia craned her head in surprise at the source. Faki cast the door into the Zarquin barracks aside with a thunderous clamor. “If Adofo heard such threats against the God-King’s--”

        “Adofo is dead.” Shoushan reminded. “Because of this dumb be-atch, if she’s spoken the truth. How could you ask for calm when a dozen of your brothers are dead in the caverns?”

        “Enough, enough!” Faki stepped between Shoushan and Tabia, a torch blazing in his hand. “You should slake that sword of yours on some Kharanites, if you’ve such an impulse to murder.”

        “The Kharanites are our friend now,” Shoushan smiled grimly. “After they learn to submit to our laws, of course. In either case, I won’t stand here and let this woman step a foot inside of Tu’shik. Not over my corpse, she shall not pass!”

        Tabia gestured for Faki to step aside with a dismissive wave of her hand. Faki hesitated, then looked back to Shoushan, who made the same gesture.

        “If this must be settled with blood.” Faki grimaced. “Then just fight to the first cut. There’s already been enough murdered brothers and sisters today.” He cautiously retreated back toward the wooden bench. 

        “Show me your symbol of authority,” Shoushan unsheathed the wicked sword on her hip with a cry that cut through the foggy night air.

        “Are you deaf?” Tabia accused. “Did you hear a word Faki mentioned? Of course I no longer have it! We all fought for our lives down in the caverns!

        “If you do not proof of your authority,” A vicious smile crept onto Shoushan’s lips. “Then no one should be able to validate your untimely demise.”

        Shoushan lunged forward with a powerful thrust, aimed to run Tabia through in the span of a quick breath. Faki’s sword intercepted the blow, but Shoushan feinted and parried in such a way that Faki was thrown over her lowered shoulder and into the cyan waters of the canal.

        Tabia did not pause for either of them to recover. She sketched intricate symbols in the air while Shoushan was momentarily distracted. She uttered the practiced mantra that came to mind and her fingertips suddenly blazed bubbling, liquid fire. Driblets cascaded off of her fingers and left miniature, scorched craters where they hit the limestone.

        “Come,” Shoushan noticed Tabia, recovered her footing, and ran full-tilt toward her opponent. “For the Firstborn! Glory to the Tyrants of Qarth!”

        Shoushan thrust once more, a hair’s breadth away from tackling Tabia to the dockyard floor. Tabia winced heavily from sudden, fresh pain. Blood streamed from the deep cut carved across the length of her right cheek. The Zarquin Commander meant to channel strength into the blow, to turn her graze into a decapitating strike.     

        Shoushan twisted around to fulfill her tactic, but Tabia reached out and planted the palm of her flaming hand squarely on the Zarquin’s chest. The searing heat earned a gasp out of Shoushan, the liquid flame quickly eating through cloth and armor.

        Tabia thundered the trigger word at the forefront of her mind. The miniature flames on her fingertips ignited into a roaring stream of liquid fire. Panic seized Shoushan first, then her feeble screams as the flames took hold became loud enough to be heard across the canal. Her arms, once poised for battle, flailed wildly as she was reduced to cinders.

       The scorched carcass clattered in a heap upon the ground. It was serenely lifeless and silent in contrast to what it had been before.

       “Seven hells!” Faki cried out as he climbed out of the canal. He looked to Tabia with wild eyes. “Have you gone completely mad!?”

      “Be grateful that you’ll continue to breath, Faki.” Tabia lifted her hood so that if fell over her eyes. She continued her hastened walk toward the ferryman’s boat. “Gods keep you breathing till you’re too old to breath, old friend.”

      From the Quinquereme in the distance, shouts of alarm followed in the wake of Shoushan’s sudden death. The sounds of battle echoing from that lone ship still continued well into the night.                                 
Title: World Building 1 - on - 1: Portent of the Wanderer, Ver. I
Post by: Myen'Tal on November 27, 2019, 03:30:12 PM

Portent of the Wanderer, Ver. I


        An eerie cawing of crows carried over the thunderous surging of waves. Veridia’s crystalline blue eyes snapped open to the brilliance of wicked lightning falling from heaven to earth. The skies that bristled with the clamor of Tarithinon’s wrath, were the all-consuming black of raven’s feathers.

   Starless. Absent of the guidance of the celestial bodies. Void of the heavens and the gods that kept them afixed in the firmament.

   The waxing of the tide suddenly crashed over Veridia with beguiling, gentle force. She realized that she had awoken in another of her veiled dreams. Fully self-aware, she felt the wet sand beneath her shift and cave as the coastal waters set in. The call of seagulls circling over the craggy rocks in the distance stoked a sense of placid calm enough to drown her panicked confusion.

   “Bazariah,” The name escaped Veridia’s lips in a faint, mist-wracked breath. “I know of you, creature.”

   An ethereal voice made distinct by a mother’s gentle love, a siren’s luring lullaby, and the enigmatic instruction of a divine touched soul, answered Veridia.

        “You’re becoming adept at our games, Veridia.” The disembodied voice spoke from a distance, as if lost amidst the crashing waves. When it did so, Veridia could not help but feel like an observant eye was glaring upon her from a great height. “The Goddess of Dire Misfortune chose well when she settled her gaze upon you. My pride would swell until this mighty heart would burst in my chest, if you were my disciple.”

       Another waxing of the tide crashed over Veridia and submerged her beneath the waves. She instinctively made to shut her eyes against the impact, but Bazariah’s mere utterance kept them fixed open, entrancing her.

       Waters surged around Veridia in multi-faceted hues of color; deep sapphires and glittering emeralds, inky violets and burning magenta, dark crimson and sunburst yellows. As quickly as the tide had arrived, did it wane and recede once more.

       Suddenly animated, Veridia jerked upright and burst from out of the rainbow waters with a gulping gasp for air.

      A bubbling laughter of the kind that had never graced Veridia’s ears before manifested at her back. Elegant fingers weaved through the golden locks hanging down over her right shoulder.
Bazariah waltzed around her back until she could lean in close to stare Veridia in the eye.

     “Does Nihali know that she has a prodigal daughter?” A thin sliver of tongue the color of dark blood lolled from out of her maw of jutting teeth that curved like the perfect points of a ram's horns. The grounded roots of each tooth gleamed in the darkness, fading into burnished brows toward the center and then into oily blacks at the very tips. They were small enough not to alter her facial features, a reminiscent blend of Elf and Human as if she had been borne from such a crossing.

     Yet, there was an otherworldliness that bled into that pristine face of what Veridia would have otherwise thought divine. Oppressive eyes of oily crimson and viper’s slits seemed to bubble and writhe from within as if blood was boiling underneath. Long streams of raven hair cascaded down her crown of four curving horns that could rival a minotaur’s.

     Beneath her arms were another set of limbs lined with whipcord muscle. Bazariah held them cupped in a way that sketched a strange symbol with the intricate positioning of her fingers.

   An elegant chiton of deep sapphire, laced with the brilliant filigree of ruby, sufficiently concealed a figure half-crossed between lithe and broad, every portion of her nothing but soft, underlying muscle.

   “Of course,” Bazariah’s bubbling laughter continued. “You do not even struggle. You’ve never had the chance to know the meaning of such, have you? I’ve seen many a lost soul dragged away in those waters. They do not seem to want you, Veridia.”

   Veridia glowered back at Bazariah in defiance. She hawked and spat into the serpentine smile on the strange entity’s lips. The wade of saliva seemed to vanish into thin air before it hit Bazariah.

   “Defiant.” Bazariah erected herself, her caress stealing Veridia from out of the sands. She planted Veridia onto her feet with a slight, disapproving glint in her eyes. “I have to admire your zeal. But you’re far too young to raising your hand against your elders, aren’t you?”

   Veridia craned her head skyward simply to look the creature in the eyes. A knowing smile gently crept onto Bazariah’s features.

   “Your heart burns with the fury of the Phoenix.” Bazariah cooed. “Do you desire to pit your strength against mine? Go ahead, extinguish that inferno ablaze in the pit of your soul.

   “Show me what you’ve learned from under Qaris’ shadow.”

   Veridia exhaled an ancient mantra surfacing from the back of her mind. She shut her eyes and her heart skipped one, then several beats. A gust of flames suddenly enveloped her from the feet to the crown of her head. Even Bazariah gasped as the flames scolded her clutching fingers and forced her to relinquish her grip.

   Veridia’s eyes snapped open from where she stood, leagues now between her and Bazariah. A confident grin flashed on her lips. She pointed her fingers in her enemy’s direction.

   An omniscient laughter seemed to roll in from the dunes on the horizon. It surged over the crashing of the tide upon the shoreline. It descended from the skies like thunder in a storm-wracked sky.

   “Yes, little one. Test me.”

   Veridia hurled her open hands as if she were skipping stones across a lake’s waters. As she made the fluid movements, great fistfulls of scorching flames were cast from her fingertips instead. The fireballs hurtled toward Bazariah’s stagnant form like meteors streaking across the sky.

   They descended upon Bazariah with the impact of Rynithian mortar shells. Brilliant, blossoming explosions of sand and flames enveloped Bazariah’s shadowy form.

   “You continue to impress me,” Bazariah’s voice crept up from behind her. “But that is not enough.”

   Veridia rapidly shifted in the sands and hurled another flaming blast toward Bazariah’s vulnerable face. The creature lifted the first of her right arms, the palm open and extended toward the flaming ball of death. Where it had not existed before, a great, forbidden tome forced open between her beckoning fingers manifested. The forbidden text etched upon the pages flashed once and consumed the spell entirely.

   Veridia followed her previous counter with a fluid reversal of her hand. A whip of searing flames lashed out and struck Bazariah diagonally across the face.

   Bazariah cried out in a moment of forgetfulness, a trail of blackened flesh left imprinted from right eye down to the lower corner of the left side of her jaw.

   “Enough!” Bazariah’s command quaked the earth like the laughter of some buried, earthen deity. “Back from whence you came, Veridia. The phoenix burns too hot, but I shall see your wings molt and your flames gutter.”

   Confident, Veridia made to hurtle a lance of liquid fire through Bazariah’s heart. No sooner had she started the gesture, did a force as immovable as mountains seize her by both arms. With her lower arms, Bazariah lifted Veridia’s own limbs until they hung uselessly in the air.

   “You do not have to be my enemy, you understand?” Bazariah’s serpentine smile returned. “You’ll have to forgive me in time for this one!”

   Bazariah flicked her wrist across Veridia’s throat, the ethereal image of a ghost blade forming in the span of the quickest breath. Blood erupted from the wound, and Bazariah gently took the severed head of her body into the palm of her hand.

   Bazariah muttered to the severed head. “See you on the eve of the next dawn, my prodigal daughter.”
Title: Re: World Building 1 - on - 1: (Portent of the Wanderer, Ver. I)
Post by: Myen'Tal on November 30, 2019, 11:08:17 AM
So, people are likely wondering why I changed the name of this thread. You guys may also wonder why I added another scene to this thread. I decided that I'm going to add a few random scenes here from time to time, but not too random. They'll all be related to this world that I'm building, hence why I called it a World Building thread.

I should have posted this up with the Portents of the Wanderer Scene, but decided not to as I wanted this post to have it's own slot.

So, thanks! ;D
Title: Re: World Building 1 - on - 1: (Chains That Break)
Post by: Myen'Tal on January 4, 2020, 01:01:24 AM
The first scene in Chapter Chains that Break! If you want to learn some more about Azat, then here you go!

Chains that Break


   “I never told you,” Baal’s grim laughter echoed in Azat’s skull like the knell of a bell. “My kin call me Baal, because I am a demon of battle!”

   Azat could feel the iron clasp of the half-giant’s fingers slowly crushing his throat. Death never felt so near, so patient in its inevitability. Baal met his own death instead by far swifter means.

   A jangling of leaden chains disturbed the war tent. Azat flicked his raven eyes wide open, immediately heightened with awareness. He flinched, pure horror in his heart, at the sight of Baal’s grisly, severed head dangling overhead. The discarded skull swayed so near that droplets of blood dripped from where a chain had been roughly inserted into the stump of the severed neck and onto Azat’s clothes.

   “Are you frightened?” Aslan leaned in to loom over Azat’s bedroll. A grim smile cracked his stoic facade. “It is a gift. A commemoration to your efforts in Qarth’s victory.”

   “Seven hells,” Azat shot back. He jumped to his feet so quickly that Aslan hurtled backward to avoid being tackled. “You think that a jest!?”

   “Hells, my apology.” Aslan quickly lowered the grisly war trophy. “Your nightmares slipped my thoughts for the briefest moment. I wonder what you did to anger the gods, to have all the souls you’ve slain trail you in your dreams?”

   “What does it matter?” Azat snarled, his body language intense and animated. “I’ve learned many moons ago that their presence cannot simply be cleansed or forgotten.”

   “Calm yourself,” Aslan raised Baal’s severed head once more, this time more deliberately slow. “Gaze upon what’s left of him. Baal’s not coming back for you. Magar made certain of that.”

   Azat paused and drew in a deep breath. He flicked beads of sweat off of his brow. He gazed into Baal’s own lifeless eyes, rolled back into the half-giant’s slackened head so that only milk-white lenses glared back. A rattling chuckle emitted out of his throat as relief crept back into his tense muscles.

   “I’ve never lost a personal combat against any foe.” Azat clasped a hand over his eyes, his left eye peering through the crack of his fingers back to Aslan. “Never thought I’d meet my match those several nights ago. Fighting for my life in the desert night, limbs numb and aching from the cold.

   “Struggling not to become crushed under that demon’s boots… Knowing that I hadn’t a chance in hell of even halting his advance.”

   Aslan lifted his chin a fraction, his expression knowing. “Nothing is meant to last, you said that yourself. You’re not the young swashbuckler you used to be, brother. And yet you live, while Baal toast to your victory in the afterlife. I hear the Kharan Giants do not hold many grudges.”

   “Should I be grateful?” Azat pried his skull out of his hand. “I’m certain the few that aren’t rotting in the valley are waiting to regale me of how they stood against us.”

   Aslan grinned. “A couple of them are waiting to hear from you and I. They were the ones who plucked this rotting skull out of the sands. It is their way of acknowledging our strength and initiating their parley.

   “I think they’d rather hear of your stories.” Aslan shrugged. “Get dressed. We’re to negotiate the surrender of the Kharan Clans. Seems they’ve lost their battlelust all at once.”

   “What time is it?” Azat groaned defiantly. He reached for the nearest jug of wine hidden in bundles of animal hides.

   “Don’t touch it,” Aslan commanded. He did not wait to see if Azat would defy the order and slipped out of the tent. His departing words faded into the desert. “I swear before the Gods, that’s half the reason they’ve cursed you to begin with.”

   Azat rolled his eyes, and shifted the aim of his clutches toward his armor and gear laid out on the floor of the tent. He quickly dressed, briefly imagining of the dead oasis where he had nearly lost his life. He imagined that its pure waters were still there for him to bathe in.
Azat rushed out of the warmth of his war tent and onto the hellish sands of the Scouring. A haze instantly struck his eyes and cloaked the mountains on the horizon under a mirage that made them seem half real. The sand beneath his boots gently seared his feet and the sun baked his skin as if he had stepped into a furnace.

“Seven hells,” Azat cursed. Beads of falling sweat swelled into cascading trails that fell in glistening arcs.

“I think they’ve bid us enter without asking.” Magar craned his head from where he lingered beside Azat’s war tent. “I trust you’ve rested well, Lord. The road ahead of us shall be a vicious one.”

Azat spared Magar the most imperceptible nod and cast his gaze around the Qarthite camp. The aftermath of battle swept through the labyrinth of pavilions and war tents sprawled across the great hills that overlooked the empty wastes of the Scouring below.

Zarquin Warriors scoured endless fields of the slain for grisly trophies and discarded weapons. They had started from yesterday’s sunrise, but Azat could still spy the thrust of spears into the wounded uncovered in their makeshift graves. He swept across the endless ranks of the dead, counted warriors of the Zarquin among the vanquished in numbers he had scarcely seen before.

Hundreds of Qi survivors knelt in organized columns amidst the viscera of the battlefield. Great iron chains clasped their hands behind their backs and linked them together. Zarquin guarding the convoy of the enslaved kept a silent, begrudging vigil as their charges knelt in defeated silence.

A cacophony of cawing drew Azat’s attention to the skies above, where carrion circled overhead with great forces of their own, ready to besiege the ruin that Qarth would be leaving behind.

“How long have you been watching my tent?” Azat called out, but his gaze fell upon no one in particular.

“Since you fell asleep, Lord.” Magar answered. “You had drunk too much and some of us… were worried you’d fall on your sword by mistake.”

Azat shifted around to stare Magar in the eye, a murderous spark glinting in them. “Count yourself fortunate that you saved yourself from death and me along with you. You have my irritable ire, but to hell with it.”

“If you wanted my head, Lord,” Magar smiled wolfishly. “You may take it, but I’d haunt your dreams too. I think you have more than enough foes restless in the afterlife.”

“Aslan cannot keep his mouth shut.” Azat grimaced. “Where are the others?”

Magar pointed with his chin toward a pair of Zarquin huddled over a campfire, of all things to do in the desert morning. They cooked some foul liquid on the fire that they poured into cups.

“Eh, fine.” Azat shrugged. “Are you taking me to the command tent?”
Magar nodded. Once statuesque, his movements became animated as he waded through the thick of the fallen. He bid Azat to follow his lead with a beckoning gesture.

Azat sighed and waded into the scrap and gore after him.

“A shame that I could not fight by your side in the Gorgon Dunes.” Magar shouted over the bustle of the encampment. “I know you would have evened our score. And you watched the King of Men take to the field. I bet his martial might was a site to behold.”

Azat smirked, pointing from behind Magar. “A hurricane in clear skies, as always. Where is he anyway?”

“Departed for Zu’rik, the Citadel of the Enslaved.” Magar answered, treading down a winding path cleared from ruin and decay. “A king has no time to swelter in heat.”

“Already?” Azat folded his arms. “Erasyl swore that he’d never abandon the field till the Qi were subjugated once and forevermore. The Valley of Carrion truly lies under his rule now.”

“You were too lost in your nightmares, lord.” Magar shifted to glance in Azat’s direction.

“Celebrations that lasted seven nights and days marked the end of Qi. The Kharan Giants brought us the heads of the last resistance fighters. Briefly after, the Qi realized they were betrayed and their great horde disintegrated into ashes and embers.”

“Qi burns and fades.” Azat considered Magar’s words. “But what of the Kharan Clans? I do not trust any of these giants.”

“Listen to Aslan’s council, lord.” Magar insisted. “You are right to never place trust in sellswords, but fighting them… it’d be decades before a resolution came about.”

“Nothing we haven’t done before.” Azat dismissed him. “I’m surprised that you of all, Magar, would rather live in some semblance of peace. Hovan and Avedis said you were the last man to flee from the site of Nishan’s demise.”

“I hope the Scarred One drinks to my bravery from beyond the veil.” Magar replied with a swift, proud nod. “Nishan was a good man. He only wanted to see Arpiar through.”

Azat considered Magar’s words. “Do you blame my orders for his death?”

Magar paused in his footsteps before the highest hill overlooking the Scouring. He considered
Azat for a long moment. “Complicated answers, cannot spring forth from sudden questions.

“We’ve arrived,” Magar pointed toward a great pavilion on the hilltop. A palisade ringed around the general’s tent, in turn shielded by barricades of sharpened stakes. “You should ascend alone. Watch yourself in the shadow of the Kharan Giants, lord.”

“You need not remind me.” Azat reached out and grasped Magar’s extended forearm in a parting salute. “Upon a day, I would hear your answer to my sudden question.”

Azat lifted his grip and tread up the lonesome path toward the crest of the hill. Regal standards of chestnut and cream billowed on the breeze. Emblazoned upon the fabric were chiseled, statuesque faces of hollowed, empty eyes. They wept tears of crimson blood. Their melancholy was framed within silver filigree.

The Zarquin standing vigil beneath the billowing standards lifted their weapons to unbar the path. Azat inclined his head in greeting and stormed past them. As he reached out a hand to pull back the folds of silk shrouding the entrance, a woman’s enchanting voice rang out like a soft song in the countryside.

“Azat.” Her voice, languid and warm like dawn’s radiance before midday, crashed over Azat like gentle, surging waves. “Aslan has not yet come. Neither have the emissaries of Kharan.”

   “Aiman.” Azat considered the bundle of silk in his fist and relinquished it with a pleasant smile. “Have the coastal shores become as black as their namesake? For surely the light of the west has travelled much further east in recent years.”

A youthful Qarthite woman of average height and slender of build considered Azat’s flattery with a coy puzzlement. A cloak of amethyst shades, trimmed with the filigree of interwoven scripture, draped an emerald robe of fluttering trails that fell just shy of her sandals.

She noticeably lacked any extravagant, bejeweled crown upon her straightened streams of chestnut hair. A handful of black freckles graced smooth skin the shade of warm, desert sands. In fact, the only artifact of luxury Azat could spy on Aiman’s person was a medallion shaped in the form of an obsidian sphere. Locked away in the dark medallion, a great heart of amber glistened from its chiseled out surface.

“Flattery does not suit an elderly rogue.” Aiman graced Azat with an elegant smile, but she did not bow. “Neither shall it suit the Kharan Chieftains. In either case, I’ve waited patiently for your arrival.”

“Let’s get this over with.” Azat’s pleasant smile soured at the mentioning of the Kharan. “I’d sooner cut the head off every half-giant in this valley, but if Aslan only gave the command.”

Aiman smirked, her interest piqued. “You’d do better not to step foot in that tent at all, if that is your concern. I know why they ail you, so, Azat. I heard a peculiar ‘Baal’ nearly retired you into an early grave.”

“Baal is of no consequence,” Azat countered sharply. He pondered the meaning of Aiman’s words.
“Did Aslan send you to intercept me? He is always keen to waste my time.”

“Of course,” Aiman bubbled with soft laughter. “Aslan simply wants you on your feet. You’re a champion of the Zarquin Guard, stand as if you’re so.”

“Bah, I’ve always been proud of heart and iron of will.” Azat folded his arms and shrugged. “I need not straighten to make it obvious. I need not bend to show my loyalty to the Firstborn.”

“Vain of mind and reckless in your courage.” Aiman corrected. “At least, that is what your retinue at Reaper’s Pass mentioned of you.”

“Did they now?” Azat quipped.

“You knowingly sent Nishan to his death.” Aiman replied. “Others too, had they not proven resourceful enough to escape the trap. Arpiar too died of a needless miscalculation in your strategy.

“Tell me, was Baal’s death truly worth the cost you paid?”

Azat considered Aiman’s rebuke with an irritated expression, tempered by a sudden realization. “It has always been Aslan’s way to throw obstacles in my path. He has never stopped testing me since we were children. This is what all of this is? Another test?”

“To any Lord,” Aiman admitted. “The trial you faced was trivial, nothing more. But you know Aslan, his retinue is worth more than the precious blood you share between the two of you. You lost three of his sworn-brothers, when in reality, you should have forsaken your orders the moment things turned against you.

“You gained nothing from slaying Baal. Baal had everything to gain from slaying you, convinced that he would have marked one of Qarth’s martial leadership for death before the battle that sealed the fate of everything. You should have denied him the opportunity.”

“Aslan does not understand,” Azat shrugged. “I’ve never concerned myself with his brotherhood. He did me some honor with lending his men to my command, so I did what I could to fulfill what he desired. I told him upfront, I won’t make promises for warriors who’ve sworn that each day would be their last, if need be.”

Aiman shook her head in disagreement. “Aslan will keep denying that the Azat he knows can never become something greater than himself. You’ll never lift a finger to help any man or woman, unless your own glory is at stake. Neither is any sacrifice too sacred to commit to, so long as it is not your own.

“You’re no longer so youthful, Azat. Is this all you’re ever going to be? A cutthroat sellsword enraptured by his own image, until the day you’re too weak to continue to fight?”

“Must you always ask?” Azat’s raven stare simmered with passion. He gestured about the Scouring with a broad sweep of his hand. “Gaze around you. Stare into the eyes of the vanquished. I swear that you can still see the horror etched in their lifeless eyes.

“Aslan desires I become something greater than this? That I sacrifice myself to something grander than this glorious heap of carnage and decay? I am already spent, Aiman. What would he possibly have of me?”

“That is not the question I’d be asking yourself.” Aiman stared into the pit of his eyes, unwavering. A sense of admiration pulsed through him. “You are a great warrior, Azat. But some men require that greatness border on perfection. You’ve not realized it, but eyes have been ever at your back now for many years.

“You’ve labored for many years in the darkness of the east.” A knowing smile suddenly brightened
Aiman’s statuesque features. In spite of himself, Azat could feel the iron clasp on his heart slackening piece by piece. “A journey with the light of the west by your side may do you some good.

Have you ever seen the placid waters of the Void Sea? Ever glimpsed the wonders of the Isles of Four Crowns?”

“I hear the shores are black with storms.” Azat grimaced. “With carrion birds that circle over a coast of shipwrecks. I hear that the winds howl like tortured screams as the waves thunder and crash upon the beaches.”

“You’ve read too many legends of old.” Aiman quipped. “You understand that I’m giving you a chance to rest that sword of yours. What would you say if I asked?”

“I’d say, ‘are you really asking’?” Azat felt a spark of mirth underneath his puzzled expression. “Do you really think the west would ‘change anything’?”

“Would you rather remain,” Aiman gestured over the battlefield in the way Azat had done moments before. “Among all of this? Is there really so much here that chains you to this world of endless war, carnage, and tyranny?”

Azat paused for a brief moment. “Before any son and daughter of the Zarquin, I’d not answer that question. Before you, I’ll gladly say that my chains run far deeper than they’d know… Who asked you to come hand me such an offer?”

“What does it matter?” Aiman smirked. “You’d not refuse if you knew.”

“Erasyl would never ask me to leave.” Azat retorted. “And I could think of no one else. Prove my words, wrong, and I’ll consider your own.”

“Honored is the First of man,” Aiman intoned. “But the Autumn Queen has given me a great purpose and in truth, I am in need of a great bodyguard. Aslan said that there would be no other he’d consider sparing. You will force his hand to drastic action, if you refuse and remain here, where you are neither accepted or respected.

“I will not beg for you to see reason, old friend or not.”

“Autumn Queen,” Azat thought aloud. “I’ve not heard the name Hazan in many moons. The Autumn Queen that exists now must be some sheltered daughter of hers. No chance that the one I served so many moons ago is still alive.”

“Your allegiances were much different then.” Aiman reminded him. “No need to wonder why you waste beneath this scorching sun, when you were always born of moon and shadow.”

“The shadows of home soothe me still.” Azat recalled the mantra. “Why do you need a guard?”
Title: Re: World Building 1 - on - 1: (Chains That Break)
Post by: Dread on January 4, 2020, 05:32:44 PM
Why? Indeed. This is getting good. What adventure is our unwilling hero about to embark on? Can't wait to find out. I enjoyed this immensely, great image projection, I can see your vision.
Title: Re: World Building 1 - on - 1: (Chains That Break)
Post by: Myen'Tal on January 4, 2020, 06:39:44 PM
Why? Indeed. This is getting good. What adventure is our unwilling hero about to embark on? Can't wait to find out. I enjoyed this immensely, great image projection, I can see your vision.

Thanks Dread, I appreciate the compliment! I'm particularly happy that you liked this scene, as I was concerned that others would have found it a bit boring, since there's really only conversations happening here. However, I did try to make it more engaging by having some character development and potential plot lines evolve over the course of the scene!
Title: Re: World Building 1 - on - 1: (Chains That Break)
Post by: Myen'Tal on January 6, 2020, 10:36:04 PM

Azat strode across the desert sands upon the back of a great ebony stallion. Mustaphen, Aiman called him, a horse more than capable of breaking through a shield wall. Weighed down by Azat’s equipment and mass as well as its own scaled barding, Mustaphen did not seem to mind the additional company as he trotted across the hell-blemished lands of the Scouring.

   Sirius had arisen in the east. Aiman and the caravan she had led from the west resumed their voyage back home. Mustaphen trotted gently in the dusty wake of the caravan, and kept on further still until the sun began to wane in the desert sky. As the day came and went, Azat felt a resurgence of peace and reflection as he left the Zarquin encampment and the battlefield of the Valley of Carrion behind.

   “I cannot believe that you did not want to say goodbye.” Aiman’s mount trotted gently alongside Mustaphen, a white horse of brilliance and grace, that she called Moonsilver. “You might live the rest of your life and never see Aslan again.”

   “Aslan disowned me,” Azat quipped. “Now I know this with undeniable certainty. How could I possibly look him in the eye? The brother who told me to get out of his sight without even saying as much.”

   “If you were seeking answers from him,” Aiman shook her head. “All the more reason that you should have spoken your last words to him.”

   “Are you certain that it would’ve been our last?” Azat soured, but his irritable anguish hid it well. “Is what you’re needing me for so dire with peril? I’ve already nearly met mother death once, I’m not keen on dying in my late thirties. That is why I left with you, after all.”

   “That cannot be the only reason.” Aiman aimed a wicked glance and smile in his direction. “I’ll be the first to confess, I don’t know why Aslan asked me to take you. This much, however, I do know: you’ll never conquer your nightmares if you don’t reconcile your past, Azat.”

   “What do my nightmares mean to you, Aiman?” Azat replied. “They are my burden, not yours. Do not weigh yourself down with my guilt. Don’t stain your soul with my sins.”

   Aiman studied Azat for an incredibly long time. “Are you so eager to bare such a weight on your shoulders? You are strong of heart and resilient of mind, Azat, but it'll wear you down over the course of time. It will grind you mercilessly, until you’re nothing more than embers blown upon the hot desert wind.”

Azat considered Aiman’s words. “Do you not think me destined for such an end? Us Qarthites, we live by the sword and perish when our enemies come back to run us through for vengeance. All of the men and women that I have cut down, would it not be right to slake the thirst of the damned with my own head?”

“Do you think battle is a balanced conception of judgement?” Aiman countered. “Whether voluntary or conscriptive in nature, warriors are trained to murder… it is in their nature, because that is their purpose. For what reason they’re called to murder, does not matter. If you had not slain all that you have slain, would your death by their hands be any different than what you’ve given to them in reality?

“Would they weep for your forgiveness? Would they be haunted in their own dreams by your reflection? Perhaps, but I guarantee you that they’ll continue on with their lives. That is why they would not have hesitated to strike you down. Because they’d like to keep living, like you do.

“I wonder, is it more an insult to them that you’re haunted by their deaths, than it is an honor? Maybe that is why they haunt you still?”

“You’re saying that they’d want me to what?” Azat considered Aiman with a puzzled, searching look. “Forgive myself? I’ve had many hours to think that I’ve lacked for years. You’re asking me not only to bend, but to break my warrior spirit. You ask me to turn back on the entire life that I’ve ever known.

“I do not know how to give you what you seek, let alone myself.”

A genuine smile graced Aiman’s stoic features. “Perhaps you’ve already begun? Gaze around you, Azat, there’s nothing but open desert for miles on end. There’s no battlefield to wade into. You’ve already chosen to walk away from such things. I am certain that the answers will come in time, if you only searched for it.”

Azat boasted with cruel laughter. “You’ve hired a guardian for the sole purpose of defending your person. Do you think I’ll never use this sword again, Aiman? I shall until I’m too decrepit to swing it.”

“If you must kill,” Aiman countered sharply. “Then turn your blade to a higher purpose. Strike down the tyrants. Crush the enslavers. Cleanse any injustice. That is always what the warriors of Sh’myr have practiced since their inception. That is what Queen Hazan has always educated.

“Hazan would burst from her grave if you ever neared, Azat, for I’m certain she’d have many words for her rogue champion. Do you remember nothing of your past life?”

“Before the God-King crushed it?” Azat quipped. “Erasyl cast Hazan into that grave, and all of my dreams with it. He shattered me like no man could ever hope for, not even Baal would argue against it, if he had known. What brotherhood do I know now since he waltzed through the Hundred Temples, except that of the only one he deigned to spare?”

“Aslan has forgotten too, because there is nothing to remember, save for ashes and embers of all that used to be.”

“That is Erasyl’s way,” Aiman nodded. “It is the way of the Dominion of Qarth. It is a cruel, untoward fate, to become a pale reflection of what of what we once were. A reflection doomed to spiral downward into the gaping abyss, because though we serve Qarth with our strength, we know that we ultimately have nothing to live for in the end. Nothing, but the desire to regain our pasts.

“You surprise me, Azat.” Aiman confessed. “Of the endless hordes that form Qarth’s armies, the Firstborn had always favored you. I thought speaking to you would be an uphill battle and convincing you, well I did not want to think about it.”

“Who is the Autumn Queen?” Azat suddenly changed the subject. “The new one. I thought Hazan had no heirs before Erasyl claimed her as a concubine and puppet of his schemes. The old Hazan would rather have died--well, did die before she let Erasyl put his own heir on her throne.”

“Her name is Minkah.” Aiman answered. “There are few men and women who can still recall Hazan in any significant detail. Almost all of them seem convinced that she is your child.”

“What did you say?” Azat burst into another fit of laughter. “Gods be kind, but do you take me for an utter fool? Who would possibly claim such a thing?”

“Sahak the Elder Sage, is chief amongst them.” Aiman stated and smirked as Azat froze. “Voshki the Ashen Cobra and Vahe of Old Myria.”

“Gods,” Azat quivered slightly. “Sahak, that ancient bastard is older than many tombs in Sh’myr. How does that old man cling to life the way he does? He was old before Sh’’myr even collapsed.”

“You had a relationship with Hazan did you not?” Aiman pondered aloud. “This caravan does not care about your infidelity with the Queen. Rather, we rejoice in your reckless, amoral ventures. Without you, Minkah would not exist and we’d have no heir to rally behind.”

“Sahak would have known that.” Azat nodded, realization dawning upon him. “And he would have told you, because he has ever served Hazan. Only he would have cared enough to risk his own neck to drag me back to Sh’myr.”

“I was sent by his command,” Aiman smiled. “He said you’d wouldn’t refuse once you learned the truth. He understood that you’d come back, no matter the odds.”

“You have no need of a bodyguard, do you?” Azat concluded. “As far as I know, you’ve told me nothing about what is happening in Sh’myr. Except that I may have a daughter that I’ve never known. Why does Minkah suddenly need me, now? Or Sahak?”

“Strange question,” Aiman replied. “But I understand that your thoughts must be heavy and clouded. Let us halt the caravan for the night. Think about what I’ve told you. Then come ask me another question in the morning.”

Azat sighed with resignation. He knew there would be no arguing with Aiman when she became unmoving. Aiman gave the command for the caravan to halt. Immediately, attendants and laborers took it upon themselves to begin setting up an encampment for the night.
Title: Re: World Building 1 - on - 1: (The Road to Old Myria)
Post by: Myen'Tal on January 8, 2020, 11:20:31 PM
I'm just somewhat skipping around in the novel's narrative arc. This is another chapter that I'll soon be working on after another called, Descent Into Fire & Ruin. So far I've really only shared Azat's timeline and not so much of Tabia's, just a lonesome scene. Have to keep some secrets, ha-ha!

Interlude I


Tendrils of shadow snaked acros the obsidian brickwork. Azat danced betwixt the crumbling arches, fading in and out of corporeal vision as he did so. Shadows fought to consume him wholly, but he moved too quickly for the all-consuming dark to take its hold on him. Obsidian, his wicked-edged sword, lashed out like slivers of brilliance too bright to repress.

Azat slid around the pinpoint thrust of a dagger meant to cut open his throat. Obsidian cleaved through a blue-white shimmer of steel held aloft in front of him with a keen cry.

From the ashen clouds roiling across the evening sky, barbs of forked-tongue lightning made their rapid descent to earth. Echoes of thunder crashed over the limestone dunes of Myria. It impacted the earth with such force that the earth beneath his boots trembled in violent protest.

Yet it was a deluge of the most frozen rain that came pouring through the shattered ribbed vault ceilings of the Myrian palace. Icy rain fanned the crimson blood hidden in the crevices of the Great Hall. Fleeting, winter rain made the corpses grow pallid and goaded the wounded to pitiful, shivering cries.

Rivulets of crimson ran down the length of Obsidian’s honed edge, but the rain cleansed away the blatant traces of death and violence from it. A sensation of numbing cold tempered Azat’s adrenaline with an inexplicable sense of serenity.

The winter rain crept into the gaps of Azat’s chainmail and soaked his clothes through. It made his movements somewhat more cumbersome. But if his movements had become more impaired, then these wretches before him moved with all the grace of slaves chained by their ankles with iron shackles.

   Obsidian hurtled past the blade-less hilt lifted in pitiful defense and neatly cut into the soft lilac and ebony silk clinging to a young woman’s slender form. Her voice, pure and light as sunlight reflected off of gentle waves, cried out into the hollow emptiness of the shattered Myrian Palace.

   Where blood once coursed in rivulets, now it streamed down the length of Obsidian’s blade, warm to the touch. The assassin hurtled backward into a clutch of her compatriots. One of them paused in their relentless pursuit of Azat, only to gently lay their mortally wounded comrade to rest upon the Myrian brickwork. 

“Qarth rises,” A lithe man garbed in leathers the color of night, hissed from the shadows. “Myria burns to ruin amidst the phoenix’s flames!”

“Enough,” Azat juked to the left of a poisoned dagger’s vicious thrust. He skid to a halt along the assassin’s flank, even as the hired killer fainted his next attack and slunk away from the vengeful strike that followed next. “No man unborn of moon and shadow shall grace the Pinnacle. No man blessed with immortality would slink in the dark behind hired cravens, while they flail their blades like children!”

Azat caught the male assassin with a vicious impact of his elbow to the chest. The blow struck true, knocking the wind out of the assassin’s lungs. Obsidian sang as it made the final, fatal cut. The assassin’s rhetoric ended abruptly as blood gushed from out of his sliced open throat instead.

The assassin clamped a quivering hand onto the open wound, vainly attempting to stem the blood. Azat violently seized the figure by said hand and commandeered the assassin as a living shield. A flurry of poisoned knives slunk into the dying man’s back. The shield spasmed and foamed and gasped his last in choked, guttered inhalations.

Azat allowed the corpse to slip out of his blood-slick fingers and collapse upon in a heap upon the Myrian brickwork.

“My, my,” A woman with a serpentine wisdom to her voice greeted Azat. She stood poised over the corpses of her dead compatriots. “Aren’t we skilled for a lowborn nobody? I’m almost afeared to try my hand next at killing you.”

Azat grinned in spite of himself. A glint of admiration shined in his eye. “You’ll not cower in the face of imminent death. I can respect such courage, it magnifies the flame of your defiance.”

“You’ll find that I have a repertoire of death to match!” The woman, incredibly lithe even beyond an assassin’s standards, hissed as she faded into the dark with a few bounding leaps backwards. “The God-King would see the potential in a sword hand as true as yours, Azat.”

 “Tell your God to come himself and beg for it!” Azat shouted into the shadows shifting behind the arches. “He is a craven king that lords from the height of his untouchable throne, built off the back of stolen lands. You won’t break me by mere mention of him.”

“But Azat, think about your own fortunes,” She sighed from the places untouched even by the lightning’s radiance. “You could live like a king for the rest of your days… Sire princes and ladies worthy of the world’s envy. You would be as the jewel encrusted in the center of a crown; everlasting, beauteous, glorious in your radiance and rarity.  You could be the greatest sword ever wielded upon the earth…”

 “Hah!” Azat bounded forward with two steps. Obsidian lashed out, an illuminated blur that clashed against the curved edge of a wicked sword.

Azat drew back a step. Obsidian cut to the left and right of his own shadow. Each strike was masterfully parried without effort. The assassin weaved beneath a horizontal sweep meant to cleave through her. The curved blade in her hands nicked both of Azat’s calves as she dove low. Azat stumbled backward, his footwork interrupted. He flowed with his reversed momentum, forging an ordered retreat for more distance.

The assassin gracefully danced in tune with each hesitant step that Azat placed behind him. Azat finally pushed pushed forward and leaped over a fluid sweep of the assassin’s blade as it swept once more toward his ankles. Obsidian cut downward with a keen cry, but only nicked the assassin’s left cheek as she tilted away from the blade’s trajectory.

“Good night, then.” The assassin did not flinch from the graze. She cooed gently before raking her fingernails across Azat’s right cheek in a vicious slap.

Azat realized what had just happened. His blade-dance came a jarring halt. Instantly, his vision blurred with flaring severity. The give gashes cut neatly into his cheek burned as if scorched with melting acid. He felt his body jerk violently once, then quiver relentlessly for a moment until his muscles could no longer keep him upright.

Azat tumbled face-first onto the obsidian brickwork of the Myrian Palace.

“No challenge!” The assassin proclaimed, triumphant. “What a waste of—”

The meaty impact of an arrow scoring a wound echoed across the dead silence of the palace corridors. The assassin had no time to cry out. Azat did not see the assassin fall, but could vividly imagine the hired killer gazing down upon herself, hand over the arrow that pierced her heart.

Azat heard another corpse tumble onto the brickwork beside him.

“Clean this mess up, Zulfiqar.” Another woman’s voice, steady and placid like an oasis, surged into the empty, dilapidated corridors like an oncoming wave. “You’ve always been a wonderful marks-woman, Aiman. A pity I never trained you for proper service.”

“Nightbane,” The voice of tranquility whispered soothingly into Azat’s ear. A comforting hand steadied him and sat him up right. “It stills the muscles gradually, but quick enough that it can incapacitate even the toughest warrior. It is a quick death and a relatively painless one at that. “Hold him!”

The hazy shadow of a woman giving commands gestured to a small clutch of shadows kept a respectful distance. They immediately came forward to fulfill her bidding.

“Get him to drink this,” The voice of serenity commanded them. “It shall undo that witch’s poison!”

Azat could no longer cling onto the world or reality. He slipped into the unending abyss of unconsciousness.


~***~
Title: Re: Born of Ashes and Embers (Iteration III)
Post by: Alienscar on January 10, 2020, 05:33:53 AM
All the criticisms and advice (Mainly from you, Alienscar ;)), and others, I think have really helped me progress.

Real life is kicking me in the nuts right now and that is why I have not had the time to keep up with my feedback on your writing. If things improve I will definitely start my feedback again.

One quick thing whilst I am here. You are writing about Azat and Aiman, but I have already read about their deaths. I find the whole thing a bit confusing.
Title: Re: Born of Ashes and Embers (Iteration III)
Post by: Myen'Tal on January 10, 2020, 08:49:07 AM
Real life is kicking me in the nuts right now and that is why I have not had the time to keep up with my feedback on your writing. If things improve I will definitely start my feedback again.

One quick thing whilst I am here. You are writing about Azat and Aiman, but I have already read about their deaths. I find the whole thing a bit confusing.

Hi Alienscar, that's not a problem! Real life kicks us all down from time to time!

As for your comment, toss out what you know about Tapestries of Faith and the Old Ashes and Embers, those were iterations that built up to this. I actually came to the conclusion that I was not happy with the overall plot of Tapestries of Faith or the first iterations of Ashes and Embers.

I wanted my three antagonists: Aslan, Aiman, and Azat, to not just be side-characters chained to Erasyl. I think they have so much more potential than that as main characters, and so that's why I've set out to 're imagine' the entire plot of this tale. It's no longer about the "Children of the Old Gods". Vindiaccos is no longer an element in this story either, as this re-imagining noow takes place fully in the Dominion of Qarth.

Erasyl himself, has been elevated into a character that we'll hear about often, but won't actually see as he'll be ruling his entire kingdom from this throne.

So yeah, different plot, re-imagined story :).
Title: Re: World Building 1 - on - 1: (Interlude)
Post by: Myen'Tal on January 13, 2020, 06:26:45 AM
Interlude II

Before Azat, a fortress-city built by what could only be the hands of the Gods defied gravity as it threatened to pierce the night clouds overhead. It was a grand citadel. An amalgamation of hundreds of lesser fortresses and castles that Azat knew well. Once upon a time, he had been dragged through the Dragon’s maw chiseled into the granite gates that barred the city shut.

In that time, he was nothing more than a slave. A broken man. Before Erasyl himself descended upon that cursed place and pieced Azat back together into some pale resemblance of his former self.

Zar’Bau. The Citadel of the Enslaved. A lavish palace of dreams for the nobility and the Tyrant of Zarna that ruled there. A most formidable prison and soul-crushing labyrinth for the hundreds of thousands that labored ceaselessly in the caverns and mines beneath the Fortress.

Azat gazed upon the unconquerable bulwark, the Fortress of Everlasting Time itself. He watched it blaze and burn from one end of the horizon to the next. He watched centuries-old Watchtowers crumble until they toppled upon themselves with catastrophic force. Fountains of blood seeped from battlements overfull with the slain.

The Banners of the Zarquin Guard, the Hollow-Eyed Widow that wept for her lost sons, were broken and burning across many pockets of Zar’Bau’s lesser bastions. Yet in the heart of the Grand Citadel, her cruel fate still billowed defiantly in the breeze.

Accustomed to the sight of tens of thousands of the enslaved teeming through Zar’Bau’s streets, Azat could almost not comprehend the chaotic fighting that now raged through her formidable roads and checkpoints.

Warriors of the Brotherhood marched into Zar’bau’s streets in their thousands, covered beneath a constant hail of flaming arrows. They had formed shield walls where the formation would be strongest. Yet the conquered they fought to repress were beyond number, and surged forth from out of the underground from perceivably every direction.

Both factions clashed across the breadth of the Gates that led into the inner keep. Countless died upon the Zarquin’s wall of shields, but as the fighting raged onward, the formations eventually devolved into chaotic melees where man could scarcely tell friend from foe.
Battle raged, till crimson rivers surged from out of the streets to cascade down the stairwells and storm drains of Zar’bau’s ruins.

Struck by the sight like a spear through his heart, memories of constant bloodshed and violence surged through Azat as never before. The fragile semblance of peace that Aiman had crafted within him, shattered into a million shards.

Yet Azat remained where he stood outside of Zar’bau’s gates. A sickening feeling of confusion borne from where he actually stood in the midst of this conflict welled within his gut. He felt only outrage, that his Zarquin Brothers were being butchered. Yet he felt empathy and kinship with the ragged and torn horde that dared to defy Erasyl’s will with open hatred.

Abruptly, the world beneath Azat’s feet seemed to shift out from under him. Zar’bau visibly shrunk into the distance, until the horizon he witnessed vanished from sight. The ashen sands of the Gorgon Dunes gradually shifted into the arid deserts of the Carrion Valley. Azat recognized the mountain pass of Reaper’s Lantern forming around him, and the scattered Qi villages that he had scorched into ruin.

Once again, Reaper’s Lantern quaked to the march of ten thousand Warriors of the Brotherhood. Ten Thousand nameless faces waded through the thick of the dead left from the previous battle, picked clean by hordes of passing carrion birds.

At their head rode the only man that Azat knew as familiar. The only man that he had once called a true brother. In that moment, realization dawned upon him, and he knew that the fate of thousands was nigh to be decided.

Aslan himself marched in the direction of Zar’bau to crush the insurrection before it truly began.

Once more, the Qi lands shifted and shrunk as Azat was hurled across the world’s length of his dreamscape. Reaper’s Lantern withered until it became only a speck on the horizon from the Dominion’s Heartlands. The labyrinthine architecture of the Capital, Tu’shik, the City of Canals, rapidly materialized until spread like a great swathe of civilization.

The Grand Canals of Tu’shik seemed quiet in the midst of night. Yet the metropolis clustered along its length seemed unsettled. Fires did not blaze behind its manned battlements. The skies were not filled with the myriad screams of the dying and frightened.

   Yet the clamor and chaos of open battle raged on all the same. Azat attempted to read the events happening behind Tu’shik’s walls, but could vaguely sketch out any details as the night sky began to fade into endless, all-consuming black.
   Yet one light blazed bright in the darkness. A light that radiated from the heart of the great palace that overlooked the rest of the city. Azat knew who this brilliance belonged to.

   As Azat awoke within his in the cold dark of his tent, a cold feeling of abandonment seized him. He had sacrificed so much for a chance to earn back some form of his previous life. He had labored so arduously, even when vengeance was nothing more than an afterthought locked away in the back of his mind.

   A thought surfaced to the forefront of Azat’s mind. He would not abandon his brother Aslan, when he was needed most. For once, he would serve a purpose greater than his own needs.

   Cast the thought of vengeance aside, Azat thought, he would drag Aslan from out death’s clutches by his skin of his ankles, if he must.

Title: Re: World Building 1 - on - 1: (Descension Into Fire and Ruin - Scene I)
Post by: Alienscar on January 14, 2020, 11:07:55 AM
Just some quick thoughts, so I don't fall too far behind with my feedback  :)

Azat awakened to the ceaseless clamor of open warfare unleashed upon his own dreamscape.

Awakened is past tense, so it trips me up when I read this passage. I also get the idea that you actually mean 'became aware'.

His amber eyes flicked open to unveil a crystalline night sky, tarnished with acrid grayish clouds that shone black in the hour of night.

You have established that it is night time, so the 'hour of the night' part of this sentence is redundant.

Azat awakened to the ceaseless clamor of open warfare unleashed upon his own dreamscape. His amber eyes flicked open to unveil a crystalline night sky, tarnished with acrid grayish clouds that shone black in the hour of night.

Clouds borne from an inferno painted the horizon in hues of orange and crimson. Sprawled in the soft, ashen dune-sand of the Gorgon Dunes, Azat picked himself up.


Two paragraphs to describe Azat getting up is one too many and I feel there is a chance that neither is required.

Azat awakened to the ceaseless clamor of open warfare unleashed upon his own dreamscape. His amber eyes flicked open to unveil a crystalline night sky, tarnished with acrid grayish clouds that shone black in the hour of night.

Is Azat awake, or is he in a trance? The way you have fashioned this sentence makes me think that Azat is awake, but later in the story it is obvious that he is still sleeping.

He quickly gathered his surroundings,

'Took in' his surroundings, not 'gathered'

and yet the horror etched into his eyes, he could not easily lift.

'Lift' does not have the correct meaning for what you are trying to say. 'Erase' or 'forget' would work better.

Descension into Fire and Ruin

I am really not sure about your use of the noun 'descension'. I can't make my mind up if it works or not. Being a noun it describes a thing rather than an action, so I wonder if you really meant  descent or descending.
Title: Re: World Building 1 - on - 1: (Interlude)
Post by: Myen'Tal on January 14, 2020, 11:24:29 AM
Hey Alienscar, thanks for the feedback!

Quote
I am really not sure about your use of the noun 'descension'. I can't make my mind up if it works or not. Being a noun it describes a thing rather than an action, so I wonder if you really meant  descent or descending.

I actually thought the same thing, ha-ha. I've decided that Azat's 'dreams' and 'memories' are not going to be associated with any chapter, but they'll now be their own 'interludes' and titled as such :). Tell me what you think!

Quote
Is Azat awake, or is he in a trance? The way you have fashioned this sentence makes me think that Azat is awake, but later in the story it is obvious that he is still sleeping.

Azat is actually in a dream-like trance, while he is asleep. Your critique here makes a lot of since! I will make sure to have this changed :).

Quote
'Lift' does not have the correct meaning for what you are trying to say. 'Erase' or 'forget' would work better.

I somewhat meant that he could not hide / remove the horrified expression etched on his face. I think you're right though, lift is a weird word to use here.

Title: Re: World Building 1 - on - 1: (Interlude - Scene I)
Post by: Dread on January 14, 2020, 11:13:22 PM
I was having a bit of trouble keeping up with this part as well but with the few explanations has fixed that in my head. I am really getting evolved with the story.

I do need to ask, I need a description of their race, human, orkish, sub human, dwarvish? Skin tone?

When I read, I visualize. So this would deepen my experience not to see visions of Conan in Azat's place. Thanks and keep it coming.
Title: Re: World Building 1 - on - 1: (Interlude - Scene I)
Post by: Myen'Tal on January 14, 2020, 11:34:23 PM
Edits made!

I was having a bit of trouble keeping up with this part as well but with the few explanations has fixed that in my head. I am really getting evolved with the story.

I do need to ask, I need a description of their race, human, orkish, sub human, dwarvish? Skin tone?

When I read, I visualize. So this would deepen my experience not to see visions of Conan in Azat's place. Thanks and keep it coming.

You want a description of the Qarthites? Or the Slaves? I haven't detailed that yet because we haven't seen *too* many of the different ethnicities in Qarth.

So basically, there are twelve different kingdoms on Khios. The dominion is established over each of them, with the Qi being the last kingdom to fall. The only free lands that we know of are the lands of Kharan, the Half-Giants.

Twelve Tyrants of Qarth are the puppet kings, tyrants, and scholar-priests that rule each kingdom. From all of these kingdoms, slaves are acquired constantly from a myriad of reasons.

All of these slaves are then processed within 'Zar'Bau' the Citadel of the Enslaved, and either labor endlessly in the caverns beneath the bulwark, or, if they're fortunate, sent off to the other realms of the Empire to replenish stock.

Qarthites: Black, auburn, gray, or brunette of hair. Bronze, Caramel, or tan of skin-tone. Raven, black, grey, or amber of eyes. Also they are regular humans inspired by persian / other middle-eastern aspects.

Thanks ;D.

Also the first Portent of the Wanderer Scene, should not have been posted, since it is not the actual scene that made it into the story, ha-ha ;).
Title: Re: A Kingdom of Ravens (Interlude - Scene I)
Post by: Myen'Tal on January 16, 2020, 07:33:40 AM
I'm kind of thinking that I should reorganize this thread. I feel like the random scenes might be confusing people. Not certain how to proceed about it though.

@Alienscar and @Dread, I sent both of you a PM for some advice :). If you guys are into the idea of some chronological reorganization, let me know!

This scene is the prologue of the entire story. I thought I'd reverse the clock a bit and introduce another important character :).


Black Pacts

Leagues beneath the Garden Palaces of Tu’shik, underneath the subterranean crypts of the Royal Tombs, Tabia felt an unsettling sense of uncertainty. An oppressive darkness cloaked the tunnel walls and the sand beneath her feet. Only a dozen torches scattered further down the caravan’s length, now smoldering from extended use, could hold back the darkness with their flickering flames.

   “Tabia,” Adofo waved his torch from several leagues ahead, a dim light in the darkness. “Come quick, I’ve found something!”

   “Out of the way,” Tabia hurried to his side and shouldered the burly warrior from out of her path. “Don’t touch anything.”

   “Seven hells,” Adofo shrugged, Tabia could sense his sneer aimed at her back. “What is this?”

   Tabia inspected the great stone slab of a door blocking the path forward. She quickly ran her torch over the dusty surface, unveiling ancient scripture and symbols chiseled into the stone until they became recesses in a greater framework.
Tabia did not spare Adofo a glance. “Warriors of the Zarquin Guard do not ask such questions. Just keep your sword ready.”

   “You’re expecting something behind this door?” Adofo stared at the scripture in amazement. “What could possibly be living down here, giant rats?”

   “Found it!” Tabia placed her gloved fingers on a hidden lever and forced it down until it clicked softly into place. “I would advise, Adofo, that you keep your torches nearby. The God-King has commanded us to enter, but not even he has entered this place for many decades.”

   The grinding noise of stone ground upon stone deafened Tabia’s ears. Adofo planted one step back and readied his hand on the hilt of his sheathed sword. A quiet chorus of hesitant murmurs and disagreements rumbled from the caravan behind them.

   “Silence!” Adofo commanded. “Zarquin, attend your charge!”

   “Yes, yes,” Faki, one of Adofo’s lieutenants, spurred his warriors on. “Make sure these archaeologists don’t fall on their scrolls and ink feathers!”

   A dozen men garbed in robes of cream and crimson, chainmail glistening softly in the flickering light, approached the schism opening between the stone slabs barring the path. They held their bucklers tight across their chests. They readied their swords so that they could cleave through even passing shadows.

   Adofo nodded approvingly as they formed a wall of flesh and steel before the chasm yawning open before them.

   “You first,” Adofo gestured to Tabia as the granite slabs jarred to a sudden halt. “I don’t think we’ll be using our blades, but we remain ever at your back.”

   “Step carefully,” Tabia sneered at Adofo’s confident grin before she stepped into the abyss beyond. “Gods know what’s become of this sacred sanctum.”

   “Crumbling artifacts,” Faki hawked and spat, quickly dogging Tabia’s footsteps. “Toppled ruins. That is all that remains here.”

   Tabia waved her torch back and forth across the widening chamber that they had entered into. Faki had spoken the truth, she realized, as the remnants of a great reliquary became unveiled before the cautious caravan.

   Thousands of Qarthite warriors, hewn from stone, bronze, and clay, lined many of the open spaces beneath half-collapsed arch-ways. They stood in silent vigil over the stranger monuments that loomed over them. Tabia attempted to near them, but could only make out the tell-tale signs of the many limbs that decorated each statue before Adofo tugged her back toward the safety of the caravan.

   “Can you read any of this?” Adofo flicked his torch over scripture-etched walls of dusty obsidian. “This is not Qarthite. It almost hurts my eyes to read it.”

   “A dead language, Adofo.” Tabia dismissed. “Nothing more.”

   Adofo’s irritable sighing betrayed his mounting impatience. “Will you tell me at least what you’re searching for?”

“Something forbidden,” Tabia confessed. “Trust me, Adofo, you’d be best not remembering a thing about what you’ve seen here today. For I shall remember.”

“Corpses often fall short on memories.” Adofo forced through clenched teeth.
Tabia whirled around on him, torch leveled directly in front of his eyes. “I carry the manifestation of the Tyrants’ will with me. Strike me down, and the seven hells you keep speaking of shall swallow you whole!”

“Seven… eh, enough,” Adofo cursed. “Find what you’re searching for and let’s be done with this crumbling heap of stone! The blasphemies hidden in these depths make my skin crawl.”

“Adofo…” Faki cautioned. “Let’s just see this through. Then we can toast to the God King’s generous reward, eh?”

Tabia’s laughter lilted from several meters ahead. “Your friend has the right mind for this sort of thing. Turn back if you’re frightened, Adofo, and give your friend the commander’s badge.”

“Don’t just shy there, Zarquin!” Adofo snapped. “After her. If something happens to Tabia, we’ll be swaying from our necks outside the gates of Tu’shik!”

The Zarquin Guard quickly jostled forward, a caravan of scribes and scholars scrambling not to fall out of their shadow. Tabia glanced behind her, but pressed on all the same. She tread a path interrupted with toppled over statues, all of them of ancient Qarthite origin, and waded through the thick of their ruin.

A spark of light in the near distance made Tabia jump with fright the moment she realized its presence. Hesitant, she drew nearer to the light source until she realized that the light of her torch reflected off something glassine in material.

   A soft disturbance crept from further down the chamber halls as Tabia caught her own reflection in a mirror the color of red wine. Gentler than the most imperceptible sighing, within the silent chambers of the reliquary, there was no warrior of the Zarquin Guard or Palace Attendant who did not freeze at the luring sound.

   “Weapons ready,” Adofo whistled sharply, suddenly beside Tabia once again. “Approach with caution. Remember, stay together and fight as one.”

   “Are you certain this is a danger?” Tabia’s murmur felt like it resonated off the reliquary’s walls. “There’s no cause for alarm, yet.”

   “I am not paid to take chances.” Adofo gestured for Tabia to fall back into his shadow. “Faki, let us combine our eyes and ears, brother. We lead from the front.”

   “Your command is my oath.” Faki acknowledged and made to stand beside his superior. “I’ll keep my torch primed for you, better that you hand yours to a scribe.”

   “Here,” Adofo spun round and shoved the torch in his hand into Tabia’s embrace. “Keep your scribes in line, Tabia. No one flees, on the God-King’s command.”

   “Stop stalling and move out already!” Tabia made a brief whistle.

   Adofo gestured with a point of his chin for Faki to take the lead. Adofo dogged his footsteps, eyes peeled in any direction that Faki did not directly focus on. The other members of the Zarquin Guard formed a tight phalanx around the caravan and marched in the shadows of their superiors.

   Tabia marched behind the safety of the phalanx, surrounded by a gaggle of superstitious and fearful scribes. As the caravan pressed forward in ominous silence, the artifacts and relics crafted by Qarthite artisans seemed to wane in number and scale, until all that remained before them was only the way forward. Statues of strange beasts of mythology gazed upon their progress with lustful eyes, spaced between seemingly endless archways that delved off into the reliquary’s most decrepit corners.

   “amphetamine parrot,” Faki’s voice shattered the suffocating silence ensnaring the caravan. A forceful impact punctuated his distasteful language. “Another doorway, Tabia! This… this one is scrawled with some diabolic scribbling… I cannot read it.”

The phalanx parted to allow Tabia closer inspection. She stepped forward to join Adofo and Faki before a massive slab of alabaster marble inset with the same glassine, wine red material that she had glimpsed in the mirror before. Painstakingly chiseled into the mirror’s surface, were hollowed recesses in the form of more sinister hieroglyphics and scripture.

Tabia gently lifted her torch to better see in the light, but found her hand quickly seized in Adofo’s own snare.

“I hope you know what you’re doing.” Adofo cautioned, but slackened his grip so that Tabia could achieve her work.

“This door is sealed by rite of blood.” Tabia scrolled her fingers across dimly-lit hieroglyphs.

“It cannot be opened without sacrifice. I-I do not understand. I am not certain how to proceed.”

“No soul was ever meant to understand how, Tabia.” A disembodied voice crept through the under-dark like a gentle breeze. It was a sinistrous amalgamation of several feminine voices speaking roughly in chorus. “This world is too brief already without prying eyes gleaming such, treasured knowledge..

“Woeful, have the times grown, that your master now sends gaggles of slavering attendants in his stead. Has he grown so vain? Does his courageous heart wither with fear? Or is it desperation that drives him into the shadows?”

“Your blasphemy shall reap his wrath,” Tabia shouted, torch held out for any sign of the creature. “He would certainly cast you back into the shadow of the Seven Hells!”

“Enough,” Adofo interrupted. “Find it and bring me the severed wretch’s head!”

“You need not look far, little man.” The enigmatic voice surged over them like a wind from the passage behind them. “I shall not shirk from your gaze.”

A thin sliver of tongue the color of dark blood lolled from out of the shadows and into the flickering warmth of the torchlight. A maw of teeth that curved like the perfect points of a ram’s horns followed suite. The grounded roots of each tooth gleamed in the darkness, fading into burnished browns toward the center and then to oily blacks at the very tips.

They were small enough not to alter the creature’s facial features, a blend reminiscent of elf and human as if she been borne from such a crossing.

Yet, an other-worldliness bled into those pristine features, that Tabia would have otherwise thought divine. Oppressive eyes of oily crimson and viper’s slits seemed to bubble and writhe from within as if blood boiled from underneath. Lengthy streams of raven hair cascaded down her crown of four curving horns that could rival a Minotaur's.

Beneath her arms were another set of limbs lined with whipcord muscle. She held them cupped in a way that sketched a strange symbol with the intricate positioning of her fingers.

A simple colchis of deep sapphire laced with filigree of ruby garbed the creature’s deceptively towering height. Tabia figured it stood four heads over the tallest man in the caravan.
The caravan looked on in horror for the briefest moment, before the first terrified scream sent most of attendants flying in a panic.

The Forbidden One fixated her gaze upon Tabia, a coy smile on her lips, before it laid into the discordant horde attempting to fly past it. The creature scarcely seemed to move either of her four arms, but she caught two scribes by the crown of their heads.

She tracked her upper arms back and forth, an effort that seemed near effortless to Tabia. Bodies flew through the dusty passage. Dull, sickening crunches echoed through the lonesome cavern as corpses impacted against the monuments gazing ever onward.

The Forbidden One tore the two attendants still in her snare messily into halves with a violent pull of her arms.

In the span of a shallow breath, the caravan in Tabia’s charge had been gruesomely murdered.

“Seven hells,” Adofo cursed from out a mouth too slackened with shock to be considered intimidating.

Tabia craned her head to stare Adofo directly in the eyes. “What are you doing?” She insisted.
“Defend us!”

Adofo considered Tabia for a long moment, his skepticism slowly eradicated by an expression of grim determination.

“Brothers,” Adofo addressed the thirteen warriors huddled in front of him like a bulwark of flesh and steel. “Our very lives depend on the severing of this blasphemy’s head. Fight well, and may the sun rise for you tomorrow! Charge!”

The Zarquin thundered their war cries and broke ranks in unison. Tabia watched the first and bravest amongst them make a vicious cut at the Forbidden One’s midriff. The creature flicked her wrist at the grizzled warrior and slit his throat with the same gesture.

A second Qarthite leapt over the back of his wounded comrade, but Tabia blinked and in the next moment, his arms were hewed from his body.

“Together, you imbeciles!” Adofo encouraged them. “Encircle her! Strike from every angle!”
From the right flank, three of the Zarquin guard charged forward together, their shields held out before them with their swords readied for a sure thrust. On the left, Adofo, Faki, and another warrior pushed their advantage at the same time.

The Forbidden One backpedaled, the ghosting image of swords manifesting between her fingers vanishing and reappearing as she tracked her arms back and forth. A fountain of blood arced from the formation on the left flank, a skull cleaved from someone’s shoulders.

On the right, Adofo parried one of the ghosting blades with a mighty clamor of steel on ethereal steel. Faki sprinted at full tilt, sliding into the Forbidden One’s guard and making a vicious cut behind the creature’s kneecap.

A keening howl of agony tore through the Zarquin ranks like a sudden gust of wind, but they held firm. More war cries burst from out of the shadows as other Zarquin emerged behind the Forbidden One.

The Forbidden One whirled backward, her movements more akin to a dance than any battle maneuver. Her arms cut across one another like a labyrinth of blades, some finding their mark and hewing down more of the guard. Others were successfully parried by the trained and practiced eyes of Adofo’s most experienced warriors. 

The clamor of battle reverberated through the reliquary. The screams of the dying punctuated every several clashes of steel on steel. Diabolic screams were torn from the Forbidden One’s throat as the Zarquin steadily landed a true blow here and there.

Tabia quickly realized that she stood alone by the doorway blocking the clearest route to safety. Only a sprawl of dead warriors and scribes and thick slathers of blood left in the sand between them was her only protection.

“Faki!” Adofo shouted over the cries of the last Zarquin Guard to fall on the forbidden one’s blades. “Save yourself, brothe--” Adofo’s sudden gasp of surprise was torn out of his lungs, impaled on the length of two blades.

Defiant, Adofo could scarcely lift his hand, as if he made to strike the Forbidden One one last time. Unceremoniously, the Forbidden One cast his corpse into the shadows with a ferocious kick.
Tabia froze in horror, Faki’s shadow receding as he fled back toward the surface as quickly as he could manage. She wanted to call out to him, but whatever desire she had to was quickly robbed by the Forbidden One’s unsettling gaze fixated on her.

The creature, credit to the Zarquin Guard’s martial prowess, knelt unsteadily upon one mightily wounded knee. A thousand cuts marred her once unblemished skin, a few large bruises the tell-tale signs of shields leaving their mark on her.

Beads of sweat and blood dripped down her unnatural body, her hair matted and sticky with blood and viscera of her foes.

In spite of her condition, the Forbidden One lifted her head skyward and laughed in skeptical disbelief.

“That, was not how I was expecting this fight to go.” The Forbidden One shifted around to gaze at Tabia once more. “But I’d rather them defiant, than meek and soft. Which one would you be, Tabia?”

“Who are you?” Tabia eked out a murmur under her breath. “How do you know of me?”

“Such trivial questions,” The Forbidden One answered. “What need of you of their answers? What need of you of concern, when you’re nothing more than meat strung up on strings, like a puppet? You’ll dance to my tune, won’t you, Tabia? You’ve searched my eyes, and found your own soul wailing back in them.

“What need of you such incorporeal beauty? Better that it belongs to me in the end.”

   Tabia could avert her gaze from the Forbidden One no longer. Lost in the creature’s eyes, she felt her spiritual defenses crumbling in great heaps. Her defiance guttered. Her faith withered enough to fall from her mind like a rotting fruit from a dead tree.

   Tabia glimpsed the Forbidden One’s eyes and felt content in her sudden, new enthrallment. A faint spark in the darkest corner of her mind, instantly recognized that only this creature could ever undo the curse she had woven over her.

   “Are you listening, Tabia?” The Forbidden One turned away from her to gaze in the direction that Faki had departed.

   “What?” Tabia quipped impulsively, her sentience returning in foggy, gradual waves. “Gods, but what is your will?”

   “I said that I have need of you.” The Forbidden One beckoned her forward with a curl of her talon-like finger. She spared a intentful glance and haunting smile in Tabia’s direction. “It shall be a monumental one. Are you still listening in that thick skull of yours?”

   Tabia sank to her knees in the blood slick sand and prostrated herself, knowing that anything less would spell her demise.

   Tabia did not attempt to hide the shame in her words. “I-I swear, nothing but death would keep me from it.”

   “Very well,” The creature cooed. “Then listen intently…”.
Title: Re: A Kingdom of Ravens (Interlude - Scene I)
Post by: Alienscar on January 16, 2020, 10:21:09 AM
@Alienscar and @Dread, I sent both of you a PM for some advice :). If you guys are into the idea of some chronological reorganization, let me know!

Well I have got a PM that is addressed to Dread, so I guess you mean that one.  :D

I would agree that some sort of order to your story is required as the scenes by themselves do not tell a story.

Settling on a title would help.  ;D


Black Pacts

Leagues beneath the Garden Palaces of Tu’shik, underneath the subterranean crypts of the Royal Tombs,

“Tabia,” Adofo waved his torch from several leagues ahead, a dim light in the darkness. “Come quick, I’ve found something!”


A land league is three miles long. Adofo must have a really loud voice if he can be heard over six miles away.
Title: Re: Ashes and Embers (Interlude - Scene I)
Post by: Myen'Tal on January 16, 2020, 11:54:33 AM
You are correct here, Alienscar, but Adofo is not yelling ;D. He is waving his torch, still what you say is still true!
Title: Re: Ashes and Embers (Interlude - Scene I)
Post by: Alienscar on January 16, 2020, 12:19:17 PM
You are correct here, Alienscar, but Adofo is not yelling ;D. He is waving his torch, still what you say is still true!

Not yelling! Well now I am confused.

“Tabia,” Adofo waved his torch from several leagues ahead, a dim light in the darkness. “Come quick, I’ve found something!”[/font]

Don't the speech marks indicate that Adofo is calling out to Tabia?
Title: Re: Ashes and Embers (Interlude - Scene I)
Post by: Myen'Tal on January 16, 2020, 12:29:11 PM
Never mind, I'm stupid :P ;)
Title: Re: Ashes and Embers (Interlude - Scene I)
Post by: Sir_Godspeed on January 23, 2020, 07:24:41 PM
I've read up a bit, so here's some feedback on the following texts (labelled as best I could). Hopefully more will follow at some point, but you know how it is with finding time to read (or write, for that matter).

Out-of-Chronology Passage

Quote
Tabia gleamed enough of the conversation without trying.


It seems a bit pointless to tell the reader that Tabia hears the convo without telling the reader what it is she's gleaning (not gleaming - but I have not gone through with with the intent to correct minor grammar or spelling mistakes so this will probably be the only instance of such a correction - not that there are many to begin with).

Quote
The other Zarquin Guard did not lift their swords. Tabia still heard foreign screams as hidden archers shot the Khanites into the crystal cyan waters of the canal. She heard swords being drawn in the distance and a command to storm the ship before she slipped out of sight.

"The other Zarquin Guard" sounds immediately to be singular to me, then the reader is given the plural possessive "their", so I assume it refers to a group. May I suggest saying something like "The other guardsmen"?

Quote
A stranger’s voice greeted Tabia from scant feet away.

“Jumanah’s light on your path, stranger.” A youthful woman’s cheery voice struck Tabia like a lightning bolt. Tabia gently turned her head toward a wooden bench, where a woman with hair of both rosy red and burnished chestnut watched her with a broad smile.

We've got three instances of "Tabia" in fairly rapid succession, it would be good to vary it.

Quote
      “Adofo is dead.” Shoushan reminded. “Because of this dumb be-atch, if she’s spoken the truth. How could you ask for calm when a dozen of your brothers are dead in the caverns?”

        “Enough, enough!” Faki stepped between Shoushan and Tabia, a torch blazing in his hand. “You should slake that sword of yours on some Kharanites, if you’ve such an impulse to murder.”

        “The Kharanites are our friend now,” Shoushan smiled grimly. “After they learn to submit to our laws, of course. In either case, I won’t stand here and let this woman step a foot inside of Tu’shik. Not over my corpse, she shall not pass!”

I was a bit confused over why this escalated to so quickly to where apparently mortal combat was inevitable and neither party attempted to deescalate. It doesn't come off as clear in the text.


Portent of the Wanderer, Ver. I

Quote
        An eerie cawing of crows carried over the thunderous surging of waves. Veridia’s crystalline blue eyes snapped open to the brilliance of wicked lightning falling from heaven to earth. The skies that bristled with the clamor of Tarithinon’s wrath, were the all-consuming black of raven’s feathers.

I assumed Tarithinon's wrath is a poetic term for thunder or lightning, but this is not presented clearly in the text. I can't tell what you've told the reader prior to this since this is an excerpt, but it would be good to clarify.

Quote
   An ethereal voice made distinct by a mother’s gentle love, a siren’s luring lullaby, and the enigmatic instruction of a divine touched soul, answered Veridia.

There's a danger to over-describe with overly specific yet vague descriptor. This sentence is poetic and flows nicely - but what on earth does a voice like this actually sound like? I doubt a reader would be able to actually imagine it, at least I can't.

Quote
Veridia exhaled an ancient mantra surfacing from the back of her mind. She shut her eyes and her heart skipped one, then several beats.

It would probably be better to say "She shut her eyes, and her eye skipped a one beat, then several." - but others might disagree.

Chains that Break


Quote
“Autumn Queen,” Azat thought aloud. “I’ve not heard the name Hazan in many moons. The Autumn Queen that exists now must be some sheltered daughter of hers. No chance that the one I served so many moons ago is still alive.”

A moon is a poetic term for a month. He is essentially saying that he served someone many months ago, which in my mind basically equates to a few years. So my mind immediately asked "why does he assume someone he served a few years ago is dead - was she THAT old?"


Quote
   Aiman studied Azat for an incredibly long time. “Are you so eager to bare such a weight on your shoulders? You are strong of heart and resilient of mind, Azat, but it'll wear you down over the course of time. It will grind you mercilessly, until you’re nothing more than embers blown upon the hot desert wind.”

"incredibly" sounds a bit misplaced here. It conjures the image of her looking at him silently for several minutes, which is a bit odd. While replacing it with some other term works, dropping it and just saying "Aiman studied Azat for a long time" works just fine too.

Quote
“Before the God-King crushed it?” Azat quipped. “Erasyl cast Hazan into that grave, and all of my dreams with it. He shattered me like no man could ever hope for, not even Baal would argue against it, if he had known. What brotherhood do I know now since he waltzed through the Hundred Temples, except that of the only one he deigned to spare?”

So in this passge the reader finds out that Hazan is definitely dead, and Azat knows so - so the whole wondering about about Hazan being alive in the earlier paragraph seems very odd in retrospect.

-----

Overall I want to say I enjoyed the Chains that Break chapter the most, as it was interesting to get some more in-depth character development of Azat. The dialogue also flowed very well here, with natural-feeling back and forth banter which adds a lot of flow and ease to reading. The revelations of the background and natural introductions of new characters - specifically Aiman - was also interesting. The others aren't bad either, but naturally this has more meat on it for someone who is only following this thread. :)

Looking forward to read more!

(Also, as always, these are just my opinions.)
Title: Re: Ashes and Embers (Interlude - Scene I)
Post by: Myen'Tal on January 23, 2020, 07:58:09 PM
Thank you for the critique and feedback, Godspeed! I'm stoked that you guys like Chains that Break. I was really uncertain about that one, I thought I may have went overboard with it.

I shall take an in-dept look at your suggestions. The feedback will be reflected when I post the scenes up again in the chronological timeline thread.

Speaking of that, we have a chapter that we've only delved one scene into so far... can you guess ;)?
Title: Re: Ashes and Embers (Interlude - Scene I)
Post by: Sir_Godspeed on January 31, 2020, 11:38:48 AM
So, I read more, and have some more feedback if you're interested. The first I struggled somewhat to follow, although it was tense, but the second interlude I felt flowed very well and I greatly enjoyed reading.

I want to make it clear that these are my subjective impressions and suggestions, not some kind of objective writing clues. I've also focused on trying to not get bogged down in too minor details (misspelling, etc.), but instead focus on issues of narration and sentence structure - as I think this is the most valuable feedback to give from a reader.

Interlude 1

Quote
Tendrils of shadow snaked acros the obsidian brickwork. Azat danced betwixt the crumbling arches, fading in and out of corporeal vision as he did so. Shadows fought to consume him wholly, but he moved too quickly for the all-consuming dark to take its hold on him. Obsidian, his wicked-edged sword, lashed out like slivers of brilliance too bright to repress.
So, there are a few things here that touch on the issue of wordiness I mentioned i a previous feedback post:
- I feel like the word "corporeal" is superfluous here, since vision is by default, well, relating to corporeal things. I understand wanting to do poetic descriptions, but they can get in the way of clear narration if overdone or done at the wrong time, in my opinion.
- The whole deal about shadows fighting to consume Azat, and him being too quick is a bit too much for me. Partly because it's giving too much space to what is essentially just a metaphor (I think?), but also, since this is a fantasy story, you might trick readers into thinking that the shadows are literally fighting to consume him - which was my first impression. If the term shadows are just another term for the assassins, then it's not made clear, at least not to me.

Quote
Azat slid around the pinpoint thrust of a dagger meant to cut open his throat. Obsidian cleaved through a blue-white shimmer of steel held aloft in front of him with a keen cry.
This sentence makes it seem like the steel was held aloft in front of him with a keen cry. I assume that it's rather the cleave that's making the keen cry. I'd suggest something like "With a keen cry, Obsidian cleaved through a blue-white shimmer held aloft in front of him." This is less ambiguous, imho.

Quote
From the ashen clouds roiling across the evening sky, barbs of forked-tongue lightning made their rapid descent to earth. Echoes of thunder crashed over the limestone dunes of Myria. It impacted the earth with such force that the earth beneath his boots trembled in violent protest.
This paragraph uses the term earth three times. Varying with, for example "ground" or what have you, at least once, makes it flow better.

Quote
The winter rain crept into the gaps of Azat’s chainmail and soaked his clothes through. It made his movements somewhat more cumbersome. But if his movements had become more impaired, then these wretches before him moved with all the grace of slaves chained by their ankles with iron shackles.
A bit more about the wordiness thing. These long descriptions can clash with the intent of creating a tense, fast-paced action scene. In my experience, shorter sentences with less flourish can help get across speed better. This is just a general point. Putting in a few longer, descriptive sentences every now and then can help punctuate that, adding more weight to them.
More specifically for this paragraph, I don't think there's any need to specify that they move like slaves chained by their ankles with iron shackles. Saying that they move like chained slaves, or iron-shackled slaves is a more succinct way of getting the point across and fits the tenseness of the scene more, in my opinion. Others might disagree.

Quote
The assassin clamped a quivering hand onto the open wound, vainly attempting to stem the blood. Azat violently seized the figure by said hand and commandeered the assassin as a living shield. A flurry of poisoned knives slunk into the dying man’s back. The shield spasmed and foamed and gasped his last in choked, guttered inhalations.
"Said hand" is a bit of a dry phrase I'm not sure fits in an epic narrative style, but is more of a letter or essay style thing, I think. Perhaps saying "seized the figure by the covering hand" or something feels more natural, others might disagree.
This is followed by a run-on sentence: "spasmed and foamed and gasped". I'd suggest cutting at least one of those, especially since readers are informed later on said inhalations were "choked, guttered" as well, so it's really covered twice.

Quote
“My, my,” A woman with a serpentine wisdom to her voice greeted Azat. She stood poised over the corpses of her dead compatriots. “Aren’t we skilled for a lowborn nobody? I’m almost afeared to try my hand next at killing you.”
Another one of those things that sound good when writing, but might not make a lot of sense when reading: how does one identify "serpentine wisdom" in someone's voice? I'd suggest using the term "hissing" or "sibilant" if you are trying to get across an auditory quality, and replacing "wisdom" with something that's more interpretable from tone, like "confidence", "smugness", "playfulness" or something else you can think of.

Quote
Azat tumbled face-first onto the obsidian brickwork of the Myrian Palace.
I believe the term "Myrian Palace" is used three or four times in the passage. I suggest dropping the qualifiers after the second time, and just write "palace floor" or "ruined palace brickwork" or something like that. By now the readers should know where they are.

Interlude 2.

Quote
Cast the thought of vengeance aside, Azat thought, he would drag Aslan from out death’s clutches by his skin of his ankles, if he must.

"his skin of his ankles" should probably be *the* skin of his ankles. This is a very minor mistake. I've probably made worse in my own reply post right here.

Interlude 2 works a lot better for me. Azat is given a static observational role, so the descriptive sentences feel a lot more natural, whereas in Interlude 1 they feel more confusing and intrusive to me. Interlude 2 also has more character information, which I always like and which ground the character. We get some in Interlude 1 as well, but that's pretty late. It does improve once the dialogue starts though, in my opinion.

I hope this was valuable.






Title: Re: Ashes and Embers (Interlude - Scene I)
Post by: Myen'Tal on January 31, 2020, 11:49:47 AM
EDIT: Edited this post! Lol!

Quote
I hope this was valuable.

Always is :), thank you for the feedback, Godspeed!!!

Quote
I want to make it clear that these are my subjective impressions and suggestions, not some kind of objective writing clues. I've also focused on trying to not get bogged down in too minor details (misspelling, etc.), but instead focus on issues of narration and sentence structure - as I think this is the most valuable feedback to give from a reader.

That is perfectly fine, Godspeed. I tend to give an in-depth look into constructive criticisms, though I might accidentally come off as over-analyzing a bit. In the end though, I know that there's a reason that readers bring feedback up, because there was something I wrote that made them want to voice their concerns they want to speak about.

So I always think it's worth it to consider everyone's opinions and critiques, and attempt to address these concerns.

I'm not taking them as 'writing clues' per se, but as readers, your guys opinions definitely help me improve and better myself as a writer. So I'm always eager to look through the lenses of the reader and their feedback and learn something :).

By the way, the Chronological Version of this thread follows how all these scenes are intended flow together. There's quite a bit of new stuff jammed into the Portents of the Wanderer and more stuff coming for Chains That Break in the near future ;).
Title: Re: Ashes and Embers (Interlude IV - Remembrances of Autumn)
Post by: Myen'Tal on February 1, 2020, 08:45:05 PM
Interlude IV - Remembrances of Autumn

   Azat flicked open his eyes for the first time in what felt like a century. His hawked-eyed gaze already searched for contextual clues even as they did so. Lavender curtains billowed from a fell wind coming in through the open doors of a marble balcony. Suffocated in silence and isolated in the abyssal dark of night, Azat searched and searched the resplendent chamber someone had entombed him in.

   He caught glimmers of moonlight through the roiling clouds journeying across the night sky. His instinctual sense of panic relented at the mere sight of Old Myria’s holy symbol. His exasperated lungs calmed until he struggled no more to breathe. His aching limbs still refused to move much at all, but he no longer fought to dominate his will upon them.

   “Still yourself, my love.” A smooth, placid voice reminiscent of a gentle tide surged over Azat. “Your struggle will only worsen the night-bane's damage on your physical health.”

   Azat somehow managed to crane his head toward the chamber doorway. He could scarcely make out the hazed shadow leaning upon one of the colonnades.

   “You almost died by the hands of an assassin.” The shadow detached itself from the colonnade and melded into the night. “Do you remember? Once you are able to feel your scars again, I’m certain that you’ll recall everything.”

   “Autumn Queen,” The words tumbled from out of Azat’s mouth in an awkward manner. “Where are we? Have we truly stepped through the Gates of Myr? Everything is unfamiliar… this is not the Palace of Ruin and Blood that I remember.”

   “Our forces abandoned Myria, Azat.” Hazan emerged from out of the dark, her beauteous – nigh immaculate features were cast in the moon’s light.

        Her fair skin shone like the coastal sands of the shore. Fiery crimson dyed locks danced in the wind’s current and became polished onyx the nearer they came to the crown of her head. Her raven eyes were cold and aloof, and seemed to stare into and through the core of Azat’s immortal soul.

   Azat noticed above all, that melancholy and lamentation seemed to have taken their tole on the Queen of Old Myria.

   “Voshki and Vahe commanded our armies at the Pinnacle Gate against Qarth’s inexorable advance. We held the Gate for seven days and nights until a glimmer of victory seemed to be within our grasp. But Erasyl’s carrion birds have infested even our fairest land.

   “Seven nights of ravaging plagues. Seven nights of chaos and bloodletting when long-hidden traitors unveiled themselves in the streets of my great city. Seven nights of defiance that have heralded the beginning of long defeat.”

   “Hmm,” Azat considered Hazan’s words even as the Autumn Queen came and sat down upon his bed. Her fingers weaved gracefully through Azat’s raven strands, matted with sweat and still some flakes of coagulated blood. “Voshki and Vahe… what were their fates? Where are we?”

   “They’re alive and with us still.” Hazan took up Azat’s hand into both of her own. “Our armies are trapped within the One Hundred Temples of Sh’myr. A citadel in their own right, but only garrisoned by armies of Priests, Sages, and Scholars before we arrived.”

   “Seven Hells,” Azat suddenly felt his muscles stir once again from adrenaline. “How could they have pushed our lines so far back? Our kingdom practically rests in the Dominion’s hands!”

   “My Kingdom,” Hazan corrected. “You would not enjoy the burden of Old Myria’s conquest and demise. Of that, I can assure you. Lay that burden upon my shoulders and think of a better life after this all blows over.”

   “Autumn Queen,” Azat suddenly forced himself to sit up with a new found strength, though his body heavily protested. “Loss of land is never as important as maintaining loyal hearts and minds for the Kingdom’s cause. The Wailing Widow may billow over our cities and fields, but the fires of our defiance shall never settle while the Autumn Throne remains stolen.”

   Hazan watched him struggle with a distant look on her face. A pleased smile graced her lips when Azat forced himself to sit upright.

   “Always have I trusted in your judgment, Azat.” A faint reminiscence claimed her for a moment. “Even though Sahak threatened and many would-be suitors rebelled against your presence outright within the Myrian Court. ‘Cast him into the fire,’ Sahak demanded before all of the court more than once. If only any man had the courage to face my legendary guardian.”

   “Aslan would crush me without effort,” Azat wheezed with laughter. “If we were not brothers and he actually cared for politics. Any of those preening cravens that call themselves members of the Hundred Families?” He contemplated, and then shrugged. “One or two of them could give me actual competition, but I silenced them on the day I silenced all three of the assassins that dared a coup against the Autumn Throne.”

   Hazan echoed his laughter. “And many of them have paid us the great fortune of already being dead… It is you, Voshki, Vahe, and myself, and all the Knights of Old Myria that we could gather from the remnants of a score of battles.

   “If this is how things must end for us… I would have it no other way. Commanders of proven loyalty should be able to fight without the threat of betrayal from every entitled head of nobility for a few promises and a cache of silver.”

   “Hmm,” Azat nodded, and for a moment he thought he would faint back into unconsciousness. “I’d rather spend the rest of my days by your side, my Queen. And if I must cross through the Gates of Myr to do so, then I shall volunteer myself to be thrown on the length of my foes’ swords.”

   “An unfamiliar sensation, isn’t it?” Hazan managed to wipe the distant stare off of her features and replace them with a curious arch of her brow and expectant stare. “To not know if your tomorrow maybe the end of everything? I would spend my last days in this land of long night, unaware of when I must uncork this bottle of night-bane. Any moment now…”

   Azat gently graced Hazan’s shoulder with the back of his knuckles.

   “Don’t uncork it,” Azat cautioned. “Until you have no other choice. The situation maybe dire, but I am holding out on hope that Rum or Kharan may intervene before long.”

   That distant look came over Hazan once more as she turned to watch the moonlight through the balcony window.

   “No one shall come.” Hazan’s answer found its mark straight into Azat’s heart. “All fear the Wailing Widow Banner and Qarth now that it has come into ascendancy. As the ruler of Old Myria, and her chief defender in times of war, my own advisers and myself merely play our parts. For it is the way of things.”

   “The Royal Game,” Azat inclined his head. “Only a fool would come up with so much amphetamine parrot.” He lifted a hand and grazed the scars etched onto his cheek with half-numb fingers. “Seven Hells, that assassin struck me like a banshee…”

   Realization suddenly dawned upon Azat. “Where in all the hells is Aiman?”

   “Young Aiman?” Hazan arched her brow. “She is not present. Sahak and her travel back to Myria.”

   “Into the teeth of our enemy?” Azat scoffed. “A bold method of suicide.”

   “Diplomatic negotiations between Qarth’s ambassadors and my own.” Hazan replied. “Old Myria shall surrender in the wake of my death. Our kingdom shall take on the name of the One Hundred Temples, Sh’myr. Any further details,  I have entrusted with Sahak. He shall keep my own interest in mind for Old Myria… even after I’ve long fled this world.”

   To that, Azat found nothing worthwhile to say. Instead, he made to climb out of his bed on shaky limbs. Hazan stood, but did not intervene. She fixated him with that distant stare that made his heart run cold.

   Azat planted his feet upon the polished tiled floor of the Temple Chamber. No sooner did he attempt to stand did Hazan reach out and steady him in an effort to keep him from falling.

   “Azat,” Hazan leaned in and whispered in his ear. “You do not have share this cruel fate of mine. Take our finest horse and ride ever east, into the free lands. You are no man of nobility… our fate does not have to be your own.”

   “Always have I served the Autumn Queen.” Azat suddenly erected his posture and gestured for Hazan to cease her coddling. “I need not straighten to make it obvious. I need not bend to show my loyalty. But a warrior cannot flee from what binds him into service. Or else he may as well be dead already. No Lord, Tyrant, or King, be they free of will and independent in thought, would accept such an exile.

   “There is no place I’d rather be than here, my Queen. When the end comes, you’ll understand that I speak in truths.”

   “Are you one of my Sages now?” Hazan chuckled in spite of herself. “Truly, an envy for even Qarth’s Disciples of Heaven. What would I do without my greatest treasure to stow away with me into the afterlife?”

   Azat grinned in turn. “For you, my Queen, may I remain ever so till the end of time.”

Title: Re: Ashes and Embers (Interlude - Scene I)
Post by: Alienscar on February 3, 2020, 10:17:07 AM
Interlude 2.
Quote
Cast the thought of vengeance aside, Azat thought, he would drag Aslan from out death’s clutches by his skin of his ankles, if he must.

"his skin of his ankles" should probably be *the* skin of his ankles.


Sir_Godspeed's feedback makes me feel a bit better about leaving feedback as he has highlighted everything that I was going to mention. And, to be honest, he has written it in a better way than I would have.

One thing he touched on that I have a different view about is the line 'the skin of his ankles'.

Whilst he is right that your original version of the line contains a solecism I would go further and say that the phrase does not really work.

Why by the ankles? Are we to presume Aslan is lying on the floor. Why by the skin and not a whole limb?

'Cast the thought of vengeance aside, Azat thought, he would drag Aslan from out death’s clutches by his skin of his ankles, if he must.'

I think this would work better if you simply wrote '...death's clutches whatever the cost.'

I think part of the issue is that your line is very close to the common idiom 'by the skin of your teeth' and for me this confuses the meaning of your line.
Title: Re: Ashes and Embers (Interlude IV - Remembrances of Autumn)
Post by: Myen'Tal on February 3, 2020, 10:47:22 AM
Thank you for the feedback, both of you. I am now aware that Interlude 1 requires many changes, which have now been translated into the chronological thread.

While I didn't realize the mistakes scattered through this scene, I did feel like there was something off about it. I should have taken a harder look.

Also I will change that sentence.
Title: Re: Ashes and Embers (Plans for the Future!)
Post by: Myen'Tal on February 19, 2020, 11:23:06 AM
So I thought I'd provide an update on this.

-I've completed the first draft for this story. I initially was aiming for quite a large word count target. However, the more I progressed in the story itself, I realized that it was unnecessary. The story has come to a natural conclusion at around 60,000 words and I am fine with this.

-I've began the slow and arduous process of editing: sentence refinement, word choice, *some* grammar mistakes. Not many of you will know this, but I'm scheming to work with a well-renowned editor to iron out all the kinks this manuscript has so far. NOTE: It'll take a good amount of time before the gears finish moving on this  :).

-I'm already coming up with ideas for a continuation in a proper sequel :).

Hopefully after everything is properly edited, etc. I can post a sample of one of the scenes already in this thread and we can discuss the differences. It'll be a learning experience for me and hopefully others as well!
Title: Re: Ashes and Embers (Plans for the Future!)
Post by: Alienscar on February 20, 2020, 10:45:40 AM
Well that all sounds very promising especially the bit about getting a renowned editor to have a look at your work.

I look forward to comparing one of your previously posted scenes to one that has been scrutinised by an editor.
Title: Re: Ashes and Embers (Plans for the Future!)
Post by: Dread on February 21, 2020, 09:58:24 AM
I can't wait to read it myself. Good look with the author.
Title: Re: Chains That Break (Plans for the Future!)
Post by: Myen'Tal on March 6, 2020, 09:18:45 PM
So, I have finished the first chapter of the Soul Spires of Osphinx... and was not able to find a way to naturally add in some intense action sequences. It's funny because I think I've crafted another 'Chains That Break' chapter. There isn't much in the way of swords, famine, and war in this chapter. Yet there is a lot of character interaction going on between the main cast.

The only exception is that instead of Azat, this Chapter focuses on Aslan and his retinue.

Just wanted some opinions on what you guys would think about a chapter like that becoming the first chapter. Of course, there'll be plenty of action in the prologue, but I haven't quite gotten around to it  ;).
Title: Re: Chains That Break (Plans for the Future!)
Post by: Dread on March 11, 2020, 11:45:25 PM
I think it could be a good idea but get Azat in somewhere in the end to make it whole. That's just me. 8)
Title: Re: Chains That Break (Plans for the Future!)
Post by: Myen'Tal on March 12, 2020, 02:03:19 AM
I think it could be a good idea but get Azat in somewhere in the end to make it whole. That's just me. 8)

Azat and what he's been up to after the end events of Chains That Break will be covered in the prologue :). Him and Aslan are actually in two different locations at the moment!

I'm much into the idea of cycling the focus of different chapters onto different characters, so long as they play a large role in the overall story arc.  It's not just about Azat's own redemption, all of the characters in the story are equally chained to Erasyl for reasons of their own. Some of them, will come to the conclusions that Azat has gone through and seek to break their chains. Others will also choose the opposing antagonist for what they perceive as a better destiny for either themselves or the world that they live in.

Still waiting to work within the editor's schedule. Patience is a virtue :).
Title: Re: Chains That Break (Plans for the Future!)
Post by: Dread on March 12, 2020, 07:24:16 PM
I'm anxious to read anything you put up. Always enjoyable.
Title: Re: A Dominion of Tyrants (Plans for the Future!)
Post by: Myen'Tal on March 25, 2020, 11:05:52 PM
Can I get some opinion on some book names, all are relevant to the themes of each book.

Book 1

A Dominion of Tyrants
Remembrance of Embers
Chains that Break


(Personally leaning toward a Dominion of Tyrants myself)

Book 2

The Soul Spires of Osphinx
An Opal and Crystalline Sea
Title: Re: A Dominion of Tyrants (Plans for the Future!)
Post by: Dread on March 26, 2020, 12:57:29 AM
Yes on book 1.

Soul spires for 2
Title: Re: A Dominion of Tyrants (Plans for the Future!)
Post by: Myen'Tal on March 26, 2020, 10:19:26 AM
Thanks, Dread  :).

For Book 2, I'm also thinking of:

Autumn's End
Title: Re: A Dominion of Tyrants (Plans for the Future!)
Post by: Alienscar on March 26, 2020, 10:36:13 AM
1. Chains That Break

A dominion of tyrants does not work for me. Think of the word dominion as a synonym for control and you will see why it doesn't quite work

Embers are the dying remains of a coal or wood fire, so I'm not sure what there is to remember.

2. An Opal and Crystalline Sea

Soul spires confuses me as I am not sure if you are reffering to a spire made of souls or a structure that contains, or emits souls. To be honest you might be aware that I am anti reference to souls as real things, so feel free to ignore this.

Autumn's End is nice, but I feel the 'opal' title fits what I have read so far. Autumn's End is a bit romantic.
Title: Re: A Dominion of Tyrants (Plans for the Future!)
Post by: Myen'Tal on March 26, 2020, 11:03:42 AM
1. Chains That Break

A dominion of tyrants does not work for me. Think of the word dominion as a synonym for control and you will see why it doesn't quite work

Embers are the dying remains of a coal or wood fire, so I'm not sure what there is to remember.

2. An Opal and Crystalline Sea

Soul spires confuses me as I am not sure if you are reffering to a spire made of souls or a structure that contains, or emits souls. To be honest you might be aware that I am anti reference to souls as real things, so feel free to ignore this.

Autumn's End is nice, but I feel the 'opal' title fits what I have read so far. Autumn's End is a bit romantic.

Thanks, Alienscar :).

I was using the word dominion as term for an established kingdom or empire, like the Dominion of Qarth. But I do see your point and that makes total sense. The control of tyrants is somewhat redundant ;D.

I used the term embers because the characters are remembering fragments of their past lives, so dying remains of their previous lives that have been burned into cinders.

I see where the confusion of the Soul-Spires is coming from, so I will rethink that one. :)
Title: Re: A Dominion of Tyrants (Plans for the Future!)
Post by: Alienscar on March 26, 2020, 12:36:29 PM
I was using the word dominion as term for an established kingdom or empire, like the Dominion of Qarth.

I got that that was your intent, but 'dominion' is a rarely used word nowadays and I think not that well understood.

The Dominion of Tyrants would work I think. But I believe that would then be referring to a territory or piece of land made of tyrants. It could also refer to the control that tyrants have over their subjects. It works for Qarth because Quarth is a place and not a person. You wouldn't write 'A Dominion of Quarth' would you!

I used the term embers because the characters are remembering fragments of their past lives, so dying remains of their previous lives that have been burned into cinders.

I understood that that was your intent, but by using two nouns you have created an incomplete sentence. Without any other defining context the word ember only refers to a glowing piece of coal or wood.
Title: Re: The Dominion of Tyrants (Plans for the Future!)
Post by: Myen'Tal on March 26, 2020, 12:55:32 PM
Alright, I understand your point better now. Remembrance of Embers doesn't work as is, so I'll probably just scrap that one. That was my least favorite one in either case. I'm not certain how to add more context to the title without making it cumbersome and overly long, haha.

I like The Dominion of Tyrants, and I agree that it works better and is correct.

Quote
It could also refer to the control that tyrants have over their subjects.

This is what I was going for!
Title: Re: The Dominion of Tyrants (Plans for the Future!)
Post by: Alienscar on March 27, 2020, 10:52:26 AM
Alright, I understand your point better now. Remembrance of Embers doesn't work as is, so I'll probably just scrap that one. That was my least favorite one in either case. I'm not certain how to add more context to the title without making it cumbersome and overly long, haha.

Yeah I was trying to come up with something, but everything I could think of sounded more like a documentary than a story.

'My Life in the Ashes of Time.' that sort of thing.


What about 'The Embers of my Past'
Title: Re: The Dominion of Tyrants (Plans for the Future!)
Post by: Myen'Tal on March 27, 2020, 11:05:18 AM
Yeah I was trying to come up with something, but everything I could think of sounded more like a documentary than a story.

'My Life in the Ashes of Time.' that sort of thing.


What about 'The Embers of my Past'

Hmm, I feel like that encompasses only the protagonist and not the world he endures in.

How about In the Chains of Tyrants or In the Chains of the Tyrant
Title: Re: A Dominion of Tyrants (Plans for the Future!)
Post by: Alienscar on March 27, 2020, 11:27:35 AM
I used the term embers because the characters are remembering fragments of their past lives, so dying remains of their previous lives that have been burned into cinders.

Hmm, I feel like that encompasses only the protagonist and not the world he endures in.

How about In the Chains of Tyrants or In the Chains of the Tyrant

As titles they are okay, but they don’t really capture any of what you said previously.
Title: Re: The Dominion of Tyrants (Plans for the Future!)
Post by: Myen'Tal on March 27, 2020, 12:46:52 PM
Well, maybe I misspoke, we can certainly have titles themed around the protagonist.

Hmm, The Embers of My Past... the more I think I think about it, the more I like it.

In the Hands of the Tyrant

In the Chains of the Tyrant

Honestly, think you maybe onto something Alienscar. Naming books is like the most frustrating part of writing for me, lol. Well, perhaps the most stressful, it's something I should consider practicing more often.

Just a side note, but I've always been planning on calling the third book Firstborn, Sun-Caller, and God-King. It's the three infamous titles that our antagonist, Erasyl, is often addressed as his endless legions of subjects. They're also associated with more important meanings, but I won't spoil those  :). What do you guys think?




Title: Re: The Dominion of Tyrants (Plans for the Future!)
Post by: Alienscar on March 28, 2020, 06:04:11 AM
Hmm, The Embers of My Past... the more I think I think about it, the more I like it.

Thinking about it myself, I suppose 'Embers of The Past' would be better.

Just a side note, but I've always been planning on calling the third book Firstborn, Sun-Caller, and God-King. It's the three infamous titles that our antagonist, Erasyl, is often addressed as his endless legions of subjects. They're also associated with more important meanings, but I won't spoil those  :). What do you guys think?

I like it
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past (Plans for the Future!)
Post by: Myen'Tal on April 18, 2020, 10:09:57 PM
Just an update on what I'm working on at the moment.

An Opal and Crystalline Sea has reached approximately 20,000 words and is going strong. Really loving the character driven narrative in this one. Since the setting and the beginning story arc are established in the first iteration, just have to dive right in!

I've secured a place on the schedule of the editor I'd like to work with for the end of May for a manuscript critique. Follow up in July for a proofread.

Also, now I'm beginning to shift my attention to other necessities for The Embers of the Past.

This includes 3 Priorities:

1) Cover Art + Marketing Materials
2) Website
3) A illustration of a semi-detailed map of the continent of Khios.

The website I may end up trying to build myself.

I've looked at a lot of pre-made cover art and have decided that I do not really want that option.

There is a cover designer called Jeff Brown Graphics, that makes beautiful, hand drawn, and custom cover art + marketing materials.

Jeff also does Map illustrations as well, so the odds are looking great that we may coordinate on something.

It'll be a bit more expensive, but I think it'll definitely help the book stand out.

Just keeping you guys up to date. Wouldn't want anyone to think I've abandoned the project :).

Anyone have any ideas for cover art?

I am kind of thinking about the art portraying the remains of a battlefield, using drab hues of white and grey to kind of create an ash effect. Azat would be depicted standing on this battlefield in his trademark armor and robes, shackled with broken chains that are swaying in the wind.

If possible, I'd thrown in the Banner of the Wailing Widow, Carth Dominion's Banner.

I also think it may be a cool idea to contact Jeff a couple of times in the future and acquire some more art depicting characters and events in the world. Then they could be used to add further flare to the website.

Also, I believe I'll call the Trilogy series itself Dominion's End.
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past (Even More Talk About The Future!!)
Post by: Dread on April 18, 2020, 10:17:53 PM
Give me a few days. I'm gonna reread everything and see if I can hit on the high points for cover art ideas. I am an artist, tattooed for over 23 years. I might be able to help, if you'd like.
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past (Even More Talk About The Future!!)
Post by: Myen'Tal on April 18, 2020, 10:20:57 PM
Give me a few days. I'm gonna reread everything and see if I can hit on the high points for cover art ideas. I am an artist, tattooed for over 23 years. I might be able to help, if you'd like.

Hi Dread! That would be awesome and I'd appreciate that :).

Thanks!

Edit: Hey Dread, I sent you a PM :).

Also, I haven't stopped running my eyes over the manuscript for The Embers of The Past. I know it hasn't undergone the official editing process yet, but I've been working to make it as clean as I possibly can before then.

I will post some already shared scenes and you guys can tell me if you see any improvement in the second draft.

Also, I removed Interlude One from the story completely. I kept your guys criticisms and suggestions in mind, and in the end I determined there just wasn't enough story there and that those elements could be better introduced into the story.
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past (Even More Talk About The Future!!)
Post by: Myen'Tal on April 20, 2020, 11:08:47 PM
Interlude I – Divination of Domination

Azat stood before a fortress built by what he could only define as architecture defying all logic and reason. A fused together amalgamation of lesser strongholds and castles once built in the defense of the Grand Kingdom of Zarna. Infamous for the Dragon’s Maw portcullis chiseled and carved from burnished bronze and granite, the myriad forges that blazed behind the curtain walls lent it the impression of an actual smoke-belching dragon.

Conquest delivered by the God-King of Carth’s own hand had seen the Zarna of Old lost in the annals of the histories many years ago. The Seven Libraries of the State were razed to the very last stone. Grand palaces of unimaginable opulence were ransacked and pillaged, and left in nothing less than a permanent state of ruin. All that remained of Zarna since her golden ages of yore, were the dilapidated remains of Labyrinthine Maze.

Of course, the Dominion of Carth remolded what was once thought lost in their own image.

Zar’bau.

An Everlasting Fortress.

A Citadel of the Enslaved.

Azat rekindled his fragile memories and re-imagined the fateful night he was dragged through the Dragon’s Maw Gate. He was nothing more than a broken man. A shackled slave granted mercy solely by the God-King’s own hand.

Erasyl himself descended upon that cursed place and pieced Azat back together into some resemblance of his former self. Yet the changes instructed upon him by the hand of God and his legion of sadistic minions—was irrevocable.

Azat gazed upon the unconquerable bulwark, the Fortress of Everlasting Time itself. He watched it blaze and burn from the height of a mountain summit. He watched centuries-old Watchtowers crumble until they toppled upon themselves with catastrophic force. Fountains of blood seeped from battlements overfull with the slain.

The Banners of the Zarquin Guard, the Hollow-Eyed Widow that wept for her lost sons, were broken and burning across many pockets of Zar’Bau’s lesser bastions. Yet in the heart of the Grand Citadel, her cruel fate still billowed defiantly in the breeze.

Warriors of the Brotherhood marched into Zar’bau’s streets in their thousands, covered beneath a constant hail of flaming arrows. They had formed shield walls where the formation would be strongest. Yet the conquered they fought to repress were beyond number, and surged forth from out of the underground from perceptibly every direction.

Both factions clashed across the breadth of the Gates that led into the inner keep. Countless died upon the Zarquin’s wall of shields, but as the fighting raged onward, the formations eventually devolved into chaotic melees where man could scarcely tell friend from foe.

Battle raged, till crimson rivers surged from out of the streets to cascade down the stairwells and storm drains of Zar’bau’s ruins.

Struck by the sight like a spear through his heart, memories of constant bloodshed and violence surged through Azat as never before. The fragile semblance of peace that Aiman had crafted within him, shattered into a million shards.

Yet Azat remained where he stood outside of Zar’bau’s gates. A sickening feeling of confusion borne from where he actually stood in the midst of this conflict welled within his gut. He felt only outrage, that his Zarquin Brothers were being butchered. Yet he felt empathy and kinship with the ragged and torn horde that dared to defy Erasyl’s will with open hatred.

Abruptly, the world beneath Azat’s feet seemed to shift out from under him. Zar’bau visibly shrunk into the distance, until the horizon he witnessed vanished from sight. The ashen sands of the Gorgon Dunes gradually shifted into the arid deserts of the Carrion Valley. Azat recognized the mountain pass of Reaper’s Lantern forming around him, and the scattered Qi villages that he had scorched into ruin.

Once again, Reaper’s Lantern quaked to the march of ten thousand Warriors of the Brotherhood. Ten Thousand nameless faces waded through the thick of the dead left from the previous battle, picked clean by hordes of passing carrion birds.

At their head rode the only man that Azat knew as familiar. The only man that he had once called a true brother. In that moment, realization dawned upon him, and he knew that the fate of thousands was nigh to be decided.

Aslan himself marched in the direction of Zar’bau to crush the insurrection before it truly began.

Once more, the Qi lands shifted and shrunk as Azat was hurled across the world’s length of his dreamscape. Reaper’s Lantern withered until it became only a speck on the horizon from the Dominion’s Heartlands. The labyrinthine architecture of the Capital, Tu’shik, the City of Canals, rapidly materialized until it spread across the breadth of the Seventh River.

The Grand Canals of Tu’shik seemed quiet in the midst of night. Yet the metropolis clustered along its length seemed unsettled. Fires did not blaze behind its manned battlements. The skies were not filled with the myriad screams of the dying and frightened.

   Yet the clamor and chaos of open battle raged on all the same. Azat attempted to read the events happening behind Tu’shik’s walls, but could vaguely sketch out any details as the night sky began to fade into endless, all-consuming black.

   Yet one light blazed bright in the darkness. A light that radiated from the heart of the great palace that overlooked the rest of the city. Azat knew who this brilliance belonged to.
   
       As Azat awoke within the cold dark of his tent, a cold feeling of abandonment seized him. He had sacrificed so much for a chance to earn back some form of his previous life. He had labored so arduously, even when vengeance was nothing more than an afterthought locked away in the back of his mind.

   A thought surfaced to the forefront of Azat’s mind. He would not abandon his brother Aslan, when he was needed most. For once, he would serve a purpose greater than his own needs.

   Cast the thought of vengeance aside, Azat thought, he would drag Aslan from out death’s clutches by his skin of his ankles, if he must.[/i] [/font]

~******~


Post Merge: April 20, 2020, 11:09:10 PM
In the future, please use the modify button. Double posting is against the forum rules, and for that reason, the system merged your posts.

Black Pacts
Leagues beneath the Garden Palaces of Tu’shik, below the subterranean crypts of the Royal Tombs, Tabia felt an unsettling sense of uncertainty. An oppressive dark cloaked the tunnel walls and the sand beneath her feet. A dozen torches scattered farther down the caravan’s length, now smoldering from extended use, held back the darkness with their flickering flames.
   
“Tabia.” Adofo waved his torch ahead of the caravan, a dim light in the darkness. “Come quick, I’ve found something!”

   “Out of the way.” Tabia hurried to his side and shouldered the burly warrior from her path. “Don’t touch anything.”

   “Sorrows of hell.” Adofo shrugged. Tabia could envision the sneer on his lips. “What is this?”

   Tabia inspected the great stone slab of a door blocking the path forward. She quickly ran her torch over the dusty surface, unveiling ancient scripture and symbols chiseled into the stone until they became recesses in a greater framework.
Tabia deigned not spare Adofo a glance. “Warriors of the Zarquin Guard do not ask such questions. Just keep your sword ready.”

   “You’re expecting something behind this door?” Adofo stared at the scripture in amazement. “What could possibly be living down here. Giant rats?”

   “Found it!” Tabia placed her gloved fingers on a hidden lever and forced it down until it clicked softly into place. “I would advise, Adofo, that you keep your torches nearby. The God-King has commanded us to enter, but not even he has entered this place for many decades.”

   The grinding noise of stone ground upon stone deafened Tabia’s ears. Adofo planted one step back and readied his hand on the hilt of his sheathed sword. A quiet chorus of hesitant murmurs and disagreements rumbled from the caravan behind them.

   “Silence!” Adofo commanded. “Zarquin, attend your charge!”

   “Yes, yes.” Faki, one of Adofo’s lieutenants, spurred his warriors on. “Make sure these archaeologists don’t fall on their scrolls and ink feathers!”

   A dozen men garbed in robes of cream and crimson, chain-mail glistening softly in the flickering light, approached the schism opening between the stone slabs barring the path. They held their bucklers tight across their chests. They readied their swords to cleave through even passing shadows.

   Adofo nodded approvingly as they formed a wall of flesh and steel before the chasm yawning open before them.

   “You first.” Adofo gestured to Tabia as the granite slabs jarred to a sudden halt. “I don’t think we’ll be using our blades, but we remain ever at your back.”

   “Step carefully.” Tabia sneered at Adofo’s confident grin before she stepped into the abyss. “Gods know what’s become of this sacred sanctum.”

   “Crumbling artifacts.” Faki hawked and spat, quickly dogging Tabia’s footsteps. “Toppled ruins. That is all that remains here.”

   Tabia waved her torch back and forth across the widening chamber into which they had entered. Faki had spoken the truth, she realized, as the remnants of a great reliquary became unveiled before the cautious caravan.

   Thousands of Carthite warriors, hewn from stone, bronze, and clay, lined many of the open spaces beneath half-collapsed archways. They stood in silent vigil over stranger monuments that watched over them. Tabia attempted to near them, but could only make out the telltale signs of the many limbs that decorated each statue before Adofo tugged her back toward the safety of the caravan.

   “Can you read any of this?” Adofo flicked his torch over scripture-etched walls of dusty obsidian. “This is not Carthite. It almost hurts my eyes to read it.”

   “A dead language, Adofo.” Tabia whispered. “Nothing more.”

   Adofo’s irritable sighing betrayed his mounting impatience. “Will you tell me at least what you’re searching for?”

“Something forbidden.” Tabia confessed. “Trust me, Adofo, you’d be better off not remembering a thing about what you’ve seen here today. For I shall remember.”

“Corpses often fall short on memories.” Adofo forced through clenched teeth.

Tabia whirled around on him, her torch leveled directly in front of his eyes. “I carry the manifestation of the Tyrants’ will with me. Strike me down, and the sorrowful hell you speak of shall swallow you whole!”

“Hell… eh, enough.” Adofo cursed. “Find what you’re searching for and let’s be done with this crumbling heap of stone! The blasphemies hidden in these depths make my skin crawl.”

“Adofo…” Faki cautioned. “Let’s just see this through. Then we can toast to the God King’s generous reward, eh?”

Tabia’s laughter lilted from several meters ahead. “Your friend has the right mind for this sort of thing. Turn back if you’re frightened, Adofo, and give Faki the commander’s badge.”

“Don’t just shy there, Zarquin!” Adofo snapped. “After her. If something happens to Tabia, we’ll be swaying from our necks outside the gates of Tu’shik!”

The Zarquin Guard jostled forward, a caravan of scribes and scholars scrambling not to fall out of their shadow. Tabia glanced behind her, but pressed on all the same. She trod a path interrupted by toppled over statues, all of them of ancient Carthite origin, and waded through the thick of their ruin.

A spark of light in the near distance made Tabia jump with fright the moment she realized its presence. Hesitant, she drew nearer to the light source until she realized that the light of her torch reflected off something glassine in material.

   A soft disturbance crept from farther down the chamber halls as Tabia caught her own reflection in a mirror the color of red wine. Gentler than the most imperceptible sighing, within the silent chambers of the reliquary, there was no warrior of the Zarquin Guard or palace attendant who did not freeze at the luring sound.

   “Weapons ready.” Adofo whistled sharply, suddenly beside Tabia once again. “Approach with caution. Remember, stay together and fight as one.”

   “Are you certain this is a danger?” Tabia’s murmur felt like it resonated off of the reliquary’s walls. “There’s no cause for alarm, yet.”

   “I am not paid to take chances.” Adofo gestured for Tabia to fall back into his shadow. “Faki, let us combine our eyes and ears, brother. We lead from the front.”

   “Your command is my oath.” Faki acknowledged and made to stand beside his superior. “I’ll keep my torch primed for you. Better that you hand yours to a scribe.”

   “Here.” Adofo spun round and shoved the torch into Tabia’s embrace. “Keep your scribes in line, Tabia. No one flees, on the God-King’s command.”

   “Stop stalling and move out already!” Tabia made a brief whistle.

   Adofo gestured with a point of his chin for Faki to take the lead. He dogged Faki’s footsteps, eyes peeled in any direction that Faki did not directly focus on. The other members of the Zarquin Guard formed a tight phalanx around the caravan and marched in the shadow of their superiors.

   Tabia marched behind the safety of the phalanx, surrounded by a gaggle of superstitious and fearful scribes. The caravan pressed forward in ominous silence. Artifacts and relics crafted by Carthite artisans seemed to wane in number and scale, until all that remained before them was only the way forward. Statues of strange mythological beasts gazed upon their progress with lustful eyes. They were spaced evenly through a hall of seemingly endless archways delving off into the reliquary’s most decrepit corners.

   “amphetamine parrot!” Faki’s voice shattered the suffocating silence ensnaring the caravan. A forceful impact punctuated his distasteful language. “Another doorway, Tabia! This… this one is scrawled with some scribbling… I cannot read it.”

The phalanx parted to allow Tabia closer inspection. She stepped forward to join Adofo and Faki before a massive slab of alabaster marble inset with the same glassine, wine red material she had glimpsed before. Painstakingly chiseled into the mirror’s surface were hollowed recesses forming more sinister hieroglyphics and scripture.

Tabia gently lifted her torch to better see in the light, but found her hand quickly seized in Adofo’s snare.

“I hope you know what you’re doing.” Adofo cautioned. He slackened his grip so that Tabia could achieve her work.

“This door is sealed by rite of blood.” Tabia scrolled her fingers across dimly-lit hieroglyphs. “It cannot be opened without sacrifice. I-I do not understand. I am not certain how to proceed.”

“No soul was ever meant to understand how, Tabia.” A sighing voice crept through the darkness. It was a sinistrous amalgamation of three feminine voices speaking in chorus. “This world is too brief already without prying eyes gleaming such treasured knowledge.

“Woeful have the times grown, that your master now sends gaggles of slavering attendants in his stead. Has he grown so vain? Does his courageous heart wither with fear? Or is it desperation that drives him into the shadows?”

“Your blasphemy shall reap his wrath.” Tabia shouted, torch held out for any sign of the creature. “He would certainly cast you back into the shadow of Hell’s chasms!”

“Enough.” Adofo interrupted. “Find it and bring me the severed wretch’s head!”

“You need not look far, little man.” The enigmatic voice surged over them like a wind from the passage behind them. “I shall not shirk from your gaze.”

A thin sliver of tongue the color of dark blood lolled from out of the shadows and into the flickering warmth of the torchlight. A maw of teeth that curved like the perfect points of a ram’s horns followed suite. The grounded roots of each tooth gleamed in the darkness, fading into burnished browns toward the center and then to oily blacks at the very tips.

They were small enough not to alter the creature’s facial features. A blend reminiscent of an elven crossing with a human maiden.

Yet, an other-worldliness bled into those pristine features that Tabia would have otherwise thought divine. Oppressive eyes of oily crimson and viper’s slits seemed to bubble and writhe from within as if blood boiled from underneath. Lengthy streams of raven hair cascaded from a crown of four curving horns that could rival a Minotaur's.

Beneath her arms were another set of limbs lined with whipcord muscle. She held them cupped in a way that sketched a strange symbol with the intricate positioning of her fingers.

A simple Colchis of deep sapphire laced with filigree of ruby garbed the creature’s deceptively towering height. Tabia figured it stood four heads over the tallest man in the caravan.
The caravan looked on in horror for the briefest moment, before the first terrified scream sent most of the attendants flying in a panic.

The Forbidden One fixated her gaze on Tabi. A coy smiled played on its lips before it laid into the discordant horde attempting to fly past it. The creature scarcely seemed to move either of her four arms, but she caught two scribes by the crown of their heads.

She tracked her upper arms back and forth, an effort that seemed near effortless to Tabia. Bodies flew through the dusty passage. Dull, sickening crunches echoed through the lonesome cavern as corpses impacted against the monuments gazing ever onward.

The Forbidden One tore the two attendants still in her snare messily into halves with a violent pull of her arms.

In the span of a shallow breath, the caravan in Tabia’s charge had been gruesomely murdered.

“Infernal fires.” Adofo cursed from out a mouth too slackened with shock to be considered intimidating.

Tabia craned her head to stare Adofo directly in the eyes. “What are you doing?” She insisted.
“Defend us!”

Adofo considered Tabia for a long moment, his skepticism slowly eradicated by an expression of grim determination.

“Brothers!” Adofo addressed the thirteen warriors huddled in front of him like a bulwark of flesh and steel. “Our very lives depend on the severing of this blasphemy’s head. Fight well, and may the sun rise for you tomorrow! Charge!”

The Zarquin thundered their war cries and broke ranks in unison. Tabia watched the first and bravest among them cut viciously toward the Forbidden One’s midriff. The creature flicked her wrist at the grizzled warrior and slit his throat with the same gesture.

A second Carthite leapt over the back of his wounded comrade, but Tabia blinked and in the next moment, his arms were hewed from his body.

“Together, you imbeciles!” Adofo encouraged them. “Encircle her! Strike from every angle!”

From the right flank, three of the Zarquin guard charged forward together. They held their shields out before them with their swords readied for a sure thrust. On the left, Adofo, Faki, and another warrior pushed their advantage at the same time.

The Forbidden One backpedaled, the ghosting image of swords manifesting between her fingers vanishing and reappearing as she tracked her arms back and forth. A fountain of blood arced from the formation on the left flank. A skull cleaved from someone’s shoulders.

On the right, Adofo parried one of the ghosting blades with a mighty clamor of steel on ethereal steel. Faki sprinted at full tilt and slid into the Forbidden One’s guard. He made a vicious cut behind the creature’s knee.

A keening howl of agony tore through the Zarquin ranks like a sudden gust of wind, but they held firm. More war cries burst from out of the shadows as other Zarquin emerged behind the Forbidden One.

The Forbidden One whirled backward. Her movements were more akin to dance than any battle maneuver. Her arms cut across one another like a labyrinth of blades. Some found their mark and hewing down more of the guard. Others were successfully parried by the trained and practiced eyes of Adofo’s most experienced warriors. 

The clamor of battle resonated through the reliquary. The screams of the dying punctuated every several clashes of steel on steel. Diabolic screams were torn from the Forbidden One’s throat as the Zarquin steadily landed a true blow here and there.

Tabia quickly realized that she stood alone by the doorway blocking the clearest route to safety. Only a sprawl of dead warriors, scribes, and thick slathers of blood left in the sand between her and them her only protection.

“Faki!” Adofo shouted over the cries of the last Zarquin Guard to fall on the Forbidden One’s blades. “Save yourself, brothe--” Adofo’s sudden gasp of surprise was torn out of his lungs, impaled on the length of two blades.

Defiant, Adofo scarcely lifted his head as if he made to strike the Forbidden One one last time. Unceremoniously, the Forbidden One cast his corpse into the shadows with a ferocious kick.

Tabia froze in horror. Faki’s shadow receded into the dark as he fled back toward the surface as quickly as he could manage. She wanted to call out to him, but whatever desire she had was quickly robbed by the Forbidden One’s unsettling gaze fixated on her.

The creature, credit to the Zarquin Guard’s martial prowess, knelt unsteadily upon one mightily wounded knee. A thousand cuts marred her once unblemished skin, a few large bruises the tell-tale signs of shields leaving their mark on her.

Beads of sweat and blood dripped down her unnatural body. Her hair was matted and sticky with the blood and viscera of her foes.

In spite of her condition, the Forbidden One lifted her head skyward and laughed in skeptical disbelief.

“That, was not how I expected this fight to go.” The Forbidden One shifted around to gaze at Tabia once more. “But I’d rather them defiant, than meek and soft. Which one would you be, Tabia?”

“Who are you?” Tabia eked out a murmur under her breath. “How do you know of me?”

“Such trivial questions.” The Forbidden One answered. “What need of you of their answers? What need have you of concern? You’re nothing more than meat strung up on strings, like a puppet. You’ll dance to my tune, won’t you, Tabia? You’ve searched my eyes and found your own soul
wailing back in them.

“What need of you such incorporeal beauty? Better that it belongs to me in the end.”

   Tabia could avert her gaze from the Forbidden One no longer. Lost in the creature’s eyes, she felt her spiritual defenses crumbling in great heaps. Her defiance guttered. Her faith withered enough to fall from her mind like a rotting fruit from a dead tree.

   Tabia glimpsed the Forbidden One’s eyes and felt content in her sudden new enthrallment. A faint spark ignited in the darkest corner of her mind. She understood then that only this creature could ever undo the curse she had woven over her.

   “Are you listening, Tabia?” The Forbidden One turned away from her to gaze in the direction that Faki had departed.

   “What?” Tabia quipped, impulsive. She felt her sentience returning in foggy, gradual waves. “Gods, what have you done to me?”

   “I said that I have need of you.” The Forbidden One beckoned her forward with a curl of her talon-like finger. She spared an intentful glance and haunting smile in Tabia’s direction. “It shall be a monumental task. Are you still listening in that thick skull of yours?”

   Tabia sank to her knees in the blood slick sand and prostrated herself, knowing that anything less would spell her demise.

   Tabia did not attempt to hide the begrudged loathing embedded in her words. “I swear, nothing but death would keep me from it.”

   “Very well.” The creature cooed, oblivious. “Then listen intently…”

Title: Re: The Embers of the Past (Interlude I & Black Pacts, 2nd Draft, Pre-Official Edit)
Post by: Myen'Tal on April 22, 2020, 07:10:08 PM
I realized that while I've shared a good amount of this story, probably more than I should have. I appreciate everyone's continued interest in this particular tale... and I realize that I've never shared anything past Act 1 for this story.

So, here is a piece that happens much nearer to the story's climatic  events!

Mustaphen trail blazed down the volcanic sands toward the heart of the battle. Azat stared straight ahead, Obsidian whirling overhead as a wordless battle cry roared from out of the core of his lungs. He did not spare a glance behind him at the two thousand Qi Raiders charging ever at his back. Their terrifying war cries filled the air with keen shrieks and throaty bellows.

   By his right side, Val kept pace upon his own horse. The Kharan Half-Giant’s furious bellows heralded the coming storm headed for the Slave Legions and Old Myrian Knights. On his left flank, Avedis shouted words of encouragement and war cries Azat had forgotten in his time away from the brotherhood.

   As the Qi mercenaries rapidly closed the distance between them and their foes, resounding cheers from the beleaguered Carthite forces greeted them before they had even entered the fray.

   War horns sounded. Raven-clad ranks reformed swiftly in an attempt to brace themselves against the charge. Azat realized that most of the Old Myrian Knights had lost their mounts and fought on foot. Perhaps mounted on their armored steeds, they would have blunted the charge of Avedis’ horsemen.

   “Firstborn, Sun Caller, God-King!” Avedis thundered over the deafening stampede of the cavalcade. “For the Tyrants of Carth! Crush them underfoot!”

   Azat realized that he could not feel anything in his black heart. Not even when the Old Myrians were close enough that he could make out their eyes behind the demonic masks they wore. He felt no thought of remorse. Hesitance held no shackles upon him. Fear seemed an anathema to him.

   He cared not for who dared stand between him and his brother Aslan. Neither kin, slave, or Carthite would halt his advance back to the Lion’s side.

   Mustaphen collided into the reformed ranks of Old Myria with the strength of a grand bombard’s explosive shell. The first Old Myrian to strike out at Azat was cast into the dune sand like a broken ragdoll. The next several men that sought to take their comrade’s place were battered into the earth and trampled onto death for their efforts.

   Val lashed out with the irresistible might of the Kharanites. His great axe struck with the speed of lightning and the force of Mustaphen’s charge. Wherever his axe was swung, fresh skulls rolled off the heads of their masters in gruesome fashion. Each weighted blow shattered scale mail armor and crushed open the demonic masks of his foes.

   Avedis broke through the initial ranks that sought to hold him back. He cast javelin after javelin into the midst of the foe. His accuracy was unerring as it had ever been. Several Knights were cast into the ground, ran through upon shattered throwing spears.

   The Qi Raiders rushed in behind their exemplary commanders and into the gaps initially punched through the Old Myrian ranks. As the enemy lines buckled and dissolved from the punishing charge, the remainder of Carthite survivors that fought for Aslan still threw themselves back into the chaos with renewed vigor.

   The forces of Carth found their second wind even as the Knights of Old Myria—pinned as they were—struggled on to the death with no chance of escape.

   “My name is Val!” Val screamed over the clamor of men dying in their hundreds and many more locked in mortal combat. “My sword-arm is my pride and Kharan my heart! Stand before me and prove your strength! I shall cut down every man who bars the path of my brother!”

   “Your Kharanite friend is rather zealous!” Avedis shouted at Azat even as another javelin was thrown out of his hand. The Old Myrian he aimed for was struck through the small of his back and crumpled into the arid sands. “I know not how you managed to have one swear a blood oath for you, but I hope you can trust him, brother!”

   “Worry about yourself!” Azat countered. Mustaphen reared up on his back legs and struck another Knight square in the chest. Azat bellowed with laughter as the Knight slunk away with a broken sternum. Mustaphen rode onward and by the stricken knight, but not before Obsidian was rammed through the back of his neck.

   Azat tore the sword free and parried a strike from a morning star. He kicked the helm off of the weapon’s wielder and cut him neatly across the throat. He followed into the attack with a sharp kick to Mustaphen’s flanks. The mighty warhorse kicked out with his hind legs and cast another pair of foes into the ashen sands.

   Mustaphen whirled around once restlessly, and Azat cleaved and thrust with Obsidian’s honed edge again and again into any Myrian who dared to stray too near. Blood arced from each strike of his wicked blade. Men screamed in horror. They fell and writhed in their own death throes until they were trampled under Mustaphen’s hooves.

   “You have not changed, brother!” Avedis gazed and marveled in Azat’s direction. “Ever the bane of men! Foe-slayer! Sun’s Caller’s Reaper!”

   Azat seized up from the remark as if he had forgotten himself. Remembrances both distant and forlorn seemed to drift to the forefront of his thoughts. In the span of a mere breath, memories of Queen Hazan and her last command struck him into limbo.
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past (A Further Glimpse...)
Post by: Dread on April 23, 2020, 08:36:06 PM
That is really good and has a good glimpse into the ending. Good stuff.
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past (A Further Glimpse...)
Post by: Myen'Tal on April 24, 2020, 03:36:03 PM
That is really good and has a good glimpse into the ending. Good stuff.

Thanks, Dread!

I'm certain you'll never guess the later events of the story till you read it! ;D


EDIT:

Alright, so I've started a final edit for The Embers of the Past before it goes to the editor toward the end of May. This edit is going to focus on clarity, World building, and story cohesion.

I've already went through and made some sweeping changes to the first scene for Qi Burns and Fades... enjoy! Lots of new descriptions here and more build up to how the actual story is unfolding in future chapters and titles.


Qi Burns and Fades - Scene I

Sirius, the Baleful Eye of the Heavens, scoured the Valley of Carrion with its feverish heat. Shimmering rays coalesced from crystal skies overhead, gathering over a barren oasis chiseled into the flank of a windswept mountain pass. Azat felt the kiss of the desert wind. A brief and unreliable reprieve from the blistering heat beating down on his bronze skin.

He felt as if he would burst into flames. Draped in shimmering robes of cream and crimson, the chainmail glinting underneath only added further to the infernal heat. He shifted worn and rugged leather boots in the arid and craggy earth. Unconsciously, he anxiously checked his laced vambraces once again and the dirtied bandages wrapped snugly around his hands.

Azat remained anchored by the barren crater alongside the Warriors of the Brotherhood, who eagerly eagerly awaited their commander’s order.

Yet when their commander did finally speak, they found that he did not address them. 

“A pity.” Aslan’s voice rumbled like disquiet thunder in his throat. “You see my warriors?” He gestured toward the nearest of the broken warriors bound by the wrist and forced on their knees before the dead oasis. “We merely sought to test our mettle against worthy foes… Do you see me, Qi?”

Bloodied, battered, and a hair’s breadth away from death, the Qi being addressed scarcely lifted his head to look Aslan in the eye. It was all that he could do but glance toward Aslan’s feet and hurl a wade of phlegm at them.

“Your first sin.” Aslan lifted his voice to address each prisoner of war. He sneered. “Your misguided pride of thinking yourselves of our caliber.”
Aslan made one cutting gesture. A silent command to have his prisoners disposed of.

A score of Zar’qin Guard -indentured warrior slaves- arrayed in a single rank hacked their unsheathed blades into the necks of their assigned charges. For every stroke, one kill was made. Blood seeped into the arid sands. The Zar’qin planted their boots on the backs of their foes and kicked their corpses into the chasm.

Aslan shook his head as he watched the bodies topple into the oasis unceremoniously.


“Unthinkable.” Azat commented in his rough, mocking tongue. “You’ve stolen the honor of the Qi as well as their lives. What could these men ever hope for in the afterlife now, blood brother?”

Aslan shrugged. “What do the defeated ever want in death, Azat? As far as I know, it is nothing.”

“Do Children of the Sun shirk from Sirius’ glories?” Azat cackled aloud. “You nearly fooled me into thinking that you speak in truths. You’re more devoted to the God of the Sun than any Carthite I know.”

“That is true.” Aslan offered his younger sibling a brief nod. A surprised smile graced his stoic features. “Warriors of Carth do not shirk from the light of the sun. If only you could embrace the light of truth, Azat. I feel like the Gods would not hound you so often.”

“Eh.” Azat sighed, dismissive. He approached a nearby boulder half-buried amidst the craggy, arid earth. He quickly ascended onto the height of the boulder, worn ragged with myriad holes carved by time itself.  He gazed down upon Aslan even as his brother stared at him in askance. “If I’ve accepted any truth, brother, then it is this: Let the dead know their rest. Let the vanquished have their toil. It is simply the way of things. It’s a cycle, you see. One that shall repeat until Carth too is toppled when we’ve become too weak and frail to stand upright and defend her.”

Aslan’s pleasant smile faded, replaced by his usual stony expression. He scoffed. “You’ve always been the grim child, Azat. Always have you been the lone wolf. You’re too proud to hunt with the rest of the pack.

“Shall there ever be a time when you accept your gift and fate? Shall there ever be a time when you’ll come to accept your offered seat within the Brotherhood?”

Azat cocked his head to one side. “A Brotherhood of Slaves? I understand that I’m one of them too, Aslan. And no, I am all too aware that this fate was offered out of genoristy and not cruelty.

“Yet I cannot understand where you are coming from. You stand so proud and defiant for the Dominion, though you slay her enemies -who are no different than us.”

“Be honest, Azat.” Aslan shrugged. “When have you ever cared for those you’ve slain? I’ve never known you a compassionate rogue. You’re a bane of men and a destroyer of kingdoms as are we all. You’ll never outrun that one simple truth. It matters not how swift the wolf takes flight.”

“I’m not running from any truth, brother.” Azat shook his head. “All of this conquest for the Dominion’s sake… it only seems pointless is all.”

Aslan considered Azat for a brief moment, then grinned again. “Perhaps, you could do with some more responsibilities within the Brotherhood itself. Our God-King would have you be nothing more than a glorified duelist. A fancier version of a pit fighter, I’d say, ha-ha.

“I’d say that you a worthier of much grander titles.” Aslan nodded to himself in thought. “Why don’t you take command of some of my finest men… warriors from my inner circle. All of them shall be known to you by the lavender bands they wear around their wrists.

“Here, from the height of Reaper’s Lantern, you can see Qi settlements scattered across the Valley of Carrion. Rid the Dominion of these enemies. Claim the head of the champion that commands them in this region. The destruction of these villages shall certainly lure him to you.”

“You’d trust me with so many of your sworn brothers?” Azat hesitated, then banished the thought.
“Very well. Bones cannot be sown in a land of peace. Neither does blood run in rivers within cities spared from the ravages of war. The conquered cannot be bent by anything lighter than an iron fist and sharpened blades.

“A shame, that is has come to this.”

Aslan ignored Azat’s last quip. “Good. My Zar’qin are the finest warriors to ever grace Carthite soil. Ours is a Brotherhood of Steel. You may think them ravenous wolves, but they are proud lions to a man. I’m entrusting their lives to you, you understand?”

Azat heaved with scornful laughter. “I’ve never relied on either of those, Aslan, and never will. I shall see our mission done. I won’t make promises for warriors who’ve sworn that each day would
be their last if need be.”

“If such a time draws nearer too quickly… you know my signal.” Aslan answered. “Remember, Azat, that your life is not worth more than any one of them.”

Azat sighed with resignation. “Just be certain that you’re prepared for the consequences. Be swift and remove yourself from here. Don’t you have a battlefield to be marching toward?”

“You are not wrong.” Aslan nodded. Before Azat could think to say anything further, his brother began to thunder commands. He ordered his warriors to fall into formation and resume their march out of Reaper’s Lantern and into the Valley of Carrion beyond.

Aslan’s words of departure faded as he began to shrink into the distance. “It is only one head,
Azat. You need not risk everything to steal it off someone’s shoulders. I know you shall do well in this task. Good fortune and greater hunting!”

Soon, only a score of warriors with lavender bands tied around their wrists remained in Reaper’s Lantern.
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past (Clarity & World Cohesion Edit - Pre Editor)
Post by: Myen'Tal on May 11, 2020, 09:16:46 PM
The Embers of The Past is officially submitted to my editor! The official manuscript critique begins two weeks from today!

Once it's over, I'll give you guys an update on how things will progress moving forward.

I also have a proofread scheduled in July, after which I'll be sharing some of the finalized scenes that I've labored over and edited on my behalf by my talented editor.

Excited!
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past (Clarity & World Cohesion Edit - Pre Editor)
Post by: Dread on May 11, 2020, 11:48:16 PM
This is great! Glad to hear,  can't wait to see how it all turns out. Good luck!
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past (Clarity & World Cohesion Edit - Pre Editor)
Post by: Myen'Tal on May 12, 2020, 09:40:39 AM
This is great! Glad to hear,  can't wait to see how it all turns out. Good luck!

Thank you for the good wishes, Dread, and your continued support!

It means a lot!
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past (Clarity & World Cohesion Edit - Pre Editor)
Post by: Alienscar on May 13, 2020, 10:02:27 AM
The Embers of The Past is officially submitted to my editor! The official manuscript critique begins two weeks from today!

That is fantastic news Myen'Tal, and I look forward to your update
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past (Clarity & World Cohesion Edit - Pre Editor)
Post by: Myen'Tal on May 13, 2020, 02:02:55 PM
Thanks, Alienscar! And thank you for your continued support and guidance as well!
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past (Clarity & World Cohesion Edit - Pre Editor)
Post by: Myen'Tal on May 19, 2020, 09:03:40 AM
"Contract is signed! I'm excited to announce that I've just booked author John Malone for a proofread on his novel "The Embers of the Past" in August. 🙌🏻

I'm set to begin the manuscript critique on his book next Monday, and he's already on my schedule for a secondary follow-up service. Fabulous! I love how new clients have such faith in me. 🥰"

-Kristen Corrects Inc. on her facebook page

I am stoked!

So, I'll be sharing a general overview of any changes that may need to happen to the manuscript and how Kristen feels about the manuscript as a whole. I may speak about some initial threads in the story arc that have yet to be discussed and how they may change. Or I may not, I wouldn't want to spoil you guys anymore on the story details!

The proofread will happen a month later than I anticipated, but that was my fault for not scheduling that ahead of time. Oh well, gives me more time to get this coverart thing situated.

I'll keep you guys updated! Everything kicks off in less than a week! It's going to be a hell of a ride from here on out I feel!
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past (Clarity & World Cohesion Edit - Pre Editor)
Post by: Alienscar on May 21, 2020, 08:16:10 AM
I am stoked!

And so you should be. I can't imagine what it must feel like to be on course to getting a book published.
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past (Clarity & World Cohesion Edit - Pre Editor)
Post by: Myen'Tal on May 21, 2020, 08:44:13 AM
For me, personally, it's a good amount of excitement tempered with no small amount of anticipation, nervousness, and anxiety lol ;). But I'm still confident the end result will be worth all of the toil! Got to say that a lot of the feedback I've received here has really aided me in the progression of this whole process.

A lot of the lessons I've learned here, although many came with harsh realizations, have really given me the confidence to commit and give this whole thing 100% all of my creativity and passion.

Thanks guys 8) ;D, wouldn't know where I'd be right now without your guys support!
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past - Manuscript Critique Returned!!!
Post by: Myen'Tal on June 6, 2020, 04:29:33 PM
Well, update time everyone.

I have received my manuscript critique back from the editor!

In short: the manuscript is going to need much more love than I anticipated. But you know what, that is perfectly fine and actually a good thing ;D. Having a professional editor analyze and pick out everything that's wrong with the manuscript has shown me that I have rushed through some areas, that it'll need more time investment to correct, and that the second draft should be much stronger if I decide to heed all of my editor's advice (which I will!)

Manuscript's strength highlighted by the editor:

Dialogue
Point of View (POV)
Writing Style - "Voice"

Got praised a lot in these three categories, which I'm proud of ;D.

Manuscript's weaknesses highlighted by the editor:
Characters
Settings and Locales
Plot / Story Structure

In short, characters, settings, and locales are considered underdeveloped. Which in turn affects everything related to the plot and story structure.

So... changes!

I'm starting with the more easily digestible stuff first. I'm going to read over the entire manuscript and the feedback left throughout it, then make any corrections / additions if that section will not involve a good amount of reorganization or revisions.

Next, there will have to be a much greater focus on the character arcs. I realized that I mismanaged this, because I've been trying to scatter these details throughout what I'm planning to be a trilogy and really need to condense all of that into the first book!

This will likely translate into a much greater word count in the form of additional chapters. I'm not certain where I'm going to begin on this... there's a lot to plan out and organize, but I'm confident that I'll be able to get this arranged into something I can progress with soon.

Next, settings and locales. I've already begun working on this issue. My editor found much of the setting really vague and unexplained, and I realized that my mindset caused that definitely. I am combing over my chapters for any reference to locations and names that will likely need to be elaborated on in further detail. I also need to expand on helping the reader understand the setting and the world building material, so I will be investing in making further additions to that as well.

There's quite a bit more, but I think you guys get the gist of it. This will be a long term investment, definitely! And of course, I'll still be here sharing updates and changes!

In fact, I've been chipping away at the prologue first and will likely share some of the changes I made within it. Look forward to your opinions on that, guys :).
 
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past 2.0 - Home & Hearth
Post by: Myen'Tal on June 9, 2020, 09:33:10 AM
The Embers of the Past 2.0 Revision

Chapter I: Home and Hearth

   “Azat, have you ever wished that you could see the light of the sun?”

   Azat watched the hearth fire’s flames crackle and smolder against an ocean of stars scattered across the midnight horizon. Embers scattered on the cold desert wind stung him as they danced around the bright light of the hearth. An endless rain of leaves drifted and danced about the flames from the heightened sprawl of an autumn woodland. 

       Azat perched himself on a lone palanquin beside the hearth. Amidst the clearing hidden somewhere in the heart of the woods, the firmament’s guiding light extended him some semblance of comfort.

   Azat watched the hearth burn with hesitance but found that he could not turn his gaze away. Each crack and fizzling pop of incinerated firewood and the gouts of flame sprung from its combustion became reminiscent of bones being broken and flesh burnt beyond recognition. As the wind continued to howl, remembrances of the fallen who had given their lives on the field of battle too wailed within his mind.

   Azat blinked once and dispelled his own nightmarish illusion. In wordless silence, he felt himself become petrified until his entire body seemed chained to the warmth of the hearth fire. He managed to shift himself by the merest fraction so that he could gaze upon the only perfection he had ever sought in life.

   Hazan’s unblemished skin shone like the beige crystalline dune-sea on the coast of the Opal and Crystalline Sea -a paradisiacal wilderness created from the hands of mythical gods – if one could believe in such childish legends. Spiraling locks of her crimson dyed hair breezed in the gust, shifting into lustrous hues of onyx the nearer they approached the crown of her head. Her eyes were that of the raven, cold and aloof to about any man longing to find more within them.

   Azat had only to merely glance upon Hazan to see those same obsidian spheres sparkle with mirth and warmth.

   Azat banished his nightmares and felt himself smile genuinely for the dozenth time since Hazan had met him in secret in the Autumn Gardens – Hazan’s personal reclusive haven beyond the palace grounds.

   He considered his Queen’s question in silence.

   Azat feigned disinterest with a careless shrug. “What need does our benighted kingdom of Old Myria have of the sun? Sirius is only a star, my Queen. Countless thousands exist in the firmament.” He chuckled at his own wittiness. “The Children of the Sun may keep her if they’ve become so enthralled with the blinding light of dawn.”

   Hazan arched her brow increasingly from where she lounged upon a palanquin draped in semi-translucent bundles of lavender silk. Her amused smile broadened with every syllable Azat cast out of his mouth.

   Hazan clucked her tongue, her bubbling chuckles like the soft music of nature’s song. “Are you so content with your bright hearth fires and gentle starlight to guide your way? Use your intellect and think upon the matter, Azat… Somewhere beyond our enchanted lands, a mythical sphere shall always crest the eastern horizon and ignite every nook and crevice of our continent Khios in the flaming light of dawn.

   She goaded him playfully. “You remain ever the fool to dwell in darkness forever.”

   Azat desired to share Hazan’s amused laughter, but within his heart he found an embittered somberness too steep to overcome.

   Despite himself, he spared Hazan his most charming smile. “Perhaps you speak in truths, my Queen. I’ve borne witness to the light of Sirius before… it is nothing more than a strange paradox to myself. Us Myrites, we were always borne of moon and shadow… and so we worship the beauty of the firmament in gloom and solitude.

   “Sirius is no more beautiful than our moon Jumanah’s light… and yet every corner of the world becomes transformed by his blinding glare. As if an inevitable doom never haunted every home and hearth from one end of Khios to the next. As if this world of ours was always a place of enlightenment and prosperity, and not the grave of innocence itself.  As if the gods were truly tangible beings that once tread this earth or the firmament.”

   Hazan’s amusement faded like a candle snuffed of its comforting light. Her elegant smile withered into a frown of sharp concern. “What made you change your mind on all of this, my love?”

   Azat sighed with a slight smirk of resignation. “Because I blinked and dispelled my own illusion. I gazed ever onward and witnessed what had become of the Children of the Sun. Ancient legends of an age long forgotten in the annals of history… corrupted by their own lusts for limitless power.”

   Azat scoffed in bitter distaste. “All-conquerors and enlightened saviors now reduced to barbaric zealotry, fanaticism, and mass enslavement… who is this deluded King that has conquered our Carthite cousins in mind, body, and soul so thoroughly that they cannot even consider the thought of overthrowing him?”

   Hazan lifted her chin a mere fraction to acknowledge Azat’s question. “Sages say that he is the Firstborn of Mankind. That he can call upon the fires of the sun and harness its celestial force. These Sages also proclaim him the God-King of the newly established Dominion of Carth and that his dominance cannot be resisted or conquered.”

   Hazan observed Azat’s increasingly irritated expression and tense kneading of his own fingers. She banished his wrathful thoughts with a shrill of pleasant laughter.

   His Queen shrugged. “Mere fariy tales to be certain my love. I’ll be the first to confess that perhaps this God-King of the Dominion of Carth remains undefeated after the conquest of Rum…

“Yet he has never battled the Knights of Old Myria. He has never fought your elder brother and our Lion of War, Aslan, who is an undefeated commander in his own right. Emissaries from our nearest neighbors have already rode forth to declare their alliance with Old Myria…
 
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past 2.0 - Hearthfire - Completed Scene
Post by: Myen'Tal on June 11, 2020, 08:56:57 AM
 So - changes!

Azat -> Ara. Azat's name has been officially converted over to Ara.
Scene 1: Hearthfire -> WIP -> roughly complete, probably still some kinks to iron out.

Enjoy!
     
~***~

        “Ara, have you ever wished that you could see the light of the sun?”

   Ara watched the hearth flames crackle and smolder against an ocean of stars scattered across the midnight horizon. Embers scattered on the cold desert wind stung him as they danced around the bright light of the hearth. An endless rain of leaves drifted and danced about the flames from the heightened sprawl of an autumn woodland. 

   He perched himself on a lone palanquin beside the fire. Amidst the clearing hidden somewhere in the heart of the woods, the firmament’s guiding light extended him some semblance of comfort.

   Moonlight cascaded from the heights of heaven in shimmering rays that reflected off of his silken raven black robe with a bright sheen. An unadorned crimson sash fell from over his left shoulder blade and wrapped itself snuggly around his midriff like a comfortable belt. Comfortable storm gray breeches crafted from fine silks graced the lower half of his torso.

   Beneath the billowing shroud of his garments, a masculine physique sculpted into a whipcord and beguilingly lithe frame rested casually. He was of a soft caramel skin tone, blemished only by the scars he had earned throughout the course of several campaigns. His raven hair cascaded down the temples of his skull and rested around his jawline in short bundles of lustrous strands. 

   Ara watched the hearth burn with hesitant eyes of amber-gold, but found that he could not pry his gaze away. Each crack and fizzling pop of incinerated firewood and the gouts of flame sprung from its combustion became reminiscent of bones being broken and flesh burnt beyond recognition. As the wind continued to howl, remembrances of the fallen who had given their lives on the field of battle too wailed within his mind.

   Ara blinked once and dispelled his own nightmarish illusion. In wordless silence, he felt himself become petrified until his entire body seemed chained to the warmth of the hearth fire. He managed to shift himself by the merest fraction so that he could gaze upon the only perfection he had ever sought in life.

   Hazan’s unblemished skin shone like the beige crystalline dune-sea on the coast of the Opal and Crystalline Sea -a paradisiacal wilderness created from the hands of mythical gods – if one could believe in such childish legends. Spiraling locks of her crimson dyed hair breezed in the gust, shifting into lustrous hues of onyx the nearer they approached the crown of her head. Her eyes were that of the raven, cold and aloof to about any man longing to find more within them.

   Ara had only to merely glance upon Hazan to see those same obsidian spheres sparkle with mirth and warmth.

   Ara banished his nightmares and felt himself smile genuinely for the dozenth time since Hazan had met him in secret in the Autumn Gardens – Hazan’s personal reclusive haven beyond the Palace of Ember Hearth.

   He considered his Queen’s question in silence.

   Ara feigned disinterest with a careless shrug. “What need does our benighted kingdom of Old Myria have of the sun? Sirius is only a star, my Queen. Countless thousands exist in the firmament.” He chuckled at his own wittiness. “The Children of the Sun may keep her if they’ve become so enthralled with the blinding light of dawn.”

   Hazan arched her brow increasingly from where she lounged upon a palanquin draped in semi-translucent bundles of lavender silk. Her amused smile broadened with every syllable Ara cast out of his mouth.

   Hazan clucked her tongue, her bubbling chuckles like the soft music of nature’s song. “Are you so content with your bright hearth fires and gentle starlight to guide your way? Use your intellect and think upon the matter, Ara… Somewhere beyond our enchanted lands, a mythical sphere shall always crest the eastern horizon and ignite every nook and crevice of our continent Khios in the flaming light of dawn.

   She goaded him playfully. “You remain ever the fool to dwell in darkness forever.”

   Ara desired to share Hazan’s amused laughter, but within his heart he found an embittered somberness too steep to overcome.

   Despite himself, he spared Hazan his most charming smile. “Perhaps you speak in truths, my Queen. I’ve borne witness to the light of Sirius before… it is nothing more than a strange paradox to myself. Us Myrites, we were always borne of moon and shadow… and so we worship the beauty of the firmament in gloom and solitude.

   “Sirius is no more beautiful than our moon Jumanah’s light… and yet every corner of the world becomes transformed by his blinding glare. As if an inevitable doom never haunted every home and hearth. As if this world of ours was always a place of enlightenment and prosperity, and not the grave of innocence itself.  As if the gods were truly tangible beings that once tread this earth or the firmament.”

   Hazan’s amusement faded like a candle snuffed of its comforting light. Her elegant smile withered into a frown of sharp concern. “What made you change your mind on all of this, my love?”

   Ara sighed with a slight smirk of resignation. “Because I blinked and dispelled my own illusion. I gazed ever onward and witnessed what had become of the Children of the Sun. Descendants of ancient heroes of an age long forgotten in the annals of history… corrupted by their own lusts for limitless power.”

   Ara scoffed in bitter distaste. “All-conquerors and enlightened saviors now reduced to barbaric zealotry, fanaticism, and mass enslavement… who is this deluded King that has conquered our Carthite cousins in mind, body, and soul so thoroughly that they cannot even consider the thought of overthrowing him?”

   Hazan lifted her chin a mere fraction to acknowledge Ara’s question. “Sages say that he is the Firstborn of Mankind. That he can call upon the fires of the sun and harness the celestial. They proclaim him the God-King of the newly established Dominion of Carth and that his dominance cannot be resisted or conquered.”

   Hazan observed Ara’s increasingly irritated expression and tense kneading of his own fingers. She banished his wrathful thoughts with a pleasant laughter.

   His Queen shrugged. “Mere fariy tales to be certain. I’ll be the first to confess that perhaps this God-King of the Dominion of Carth remains undefeated after the conquest of Rum…

“Yet he has never battled the Knights of Old Myria. He has never fought your elder brother and our Lion of War, Aslan, who is an undefeated commander in his own right. Emissaries from our nearest neighbors have already rode forth to declare their participation in the Summer Sea Coalition.

“Kalandar has pledged entire Circles of the Grand Convocation. Learned scholars of Celestial magics who have devastated entire battlefields with their forbidden knowledge. Zarna has dedicated hundreds of regiments of their Shield Bearers of the Ashen Torch to the protection of our grand noble houses of the One Hundred Families of Old Myria.

“Barbarian hordes from the Greater Qi Steppes have also sworn several great tribes in their entirety until the war against the Dominion of Carth is won. Only the Half-Giants of the Kharan Clans have expressed their reluctance to flock into our coalition.”

“Hazan.” Ara silenced her with a mere whispering of her name. He smiled when her speech withered in her throat. “Is this what you came out into the Autumn Gardens to speak with me about?”

“Of course not.” Hazan studied him with the eyes of a curious raven, enraptured by his sudden assertion. “You know the reasons that I’m here. I thought a casual conversation would take your mind away from your harrowing concerns for but a moment… you were so enthralled with the flames of the hearth only a moment ago that you could hardly spare a glance for Your Eminence.”

   His amber eyes lingered on Hazan for a moment longer, though he knew how flustered he must have seemed in that moment. He did not bother to hide his uneasiness.

   Ara shifted around to face the hearth fire. “Can you blame me for my distraction? Khios continent is on the brink of open war. Can you blame me for being unable to think of love in this moment?”

   “You need not remind me of my responsibilities.” Hazan shot Ara an irritable glare and shook her head. “Of the defense of Old Myria and the kingdoms that have sworn oaths to serve beneath our banners.” Disdain simmered on her features for a moment. “Tens of thousands shall perish in the conflict. Cities shall burn until they come toppling down upon their foundations. If there is no decisive victor, then there can be no triumph for anyone.

   “So, please make some casual conversation with me to take our minds away from the monumental task that lies before us.”

   Ara watched the hearth fire and considered his Queen’s rebuke before making to speak again. A smile of pleasant surprise graced his lips in spite of her chastisement.

   “Your answer is welcome in these uncertain times.” His amber eyes wandered back in the direction of a lounging Hazan. “It is good that you are confident of the Summer Sea Coalition’s triumph over the Dominion of Carth. As a grand queen of your caliber always ought to be. Apologies, if you mistake my concerns for doubt of your command and judgment.”

   Hazan’s haughty expression relaxed back into something akin to calm and collected. Ara recognized that he had overstayed his welcome in the Queen’s personal garden and climbed onto his feet. He brushed the autumn leaves from out of his clothes and made to execute an elegant bow to signal his exit.

   His Queen snapped her fingers in his direction before he made his silent departure.

   “Before you leave.” Hazan cooed. “You should know that Aslan asked after you. Vahe of Grand Damira asked after you. Voshki the Ashen Cobra asked after you as well…”

   “Gods.” Ara barked out a rough laugh. “Could you name any more famous commanders in the Old Myrian Court? For what purpose would any of them ask after me? Each of them knows my stance when it comes to commanding men in the prosecutions of warfare.”

   Hazan answered him with an undeniable truth. “Our coalition shall require every able swordsmen scattered across our distant lands. Each veteran recruited into our cause spells the doom of ten Carthite warriors. Each Knight sworn into our service is worth a hundred lesser men. You meet either qualification and with victories and laurels to spare.

   “Are you so surprised that someone thought your reputation and experience could be of use? Many conversations have surfaced in the war council. Some are interested in grooming you for command upon a day.” She considered Ara’s expression of pure skepticism. “I thought you’d be honored to hear such news.”

   Ara scoffed in the face of her temptations. “Aslan has always known that I never cared for commanding anyone in the face of death. You understand more than most, Hazan, that I have enough ‘concerns’ on my mind than the fate of thousands. Let them bare that burden, but I am not some pawn to be maneuvered on a chessboard.”

   “Too late for such references.” Hazan’s bubbling laughter returned in spades. “You’ve become my knight. Your Queen’s steadfast defender. For I have already maneuvered you into place for my own defense.

“You shall accompany my Honor Guard and myself when we journey with the coalition forces to meet the armies of the Dominion on the Crescent Fields.” She dismissed him with a snap of her fingers before he could announce his disapproval. “You have my leave to depart and my undying love.” She smiled coyly. “You have my heart and my cherished devotion. So please don’t question your queen’s command, for certainly one should never be without her greatest guardian and treasure.”

Ara searched Hazan’s face for but a moment before he sighed with resignation. He executed an elegant bow and turned on his heel to venture into the labyrinth of the Autumn Wood in the direction of the Ember Hearth.


~***~


Title: Re: The Embers of the Past 2.0 - Hearthfire - Completed Scene
Post by: Myen'Tal on June 14, 2020, 06:11:58 PM
Hearthfire 3.0
 
     “Ara, have you ever wished that you could see the light of the sun?”

   Ara watched the hearth flames crackle and smolder against an ocean of stars scattered across the midnight horizon. Embers scattered on the cold desert wind stung him as they danced around the bright light of the hearth. An endless rain of leaves drifted and danced about the flames from the heightened sprawl of an autumn woodland. 

   He perched himself on a lone palanquin beside the fire. Amidst the clearing hidden somewhere in the heart of the woods, the firmament’s guiding light extended him some semblance of comfort.

   Moonlight cascaded from the heights of heaven in shimmering rays that reflected off of his silken raven black robe with a bright sheen. An unadorned crimson sash fell from over his left shoulder blade and wrapped itself snuggly around his midriff like a comfortable belt. Comfortable storm gray breeches crafted from fine silks graced the lower half of his torso.

   Beneath the billowing shroud of his garments, a masculine physique sculpted into a whipcord and beguilingly lithe frame rested casually. He was of a soft caramel skin tone, blemished only by the scars he had earned throughout the course of several campaigns. His raven hair cascaded down the temples of his skull and rested around his jawline in short bundles of lustrous strands. 

   Ara watched the hearth burn with hesitant eyes of amber-gold, but found that he could not pry his gaze away. Each crack and fizzling pop of incinerated firewood and the gouts of flame sprung from its combustion became reminiscent of bones being broken and flesh burnt beyond recognition. As the wind continued to howl, remembrances of the fallen who had given their lives on the field of battle too wailed within his mind.

   Ara blinked once and dispelled his own nightmarish illusion. In wordless silence, he felt himself become petrified until his entire body seemed chained to the warmth of the hearth fire. He managed to shift himself by the merest fraction so that he could gaze upon the only perfection he had ever sought in life.

   Hazan’s unblemished skin shone like the beige crystalline dune-sea on the coast of the Opal and Crystalline Sea -a paradisiacal wilderness created from the hands of mythical gods – if one could believe in such childish legends. Spiraling locks of her crimson dyed hair breezed in the gust, shifting into lustrous hues of onyx the nearer they approached the crown of her head. Her eyes were that of the raven, cold and aloof to about any man longing to find more within them.

   Ara had only to merely glance upon Hazan to see those same obsidian spheres sparkle with mirth and warmth.

   Ara banished his nightmares and felt himself smile genuinely for the dozenth time since Hazan had met him in secret in the Autumn Gardens – Hazan’s personal reclusive haven beyond the Palace of Ember Hearth.

   He considered his Queen’s question in silence.

   Ara feigned disinterest with a careless shrug. “What need does our benighted kingdom of Old Myria have of the sun? Sirius is only a star, my Queen. Countless thousands exist in the firmament.” He chuckled at his own wittiness. “The Children of the Sun may keep her if they’ve become so enthralled with the blinding light of dawn.”

   Hazan arched her brow increasingly from where she lounged upon a palanquin draped in semi-translucent bundles of lavender silk. Her amused smile broadened with every syllable Ara cast out of his mouth.

   Hazan clucked her tongue, her bubbling chuckles like the soft music of nature’s song. “Are you so content with your bright hearth fires and gentle starlight to guide your way? Use your intellect and think upon the matter, Ara… Somewhere beyond our enchanted lands, a mythical sphere shall always crest the eastern horizon and ignite every nook and crevice of our continent Khios in the flaming light of dawn.

   She goaded him playfully. “You remain ever the fool to dwell in darkness forever.”

   Ara desired to share Hazan’s amused laughter, but within his heart he found an embittered somberness too steep to overcome.

   Hazan’s amusement faded like a candle snuffed of its comforting light. Her elegant smile withered into a frown of sharp concern. “What has you so sullen, Ara?”

   Ara scoffed in bitter distaste. “All-conquerors and enlightened saviors now reduced to barbaric zealotry, fanaticism, and mass enslavement… who is this deluded King that has conquered our Carthite cousins in mind, body, and soul so thoroughly that they cannot even consider the thought of overthrowing him?”

   Hazan lifted her chin a mere fraction to acknowledge Ara’s question. “Sages say that he is the Firstborn of Mankind. That he can call upon the fires of the sun and harness the celestial. They proclaim him the God-King of the newly established Dominion of Carth and that his dominance cannot be resisted or conquered.”

   Hazan observed Ara’s increasingly irritated expression and tense kneading of his own fingers. She banished his wrathful thoughts with a pleasant laughter.

   She shrugged, non-chalant. “He seems touched by the divine does he not? His achievements are the stuff of mythic fables made reality. I’ll confess that perhaps this God-King of the Dominion of Carth remains undefeated after the conquest of Rum…

   “Yet he has never challenged Old Myria – my kingdom – or any of our neighbors on the western coast of the Khios continent. Emissaries from nearby Kalandar have pledged entire conclaves of their mages to our mission. Nomads from the Greater Qi Steppes have sworn entire tribes to our cause.

   “He has never challenged your brother, Aslan, who remains an undefeated commander himself. Our coalition goes from strength to strength enough to outmatch the Dominion on the field of battle.

“Only the eastern kingdoms hesitate to answer my invitation. A predicted loss, yet an important loss none-the-less.”

“Hazan.” Ara silenced her with a mere whispering of her name. He smiled when her speech withered in her throat. “Is this what you came out into the Autumn Gardens to speak with me about?”

“Of course not.” Hazan studied him with the eyes of a curious raven, enraptured by his sudden assertion. “You know the reasons that I’m here. I thought a casual conversation would take your mind away from your harrowing concerns for but a moment… you were so enthralled with the flames of the hearth only a moment ago that you could hardly spare a glance for Your Eminence.”

   His amber eyes lingered on Hazan for a moment longer, though he knew how flustered he must have seemed in that moment. He did not bother to hide his uneasiness.

   Ara shifted around to face the hearth fire. “Can you blame me for my distraction? Khios continent is on the brink of open war. Can you blame me for being unable to think of love in this moment?”

   “You need not remind me of my responsibilities.” Hazan shot Ara an irritable glare and shook her head. “Of the defense of Old Myria and the kingdoms that have sworn oaths to serve beneath our banners.” Disdain simmered on her features for a moment. “Tens of thousands shall perish in the conflict. Cities shall burn until they come toppling down upon their foundations. If there is no decisive victor then there can be no triumph for anyone.

   “So, please make some casual conversation with me to take our minds away from the monumental task that lies before us.”

   Ara watched the hearth fire and considered his Queen’s rebuke before making to speak again. A smile of pleasant surprise graced his lips in spite of her chastisement.

   “Your answer is welcome in these uncertain times.” His amber eyes wandered back in the direction of a lounging Hazan. “It is good that you are confident of the Summer Sea Coalition’s triumph over the Dominion of Carth. As a grand queen of your caliber always ought to be. Apologies, if you mistake my concerns for doubt of your command and judgment.”

   Hazan’s haughty expression relaxed back into something akin to calm and collected. Ara recognized that he had overstayed his welcome in the Queen’s personal garden and climbed onto his feet. He brushed the autumn leaves from out of his clothes and made to execute an elegant bow to signal his exit.

   His Queen snapped her fingers in his direction before he made his silent departure.

   “Before you leave.” Hazan cooed. “You should know that Aslan asked after you. Vahe of Grand Damira asked after you. Voshki the Ashen Cobra asked after you as well…”

   “Gods.” Ara barked out a rough laugh. “Could you name any more famous commanders in the Old Myrian Court? For what purpose would any of them ask after me? Each of them know my stance when it comes to commanding men in the persecutions of warfare.”

   Hazan answered him with an undeniable truth. “Our coalition shall require every able swordsman scattered across our distant lands. Each veteran recruited into our cause spells the doom of ten Carthite warriors. Each Knight sworn into our service is worth a hundred lesser men. You meet either qualification and with victories and laurels to spare.

   “Are you so surprised that someone thought your reputation and experience could be of use? Many conversations have surfaced in the war council. Some are interested in grooming you for command upon a day.” She considered Ara’s expression of pure skepticism. “I thought you’d be honored to hear such news.”

   Ara scoffed in the face of her temptations. “Aslan has always known that I never cared for commanding anyone in the face of death. You understand more than most, Hazan, that I have enough ‘concerns’ on my mind than the fate of thousands. Let them bare that burden, but I am not some pawn to be maneuvered on a chessboard.”

   “Too late for such references.” Hazan’s bubbling laughter returned in spades. “You’ve become my knight. Your Queen’s steadfast defender. For I have already maneuvered you into place for my own defense.”

   Ara arched his brow in askance. “Your decree stated your intent to remain behind here in Annahir, my Queen. Your commanders can obtain a decisive victory without your presence. All you must do is trust in their judgment.”

   “I understand the words of my own decree and their intent. When the armies of the Summer Sea Coalition march on the Crescent Fields to battle the Dominion, none shall dispute that it shall be the battle of our time.

   “Either the Summer Sea succeeds and drives Carth’s armies back behind their borders and shatter their momentum. Or the coalition forces become shattered and Carth’s entry into Old Myria and Kalandar become unbarred. That route leads to defeat and total surrender… the known world shall collapse and become slaves to tyranny.

   “Summer Sea’s mission is not only to force the God-King’s hand to surrender. Our complete conquest of Carth shall force his removal from the throne and restore our chance to reinstate the Council of Sages and rebuild Carth in the image of the Republic it had once been.”

“You’re a member of my own Honor Guard, Ara. It would be unbecoming of a Queen to attend any battle without her most treasured guardian.” Hazan snapped her fingers, a signal for Ara’s silent dismissal. She softened the harsh blow of his banishment with thoughtful words of intimacy. “You have my leave to depart and my undying love.” She smiled coyly. “You have my heart and my cherished devotion. So please don’t question your queen’s command, for certainly one should never be without her greatest guardian and treasure.”

Ara searched Hazan’s face for but a moment before he sighed with resignation. He executed an elegant bow and turned on his heel to venture into the Autumn Wood in the direction of the Ember Hearth.

~***~
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past 2.0 - Hearthfire - Completed Scene
Post by: Alienscar on June 15, 2020, 08:59:32 AM
Hearthfire 3.0


Ara watched the hearth flames crackle and smolder against an ocean of stars scattered across the midnight horizon. Embers scattered on the cold desert wind stung him as they danced around the bright light of the hearth. An endless rain of leaves drifted and danced about the flames from the heightened sprawl of an autumn woodland.   

A hearth refers specifically to the paved floor and extended area of a fixed fireplace. I was confused for a bit reading this passage as your use of the word hearth made me think Ara was sitting in a building. It took me awhile to realise that he was actually sitting outside.

I am also confused by your use of the word heightened. Heightened means more intense than normal, but I get the feeling you are using it incorrectly to refer to the height of the surrounding trees.


Embers scattered on the cold desert wind stung him as they danced around the bright light of the hearth. An endless rain of leaves drifted and danced about the flames from the heightened sprawl of an autumn woodland. 
Amidst the clearing hidden somewhere in the heart of the woods,

I find these sentences to be confusing as well. Woods, autumn woodland and desert wind don't gel together well in my mind.


“Ara, have you ever wished that you could see the light of the sun?”

This might be a bit pedantic of me, but moonlight is just reflected sunlight, so Ara has already seen the light of the sun. If you mean does Ara wish to see the Sun then it is better to keep it simple and say so.


Quote
He perched himself on a lone palanquin beside the fire. Amidst the clearing hidden somewhere in the heart of the woods, the firmament’s guiding light extended him some semblance of comfort.

These two sentences don't seem to be connected and it is not clear why Ara needs to be comforted..

Ara watched the hearth burn with hesitant eyes of amber-gold,

The job of a hearth is to contain a burning fire. If the hearth is burning it isn't doing its job.

I am not sure what you mean by 'hesitant eyes'.

Ara arched his brow in askance.

As before 'askance' does not mean 'to ask'. Askance means to look at or think about someone/something with doubt, or no trust.


Quote

Beneath the billowing shroud of his garments, a masculine physique sculpted into a whipcord and beguilingly lithe frame rested casually.

Beguiling means agreeably or charmingly attractive is that what you meant to say?

Quote
An unadorned crimson sash fell from over his left shoulder blade and wrapped itself snuggly around his midriff like a comfortable belt.
.

The word 'blade' is an unnecessary adornment and its use confuses the visual effect you are trying to create.
 
Quote
“Ara, have you ever wished that you could see the light of the sun?”


This is new! Is Myria supposed to be in perpetual darkness? How is this possible!

Quote
Ara watched the hearth flames crackle and smolder against an ocean of stars scattered across the midnight horizon. Embers scattered on the cold desert wind stung him as they danced around the bright light of the hearth. An endless rain of leaves drifted and danced about the flames from the heightened sprawl of an autumn woodland.


Flames in the hearth, not hearth flames.

Is Ara surrounded by trees in a woodland or not. If he can see the horizon the ‘endless rain of leaves, sprawl of woodland’ and ‘hidden clearing’ don’t add up.

If they have never seen the Sun how can a woodland survive?


Quote
He perched himself on a lone palanquin beside the fire. Amidst the clearing hidden somewhere in the heart of the woods, the firmament’s guiding light extended him some semblance of comfort.


Do you mean empty palanquin? As Hazan is also using a palanquin, Ara’s should not be describes as ‘lone’

‘A clearing’ and not ‘the clearing’

The firmament is just the arc of the sky above you, so I am not sure what guiding light you are referring to.

   
Quote
Ara watched the hearth burn with hesitant eyes of amber-gold, but found that he could not pry his gaze away. Each crack and fizzling pop of incinerated firewood and the gouts of flame sprung from its combustion became reminiscent of bones being broken and flesh burnt beyond recognition. As the wind continued to howl, remembrances of the fallen who had given their lives on the field of battle too wailed within his mind.

‘Incinerating’ and ‘springing’ as the words you have used are past tense.

Howling wind is at odds with the previously mentioned rain of drifting leaves.


Quote
Ara blinked once and dispelled his own nightmarish illusion. In wordless silence, he felt himself become petrified until his entire body seemed chained to the warmth of the hearth fire. He managed to shift himself by the merest fraction so that he could gaze upon the only perfection he had ever sought in life.

‘Silence’ is enough on its own.

‘Warmth of the fire’ would suffice hearth fire isn’t a thing.

Overall this paragraph is too melodramatic for its content.


Quote
Hazan’s unblemished skin shone like the beige crystalline dune-sea on the coast of the Opal and Crystalline Sea -a paradisiacal wilderness created from the hands of mythical gods – if one could believe in such childish legends. Spiraling locks of her crimson dyed hair breezed in the gust, shifting into lustrous hues of onyx the nearer they approached the crown of her head. Her eyes were that of the raven, cold and aloof to about any man longing to find more within them.

‘By the hands’ and not ‘from the hands’

'to about any man' doesn't make any sense.

The line about childish legends is unnecessary in a paragraph that is describing Hazan.


Quote
Ara banished his nightmares and felt himself smile genuinely for the dozenth time since Hazan had met him in secret in the Autumn Gardens

Twelfth maybe, but not dozenth as there is no such denomination.

Quote
He considered his Queen’s question in silence.

Ara feigned disinterest with a careless shrug. “What need does our benighted kingdom of Old Myria have of the sun? Sirius is only a star, my Queen. Countless thousands exist in the firmament.” He chuckled at his own wittiness. “The Children of the Sun may keep her if they’ve become so enthralled with the blinding light of dawn.”

Why is Ara pretending to be disinterested?

Ara seems to have answered a question he hasn’t been asked. He was asked if he missed seeing the Sun, but his reply includes reference to the Children of the Sun. From a reader’s perspective this is confusing as the answer doesn’t suit the question.

Wit, not wittiness. I can’t see the humour in the sentence though.


Quote
Hazan arched her brow increasingly from where she lounged upon a palanquin draped in semi-translucent bundles of lavender silk. Her amused smile broadened with every syllable Ara cast out of his mouth.

There is no need to describe the process of someone arching their brow

Previously you have described Ara’s palanquin as ‘lone’, but now it is apparent that there is more than one.


Quote
Ara… Somewhere beyond our enchanted lands, a mythical sphere shall always crest the eastern horizon and ignite every nook and crevice of our continent Khios in the flaming light of dawn.

Why is the sun mythical when she has already asked if Ara misses it? This implies that it has been seen in the past.

Quote
Ara desired to share Hazan’s amused laughter, but within his heart he found an embittered somberness too steep to overcome.

Sombreness

Quote
Hazan observed Ara’s increasingly irritated expression and tense kneading of his own fingers. She banished his wrathful thoughts with a pleasant laughter.

‘With a pleasant laugh’, or ‘with pleasant laughter (no ‘a’ required)

Quote
She shrugged, non-chalant.

‘Nonchalantly’


Quote
His raven hair cascaded down the temples of his skull and rested around his jawline in short bundles of lustrous strands.

A bundle is a collection of things wrapped together and a strand of hair is usually thought of as a thin thread. So you seem to have described Ara's hair as having lots of really short bunches. Is this your intent?

I read somewhere that a character's hair description should be used to describe the person 'inside'. I think describing Ara's hair as lustrous (shiny) clashes with the warrior/masculine aura I think you are trying to create.

Additionally as you have already described that Ara's hair reaches his jawline then there is no need to describe its length again with the addition of the word 'short'.



Quote
“You need not remind me of my responsibilities.” Hazan shot Ara an irritable glare and shook her head. “Of the defense of Old Myria and the kingdoms that have sworn oaths to serve beneath our banners.” Disdain simmered on her features for a moment.


I feel that the third sentence is too seperate from the first and as such leaves the whole paragraph a little disjointed. The third sentence to my mind reads like an incomplete thought.

I think something like this would work.

Hazan shook her head and an irritable glare flashed across her face. 'You need not remind me of my responsibilities to Old Myria, or her oathsworn allies'.

I don't think the sentence about disdain is required either. Hazan already has an irritable look, so she doesn't need a disdainful one as well. I think irritation suits the situation better than contemptuous.



Quote
Ara searched Hazan’s face for but a moment before he sighed with resignation. He executed an elegant bow and turned on his heel to venture into the Autumn Wood in the direction of the Ember Hearth.


The but in 'but a moment isn't required.

Someone turning on their heel is an idiom that means to suddenly leave. Because Ara has bowed before leaving the use of the idiom is out of place.

Ara searched Hazan’s face for a moment before sighing in resignation. He executed a bow and set off to the Ember Hearth.



This isn't everything, but unfortunately it is all I have time for. There seems to have been  change in your writing since you had your manuscript looked at by a professional, and overall I found this scene easier to read.

Have you read Leviathan Wakes by James S. A. Corey? If you haven't I think you should try reading it. Not for the story (which is good), but for the writing style. I have never read a book that uses so few words to get its message across.
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past 2.0 - Hearthfire 3.0 Scene
Post by: Myen'Tal on June 15, 2020, 10:54:31 AM
Hi Alienscar! Long time, no see!

Thank you for the feedback. Your suggestions are very helpful so far! I will wait for you to finish your feedback and then apply all the necessary changes afterward.

Thanks!
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past 2.0 - Hearthfire 3.0 Scene
Post by: Dread on June 15, 2020, 10:28:29 PM
I can still see it in my head's theatre so that's great.

Did you mean to spell fairy "fariy"? I'm not much on spelling and such but caught that.

It's great to me. As alienscar said, I caught the shoulder blade thing and believe just shoulder would work better.

I can't pin point it but some of the emotion explanation seems a bit unneeded, a few lines can be condensed I think but not sure exactly where.
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past 2.0 - Hearthfire 3.0 Scene
Post by: Myen'Tal on June 15, 2020, 11:43:04 PM
I can still see it in my head's theatre so that's great.

Did you mean to spell fairy "fariy"? I'm not much on spelling and such but caught that.

It's great to me. As alienscar said, I caught the shoulder blade thing and believe just shoulder would work better.

I can't pin point it but some of the emotion explanation seems a bit unneeded, a few lines can be condensed I think but not sure exactly where.

Hey, Dread, thanks for the input!

Make sure you're reading 3.0 of the Hearthfire scene as I've made a lot of changes from 1.0 and 2.0.

I'm going to post up 4.0 to reflect your guys' feedback.

Don't know if you guys can tell, I'm totally going to take the scene edits much slower and give them a more granular examination and edit process.
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past 2.0 - Hearthfire 3.0 Scene
Post by: Alienscar on June 16, 2020, 04:41:21 AM
I can't pin point it but some of the emotion explanation seems a bit unneeded, a few lines can be condensed I think but not sure exactly where.

I haven't got around to it yet in my own feedback, but this was something I was going to mention as well. Specifically it shouldn't take ten paragraphs for a question from one of your characters to be answered. If the question is important and has some bearing on the story it should be answered quickly.
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past 2.0 - Hearthfire 3.0 Scene
Post by: Myen'Tal on June 17, 2020, 09:00:03 PM
Thank you both for the feedback, it'll all be going into the Hearthfire 4.0 (which will need to be renamed lol). Have you done any editorial work. Alienscar? I feel like you have done so. You have a really strong grasp of the english language, which is why I am curious.
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past 2.0 - Hearthfire 3.0 Scene
Post by: Alienscar on June 18, 2020, 04:43:06 AM
Hey Myen'Tal, no I have never carried out any editorial work, and to be honest I don't think I could. I believe part of an editors role is to offer ideas for improvement which is not something I am very good at.

I have read for as long as I can remember and I find I can read all sorts things. Technical manuals, autobiographies, cook books, comics. You name it and I will read it. The only two books I have ever failed to finish after starting them are the Bible and the Silmarillion. When I was younger I used to read with a dictionary by my side, so that I could immediately look up any words that I didn't understand.

At the moment I am reading Have You Eaten Grandma?, The Dark Between The Stars, The Witcher, Gardeners' World, Web User, What Hi-Fi?, and I am slowly reading all of the Walking Dead trade paperbacks.

A lot of the time when I read things if there is anything wrong it justs stands out and I put this down to reading a lot.

What are you reading at the moment Myen'Tal because I am sure I have read somewhere that it is important for writers to read.

Oh one last thing. I probably don't have any more of an understanding of the English language than anyone else that is reading this, but the difference is that I don't mind offering my opinion. I imagine Wyddr has a far better grasp of language than I have, and I can imagine him twitching and muttering to himself over things I have written.
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past 2.0 - An Autumn and Moonlit Land 4.0 Scene
Post by: Myen'Tal on June 18, 2020, 01:16:07 PM
An Autumnal and Moonlit Land 4.0

   “Have you ever wished you could see the sun, Ara?

   Ara watched the flames rising from the fire pit crackle and smolder against an ocean of stars scattered over a small, hidden clearing. Embers on the chill wind stung him as they danced around the blaze of the pit. An endless rain of leaves fell from the outskirts of an autumn wood encroaching upon the clearing from every direction.   

   Amidst the heart of the wood, he perched himself on a palanquin beside the fire.

   Ara fluttered his eyes shut and considered his queen’s question in silence.

His laughter came in soft currents. “Perhaps I’ve imagined the midnight waters of the Black Shore struck by the eastern dawn till the waters glimmered turquoise and sapphire. Or an Opal and Crystalline Sea transformed by the radiance of sunlight and the wonders it would reveal unto us mere mortals.”

   Moonlight cascaded from the heights of heaven in shimmering rays that reflected off his silken raven black robe with a bright sheen. An unadorned crimson sash fell from over his left shoulder and wrapped itself snugly around his midriff like a comfortable belt. Comfortable storm gray breeches crafted from fine silks graced the lower half of his torso.

   “Goddess Jumunah has benighted our kingdom of Old Myria to shroud the Hanging Gardens of Myr, the entrance into the heavens itself, from mortal eyes. Always shall the midnight skies bleed from the celestial realm into the mundane world. There is only the light of the evening dusk waging an eternal war against the night here.”

   Beneath the billowing shroud of his garments, a masculine physique sculpted into a lithely compact frame rested casually. He was of a soft caramel skin tone, blemished only by the scars he had earned throughout the course of several campaigns. A plain braid of raven hair ran along the center of his scalp between either side of his shaven skull. Bone colored laces contained the braid once it began to cascade down the length of his back.

   Ara watched the flames flicker from out of the fire pit with amber-gold eyes. He considered Hazan’s question again and shook his head. “Have you ever thought about how inhospitable this benighted land should be?”

   Hazan quipped. “Celestial winds from the fabled Hanging Gardens and a distant sun seems enough of an answer for the Gods to spare their mortal children.” Hazan’s contemplative sigh was audible. “Maybe the Gods show us merciful bounties because of the blood we have spilled on our sacred ground in their names?”

   Each crack and fizzling pop of incinerated firewood and the gout of flames sprung from its combustion became reminiscent of bones being broken and flesh burnt beyond recognition. As the wind continued to howl, remembrances of the fallen who had given their lives on the field of battle too wailed within his mind.

   Ara blinked once and dispelled his own nightmarish illusion. He shifted himself by so that he could gaze upon the only perfection he had ever sought in life.

   Hazan’s unblemished skin shone like the beige crystalline dune-sea on the coast of the Opal and Crystalline Sea -a paradisaical wilderness created from the hands of mythical gods. Spiraling locks of her crimson dyed hair breezed in the gust, shifting into lustrous hues of onyx the nearer they approached the crown of her head. Her eyes were cold and aloof like that of the raven.

   Ara had only to merely glance upon Hazan to see those same obsidian spheres sparkle with mirth and warmth.

   Ara banished his nightmares and felt himself smile genuinely for the twelfth time since Hazan had met him in secret in the Autumn Gardens – Hazan’s personal reclusive haven beyond the Palace of Ember Hearth.

   Ara scoffed, then shrugged. “You speak of the ways of Sirius—God of the Sun—who remains only a distant star. Countless thousands shine from the heavens. The Children of the Sun may keep him and his endless need for self-sacrifice if they’ve become so enthralled with the blinding light of dawn.”

   Hazan’s brow arched from where she lounged upon a palanquin draped in semi-translucent bundles of lavender silk. Her amused smile broadened with every syllable Ara cast out of his mouth.

   Hazan clucked her tongue, her bubbling chuckles like the soft music of nature’s song. “You don’t seem so content with bright fires and gentle starlight to guide your way either, Ara? I think whoever does would be ever the fool to dwell in darkness forever. Empires are not built off myths and legends, but only by those who would become them for the great deeds they achieved as average mortals.”

   Ara desired to share Hazan’s amused laughter, but within his heart he found an embittered sombreness too steep to overcome.

   Hazan’s amusement faded like a candle snuffed of its comforting light. Her elegant smile withered into a frown of sharp concern. “What has you so sullen, Ara?”

   Ara scoffed in bitter distaste. “All-conquerors and enlightened saviors now reduced to barbaric zealotry, fanaticism, and mass enslavement… who is this deluded King that has conquered our Carthite cousins in mind, body, and soul so thoroughly that they cannot even consider the thought of overthrowing him?”

   Hazan lifted her chin a mere fraction to acknowledge Ara’s question. “Sages say that he is the Firstborn of Mankind. That he can call upon the fires of the sun and harness the celestial. They proclaim him the God-King of the newly established Dominion of Carth and that his dominance cannot be resisted or conquered.”

   Hazan observed Ara’s increasingly irritated expression and tense kneading of his hand. She banished his wrathful thoughts with pleasant laughter.

   She shrugged non-nonchalantly. “He seems touched by the divine, does he not? His achievements are the stuff of mythic fables made reality. I’ll confess that perhaps this God-King of the Dominion of Carth remains undefeated after the conquest of Rum…

   “Yet he has never challenged Old Myria – my kingdom – or any of our neighbors on the western coast of the Khios continent. Emissaries from nearby Kalandar have pledged entire conclaves of their mages to our mission. Nomads from the Greater Qi Steppes have sworn entire tribes to our cause.

   “He has never challenged your brother, Aslan, who remains an undefeated commander himself. Our coalition goes from strength to strength enough to outmatch the Dominion on the field of battle.

“Only the eastern kingdoms hesitate to answer my invitation. A predicted loss, yet an important loss none-the-less.”

“Hazan.” Ara silenced her with a mere whispering of her name. He smiled when her speech withered in her throat. “Is this what you came out into the Autumn Gardens to speak with me about?”

“Of course not.” Hazan studied him with the eyes of a curious raven, enraptured by his sudden assertion. “You know the reasons that I’m here. I thought a casual conversation would take your mind away from your harrowing concerns for but a moment… you were so enthralled with the flames of the hearth only a moment ago that you could hardly spare a glance for Your Eminence.”
   
        His amber eyes lingered on Hazan for a moment longer, though he knew how flustered he must have seemed in that moment. He did not bother to hide his uneasiness.

   Ara shifted around to face the warmth of the blaze. “Can you blame me for my distraction? Khios continent is on the brink of open war. Can you blame me for being unable to think of love in this moment?”

   “You need not remind me of my responsibilities.” Hazan shot Ara an irritable glare and shook her head. “Of the defense of Old Myria and the kingdoms that have sworn oaths to serve beneath our banners.” Disdain simmered on her features for a moment. “Tens of thousands shall perish in the conflict. Cities shall burn until they come toppling down upon their foundations. If there is no decisive victor, then there can be no triumph for anyone.

   “So, please make some casual conversation with me to take our minds away from the monumental task that lies before us.”

   Ara watched the hearth fire and considered his Queen’s rebuke before making to speak again. A smile of pleasant surprise graced his lips in spite of her chastisement.

   “Your answer is welcome in these uncertain times.” His amber eyes wandered back in the direction of a lounging Hazan. “It is good that you are confident of the Summer Sea Coalition’s triumph over the Dominion of Carth. As a grand queen of your caliber always ought to be. Apologies, if you mistake my concerns for doubt of your command and judgment.”

   Hazan’s haughty expression relaxed back into something akin to calm and collected. Ara recognized that he had overstayed his welcome in the Queen’s personal garden and climbed onto his feet. He brushed the autumn leaves from out of his clothes and made to execute an elegant bow to signal his exit.

   His Queen snapped her fingers in his direction before he made his silent departure.

   “Before you leave.” Hazan cooed. “You should know that Aslan asked after you. Vahe of Grand Damira asked after you. Voshki the Ashen Cobra asked after you as well…”

   “Gods.” Ara barked out a rough laugh. “Could you name any more famous commanders in the Old Myrian Court? For what purpose would any of them ask after me? Each of them knows my stance when it comes to commanding men in the persecutions of warfare.”

   Hazan answered him with an undeniable truth. “Our coalition shall require every able swordsman scattered across our distant lands. Each veteran recruited into our cause spells the doom of ten Carthite warriors. Each Knight sworn into our service is worth a hundred lesser men. You meet either qualification and with victories and laurels to spare.

   “Are you so surprised that someone thought your reputation and experience could be of use? Many conversations have surfaced in the war council. Some are interested in grooming you for command upon a day.” She considered Ara’s expression of pure skepticism. “I thought you’d be honored to hear such news.”

   Ara scoffed in the face of her temptations. “Aslan has always known that I never cared for commanding anyone in the face of death. You understand more than most, Hazan, that I have enough ‘concerns’ on my mind than the fate of thousands. Let them bare that burden, but I am not some pawn to be maneuvered on a chessboard.”

   “Too late for such references.” Hazan’s bubbling laughter returned in spades. “You’ve become my knight. Your Queen’s steadfast defender. For I have already maneuvered you into place for my own defense.”

   Ara quizzically arched his brow. “Your decree stated your intent to remain behind here in Annahir, my Queen. Your commanders can obtain a decisive victory without your presence. All you must do is trust in their judgment.”

   Hazan’s ire flared briefly from behind her aloof eyes. “I understand the words of my own decree and their intent. When the armies of the Summer Sea Coalition march on the Crescent Fields to battle the Dominion, none shall dispute that it shall be the battle of our time.

   “Either the Summer Sea succeeds and drives Carth’s armies back behind their borders and shatter their momentum. Or the coalition forces become shattered and Carth’s entry into Old Myria and Kalandar become unbarred. That route leads to defeat and total surrender… the known world shall collapse and become slaves to tyranny.

   “Summer Sea’s mission is not only to force the God-King’s hand to surrender. Our complete conquest of Carth shall force his removal from the throne and restore our chance to reinstate the Council of Sages. Carth shall be rebuilt in the image of the Republic it had once been.”

“You’re a member of my own Honor Guard, Ara. It would be unbecoming of a Queen to attend any battle without her most treasured guardian.” Hazan snapped her fingers, a signal for Ara’s silent dismissal. She softened the harsh blow of his banishment with thoughtful words of intimacy. “You have my leave to depart and my undying love.” She smiled. “You have my heart and my cherished devotion. So please don’t question your queen’s command, for certainly one should never be without her greatest guardian and treasure.”

Ara searched Hazan’s face for but a moment before he sighed with resignation. He executed an elegant bow and turned on his heel to venture into the Autumn Wood in the direction of the Palace of Ember Hearth Palace.


~***~



Title: Re: The Embers of the Past 2.0 - An Autumn and Moonlit Land 4.0 Scene
Post by: Alienscar on June 18, 2020, 02:53:17 PM

Quote
An Autumn and Moonlit Land 4.0
Autumn is just the name of a season, so 'an autumn' doesn't work. An autumnal and moonlit land would be correct

Quote
   “Have you ever wished for you could behold the light of the sun, Ara?

This comes across as if you have rushed this update. I am interested in how something this obviously wrong made it through your granular examination  :)
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past 2.0 - An Autumn and Moonlit Land 4.0 Scene
Post by: Myen'Tal on June 18, 2020, 03:04:16 PM

Quote
An Autumn and Moonlit Land 4.0
Autumn is just the name of a season, so 'an autumn' doesn't work. An autumnal and moonlit land would be correct

Quote
   

“Have you ever wished for you could behold the light of the sun, Ara?

This comes across as if you have rushed this update. I am interested in how something this obviously wrong made it through your granular examination  :)

Thanks for that! Maybe I should purchase an actual dictionary instead of relying on the interwebs so much, haha ???.

As for the 2nd Line, LOL, I was experimenting with that line so much, I forgot to change it back after I didn't find a more suitable question for Hazan to begin the scene with.

Made some spelling corrections! It would seem that 40k online has a much stronger error detection system than Microsoft Word :P.
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past 2.0 - An Autumn and Moonlit Land 4.0 Scene
Post by: Alienscar on June 18, 2020, 04:22:57 PM
An Autumnal and Moonlit Land 4.0

Quote
Ara watched the flames rising from the fire pit crackle and smolder against an ocean of stars scattered over a small, hidden clearing. Embers on the chill wind stung him as they danced around the blaze of the pit. An endless rain of leaves fell from the outskirts of an autumn wood encroaching upon the clearing from every direction.

Encroach means to intrude on, or advance gradually. Neither of these describes the action of leaves falling.

You have established that Ara is in a clearing, and a clearing is something that most people can picture. Therefore there is no need to mention the clearing again. Also 'outskirts' describes the outer parts of something not the inner.

The leaves 'fell on' and not 'from'.


Quote
Amidst the heart of the wood, he perched himself on a palanquin beside the fire.

You have stated that Ara is in a clearing, and this is just repeating that fact.

Quote
Ara fluttered his eyes shut and considered his queen’s question in silence.


Flutter in this context means to move up and down rapidly. I am not sure what you are trying to convey.


Quote
His laughter came in soft currents. “Perhaps I’ve imagined the midnight waters of the Black Shore struck by the eastern dawn till the waters glimmered turquoise and sapphire. Or an Opal and Crystalline Sea transformed by the radiance of sunlight and the wonders it would reveal unto us mere mortals.”

Dawn has its own definition and doesn't need the addition of 'eastern'.

Quote
Moonlight cascaded from the heights of heaven in shimmering rays that reflected off his silken raven black robe with a bright sheen. An unadorned crimson sash fell from over his left shoulder and wrapped itself snugly around his midriff like a comfortable belt. Comfortable storm gray breeches crafted from fine silks graced the lower half of his torso.

This paragraph doesn't seem to serve any purpose, or add any value to the overall scene.

Quote
“Goddess Jumunah has benighted our kingdom of Old Myria to shroud the Hanging Gardens of Myr, the entrance into the heavens itself, from mortal eyes. Always shall the midnight skies bleed from the celestial realm into the mundane world. There is only the light of the evening dusk waging an eternal war against the night here.”

It is not clear to me who is speaking.

An Autumnal and Moonlit Land 4.0 Continued

Quote
An endless rain of leaves fell from the outskirts of an autumn wood encroaching upon the clearing from every direction.
   

The seasons are caused by different parts of the planet receiving  more solar energy than others as it travels around the sun. Without a sun there can be no seasons.

Be careful with powerful magic in a story. If there is magic powerful enough to keep a whole ecosystem alive without the sun then the bad guy in your story had better be awesome. I have read that magic is anathema to drama.


Quote
He was of a soft caramel skin tone, blemished only by the scars he had earned throughout the course of several campaigns. A plain braid of raven hair ran along the center of his scalp between either side of his shaven skull. Bone colored laces contained the braid once it began to cascade down the length of his back.

The word between implies ‘between two things’, so the noun that follows ‘between' should be plural. In your case that would be ‘sides’. As you can see this doesn’t quite work and hopefully you can see that because you have used the word ‘centre’ there is no reason for you to then describe that the centre of Ara’s scalp is between the sides of his skull.

'Once it began' should be 'where it cascaded'. 'Began is unnecessary.

Everyone knows what a back looks like so 'length' is an unnecessary modifier


Quote
Ara watched the flames flicker from out of the fire pit with amber-gold eyes. He considered Hazan’s question again and shook his head. “Have you ever thought about how inhospitable this benighted land should be?”

By using the word ‘from’ you have placed Ara in the fire pit. ‘Ara watched the flames in the fire pit flicker and dance’ would suffice.

Quote
“Goddess Jumunah has benighted our kingdom of Old Myria to shroud the Hanging Gardens of Myr, the entrance into the heavens itself, from mortal eyes. Always shall the midnight skies bleed from the celestial realm into the mundane world. There is only the light of the evening dusk waging an eternal war against the night here.”

Without sunlight there can be no gardens. Plant life cannot survive without light.

The biggest issue I have with this paragraph is that you have used benighted incorrectly. Benighted is an adverb, but you are appearing to be using it as a verb.


'Our benighted kingdom'/'benighted Old Myria' would be correct, but using the word correctly means it doesn't mean what you are trying to say.

Also this doesn’t really help explain how half a planet can be in perpetual darkness whilst presumably the other half is normal. If some part of the world is experiencing day and night how can the moon be seen constantly in Old Myria?


Quote
Each crack and fizzling pop of incinerated firewood and the gout of flames sprung from its combustion became reminiscent of bones being broken and flesh burnt beyond recognition. As the wind continued to howl, remembrances of the fallen who had given their lives on the field of battle too wailed within his mind.


As per my previous feedback ‘incinerated and ‘sprung’ are the wrong tense. Also as per my previous feedback a howling wind is at odds with falling leaves.

Quote
Ara blinked once and dispelled his own nightmarish illusion. He shifted himself by so that he could gaze upon the only perfection he had ever sought in life.


‘He shifted himself by’ is not an expression I understand.

Quote
Hazan’s unblemished skin shone like the beige crystalline dune-sea on the coast of the Opal and Crystalline Sea -a paradisaical wilderness created from the hands of mythical gods. Spiraling locks of her crimson dyed hair breezed in the gust, shifting into lustrous hues of onyx the nearer they approached the crown of her head. Her eyes were cold and aloof like that of the raven.

Paradisiacal/ Spiralling.

‘Shifting’ means changing all the time. It doesn’t equate to a gradual change.



Quote
Ara scoffed, then shrugged. “You speak of the ways of Sirius—God of the Sun—who remains only a distant star. Countless thousands shine from the heavens. The Children of the Sun may keep him and his endless need for self-sacrifice if they’ve become so enthralled with the blinding light of dawn.”

From my point of view this response is confusing because Hazan hasn’t spoken about the ways of Sirius. Also this would appear to be the third time that Ara has answered the question. As each answer is different there is no clear message.

Quote
Hazan clucked her tongue, her bubbling chuckles like the soft music of nature’s song. “You don’t seem so content with bright fires and gentle starlight to guide your way either, Ara? I think whoever does would be ever the fool to dwell in darkness forever. Empires are not built off myths and legends, but only by those who would become them for the great deeds they achieved as average mortals.”

This is far too long winded and it doesn’t read smoothly. The ‘but only by those who would become them’ bit especially does not work.

Quote
She shrugged non-nonchalantly. “He seems touched by the divine, does he not? His achievements are the stuff of mythic fables made reality. I’ll confess that perhaps this God-King of the Dominion of Carth remains undefeated after the conquest of Rum…

Non-nonchalantly would be the opposite of nonchalantly. There is no hypen in nonchalantly.

   
Quote
“You need not remind me of my responsibilities.” Hazan shot Ara an irritable glare and shook her head. “Of the defense of Old Myria and the kingdoms that have sworn oaths to serve beneath our banners.” Disdain simmered on her features for a moment.

As per my previous feedback ‘Of’ and ‘disdain aren’t required/don’t work.

Quote
Ara watched the hearth fire and considered his Queen’s rebuke before making to speak again. A smile of pleasant surprise graced his lips in spite of her chastisement.


‘watched the fire in the hearth’ or just plain ‘watched the fire’. As before a hearth is associated with a brick fireplace.

   
Quote
Hazan’s haughty expression relaxed back into something akin to calm and collected. Ara recognized that he had overstayed his welcome in the Queen’s personal garden and climbed onto his feet. He brushed the autumn leaves from out of his clothes and made to execute an elegant bow to signal his exit.

‘Climbed to his feet. Onto his feet means something else. ‘Got to his feet’/stood to leave might be better.

   
Quote
“Too late for such references.” Hazan’s bubbling laughter returned in spades. “You’ve become my knight. Your Queen’s steadfast defender. For I have already maneuvered you into place for my own defense.”

Too much defence.

‘Your Queen’s steadfast defender’ is an incomplete sentence as it doesn’t contain a verb.

 
   
Quote
“Either the Summer Sea succeeds and drives Carth’s armies back behind their borders and shatter their momentum.

‘Shatters’. The verb must match the subject ‘number’


Quote
“You’re a member of my own Honor Guard, Ara. It would be unbecoming of a Queen to attend any battle without her most treasured guardian.” Hazan snapped her fingers, a signal for Ara’s silent dismissal. She softened the harsh blow of his banishment with thoughtful words of intimacy. “You have my leave to depart and my undying love.” She smiled. “You have my heart and my cherished devotion. So please don’t question your queen’s command, for certainly one should never be without her greatest guardian and treasure.”

You have repeated the phrase ‘never without her greatest guardian’ and this slows the tempo too much.

Quote
Ara searched Hazan’s face for but a moment before he sighed with resignation.

As per my previous feedback the’ but’ in 'but a moment isn't required.
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past 2.0 - An Autumn and Moonlit Land 4.0 Scene
Post by: Myen'Tal on June 24, 2020, 09:13:02 AM
Sorry for the delayed response on this guys.

With your feedback in mind, Alienscar, the basis of the first scene may need to changed. So a rewrite of the scene will probably be in order. Thanks for pointing out those mistakes. Perhaps I did rush this update out lol.

I actually found a cool 'tree-graphic' software that I've found useful for converting into outline / storyboard stuff. I've been working away plotting out the details on Embers of the Past 2.0 and some unrelated projects 8).

I've been distracted with work and the fact that I may have a new job lined up sometime in July. We'll see how it goes!

Title: Re: The Embers of the Past 2.0 - An Autumn and Moonlit Land 4.0 Scene
Post by: Myen'Tal on June 25, 2020, 10:53:31 AM
~***~

So, update time: I've been wanting to share what I'm working on currently and no it's another version of 'An Autumnal and Moonlit Land'  ;). I've found a really great software for outline creation that I actually love using a lot! It's a tad bit expensive to pay the subscription, but whatever, I think it's worth it!

So back to the outline... it's a storyboard / outline hybrid that I am using to help create a general high level overview of the story in its entirety, and will include summaries from which each and every scene I'm planning will derive from.

Be forewarned... it's a little text heavy and the entire outline is like 'wall of text' heavy. But I'm cutting snippets out for you guys so you don't feel like you've entered the literary version of the matrix :P. I could break this down into an actual storyboard... but doing it this way I feel helps me personally a whole lot more than using snippets to create the general overview of the story arc.

Like I said, this is just a general overview of what's happening this specific chapter, which is the third in the story's current organization. It's not an actual scene and will feel more like a quick summary than an actual text.

I hope you guys like this type of update. It may actually help shine some context on things that I've failed to bring to light so far. So definitely let me know what you guys think about it.
~***~


Chapter III:

A Dominion of the Mind

Outline and Summary


Aslan has spent the entirety of the Dominion Forces' march back into the lands of Carth in solitude. Apothecaries come and go in an effort to tend to his wounds as their best efforts will allow. Once they leave, however, he can hear only the sound of the marching drums and the countless thousands of boots that hammer the desert roads in sync to their deep rhythm.

Each night that passes, Aslan becomes more self-aware until he can register the world around him again. For eight cycles of night and day, Aslan lies in his sick bed aboard a supply wagon following in the wake of the Dominion's armies. Until, on the ninth day, the caravan is halted and the apothecaries -attended by a handful of Eternity Guardians- test the extent of his recovery.

Blinded by daylight for the first time in several weeks, Aslan realizes that the Dominion's army has encamped outside the gates of a magnificent city beyond the likes of anything he has ever witnessed. Specifically, the army is encamped on the other side of a series of canals that stretch into and around the grand city.

Aslan is escorted in silence by the Eternity Guardians, who bring him before Erasyl's palanquin. Erasyl greets Aslan and asks him to have a seat beside him on a flattened chair with no back, fanned by several female attendants who seem to be slaves themselves.

Aslan reluctantly sits, but waves the attendants away. He realizes that he is at Erasyl's mercy, and hears him out only begrudgingly. His tone is rude and his temper short, but this does not seem to phase Erasyl in the slightest, who treats Aslan with dignity and honors.

Aslan asks Erasyl why he chose to spare his life and take him as a prisoner of war. A good question to him, for if Erasyl had left him on the field of battle, he may as well have killed Old Myria's finest commander outright. Stolen of their undefeated commander, who would know what would become of the Summer Sea Coalition and the defense of the western lands.

In truth, Erasyl is greatly impressed of the Lion of War's reputation and respects him as a Father who has mastered his craft comes to respect his son who has aspired to take up his trade. The God-King informs Aslan that he chose to spare him because he is curious about the Lion himself.

Erasyl announces that Aslan is indeed his prisoner of war for the foreseeable future and that both of them should take the opportunity to learn from one another and the cultures that they defend and to an extent for Aslan - rule. Erasyl has already passed a decree among the nobles and his military forces that Aslan is never to be shackled as a prisoner, and that the God-King's own Palace Residence is to become his home until further notice.

Erasyl ordains that Aslan may call upon not only his attendants for any need, but may request anything of the God-King himself if he so desired. Of course, within reason and considerate of Erasyl's own judgment.

Erasyl speaks to Aslan and reveals that his end game is to convert Aslan's loyalty to the Dominion and that he desires to adopt him as a true son and heir to his dynasty. He also reveals that he would also want to appoint Aslan as the commander of a new caste of warrior rising in the Dominion.

An army made from those enslaved from the Dominion's many conquest. Zar - The slave caste, uplifted into the vacuum being left in the Qin - warrior caste. This new breed of warrior would be called Zar'qin, and would form the bulwark of the new vanguard. Erasyl makes no attempt to deny or shy away from Aslan's questions, and states that the Dominion has lost far too many sons to civil strife and constant wars to continue to fuel its armies with Carthite blood. Erasyl would see every Carthite son ascend into nobility and glory by the hand of his swift reforms and realm shaping decrees.

Aslan refuses him outright and states 'I've no quarrel with any man, woman, or child forced into chains, but only their masters and the whips they crack at their backs. I'll not lead them to their early graves so that the Dominion's son may be spared the fires of war.'

Erasyl simply nods and states 'My son, never shall you become a true enemy of mine, whether you seek me out in the halls of my palace or on the battlefield. Neither am I the tyrannical force that is a scourge to every servant and attendant you find in the corridors and streets of my capital city. Time shall reveal unto you that I speak in truths and not guises.'

'I invite you to the Hall of the Sunlit Throne, before the entirety of my court. There I shall gather every former philosopher, merchant, and warrior from among the Zar. Warriors of the Sun never shirk from the light of truth. I hope to convince you of the righteousness of the dreams that I have envisioned for the Dominion of Carth and each of her citizens - no matter their castes.'

Aslan scoffs and chortles at Erasyl's words, then states 'I would sooner run myself through on my own sword than serve the Dominion. Carth would be better served with the severing of my head to parade about your streets... I'm not the hero you envision I am, God-King, especially for no man or woman of Carth.

'Can you be so certain? Would you be surprised if I told you that Carth is a Dominion of Minds? A domain for the philosopher, sage, and oracle. You need only search the horizon. Our citizens are not single minded. They recognize grandeur and greatness wherever it may manifest. An undefeated commander must be immaculate in mind, resolute of spirit, and strong in body. I see each of these qualities in you, Aslan. A keen mind gifted in the art of war must also be gifted in the art of statecraft and diplomacy.'

'What do you gaze upon when you stare farther east? Grand canals that connect the Seventh and Weeping River into one central nexus of trade and affluence in abundance. You see the wondrous paradise of a city that has sprung up from the dunes. You understand that such wealth becomes the foundations of civilizations and the bedrock upon which empires are created.'

'So too is my Dominion one that respects the strength of the sword. Countless thousands of Carthite sons sacrificed their lives during the Desolation of Gor'rum until the war was won and the endless hordes of Giants and Qi tribes were driven onto the brink of collapse...Thousand s who endured that anarchic violence and became the veterans of our decrepit Republic were put to the sword soon after during the Dominion's End Decree.

'Do not fool yourself, Aslan... any Carthite son you encounter inside the gates of Tu'shik is a survivor of many great wars. They understand and respect the reputation of the Lion of War. They admire the strength of his sword-arm, and the immaculate intellect of his mind. You're more a hero to them than the great Sages that once reigned in Carth.'

'You'll remain near to my side when the Dominion's armies march through the gates of Tu'shik. You may have some knowledge of warfare, Aslan, but you are ignorant of Carth and the peoples that form her Dominion. You shall need a steady hand and patient words from a mentor of note to learn all you should know about my empire. You shall find much of that in your father.'

Aslan bristles, but sighs with resignation. 'I see you shall not be dissuaded, but I too am difficult of persuasion. Your words have changed nothing between us, Erasyl. Do not mistake my begrudging respect for voluntary acceptance.'

Erasyl's smile broadens and he nods. 'You know my name and yet you do not spit it from your mouth. You know my intention and yet you choose not to mock it, but to listen. Already am I pleased with you, Aslan, my Lion of War. I make it my solemn oath that I shall convince you of the righteousness of our cause. I can see sunlight within your heart. You are of the Children of the Sun and make no mistake.'
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past 2.0 - A Dominion of the Mind - High Level Outline Summay
Post by: Alienscar on June 26, 2020, 05:03:17 AM
To be honest I have no idea what to make of this. It is neither a scene nor a complete overview, so it leaves me a bit nonplussed.

As an outline it seems very detailed and the overall impression I get from this summary is that you are trying to cram a lot of ideas into a small space.


I hope you guys like this type of update. It may actually help shine some context on things that I've failed to bring to light so far. So definitely let me know what you guys think about it.

Personally speaking I would prefer to read a story rather than the idea behind a story.
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past 2.0 - A Dominion of the Mind - High Level Outline Summay
Post by: Myen'Tal on June 26, 2020, 08:08:17 AM
Hi Alienscar,

Sorry you're disappointed by this update. I don't have much of any scenes to share because I'm in the outlining process. So I thought I'd share something rather than nothing in this case. Also I just finished outlining Chapter III, which is why this is incomplete.

Quote
As an outline it seems very detailed and the overall impression I get from this summary is that you are trying to cram a lot of ideas into a small space.

Somewhat disagree here. An outline is a creative outlet to simply get one's ideas on paper and makes organizing them easier. Does it really need to be a small space? That's kind of why I call it a storyboard / outline hybrid, it's a fancier version of a word processor, but it can do a lot of unrelated stuff too.

Quote
Personally speaking I would prefer to read a story rather than the idea behind a story.


Understood, thanks for your honesty :). Just know that it maybe a little while before I can share something again. I'd like to make more progress to get ahead of the updates, which will take some time.

I also think some of the confusion we're having with feedback is that there is a subtle language barrier here. English in the USA, as I'm certain you know, is a bit different than that in the UK. Why its so different, cannot really tell you ;D, but some of the mistakes you've pointed out so far do seem to be correct in USA english.

There are still other things you're pointing out that are indeed wrong though, so I'm not complaining or anything. Just wanted to bring that up :).
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past 2.0 - A Dominion of the Mind - High Level Outline Summay
Post by: Alienscar on June 26, 2020, 11:05:34 AM
Hi Alienscar,

Sorry you're disappointed by this update.

Hey now Myen'Tal I never said I was disappointed. I just don't know what to make of this kind of information is all.

Quote
As an outline it seems very detailed and the overall impression I get from this summary is that you are trying to cram a lot of ideas into a small space.

Somewhat disagree here. An outline is a creative outlet to simply get one's ideas on paper and makes organizing them easier. Does it really need to be a small space? That's kind of why I call it a storyboard / outline hybrid, it's a fancier version of a word processor, but it can do a lot of unrelated stuff too.

The small space I was referring to was Chapter 3. Reading your outline for the chapter I just got the impression that there was a lot of information to be expanded on.

I also think some of the confusion we're having with feedback is that there is a subtle language barrier here. English in the USA, as I'm certain you know, is a bit different than that in the UK. Why its so different, cannot really tell you ;D, but some of the mistakes you've pointed out so far do seem to be correct in USA english.

Yeah the language barrier isn't that subtle at times and I can find it hard to ignore the spelling differences between the UK and the USA version of words.

So yeah spiraling/paradisaical are correct in the USA.
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past 2.0 - A Dominion of the Mind - High Level Outline Summay
Post by: Myen'Tal on June 26, 2020, 12:35:58 PM
Quote
Hey now Myen'Tal I never said I was disappointed. I just don't know what to make of this kind of information is all.

Quote
The small space I was referring to was Chapter 3. Reading your outline for the chapter I just got the impression that there was a lot of information to be expanded on.

Sorry for the misunderstanding there. There is a bit of a paradox with this kind of update cause as you said it is quite detailed, but is still glancing over a lot of information that will definitely be expanded upon when actually writing it.

Keep in mind that I'm aiming for the average word count for fantasy, which is 100,000 - 120,000 words. So these chapters will naturally be more detailed / fleshed out than what I've previously done.

At the moment, I'm currently planning out the outline in phases. Plan out three chapters and discuss the ideas within my inner circle. Then I'll write out the three chapters, then repeat the process. It's a first draft, so once everything is completed I can always go back and make edits / additions / clarification changes, etc.

So I'm nearly finished with stage 1 of this new process and have almost entered that discussion phase!
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past 2.0 - Prologue: Dominion's Rise - 1st Scene
Post by: Myen'Tal on June 29, 2020, 10:07:10 AM
Well I've completed my outline / storyboard for the first three chapters. So I've begun the writing process earlier than I thought I would! Currently working on the first scene, which is detailed below. I consider this the prologue's beginning as these events take place before the main events of the story.

Hope you like it!

Voshki

   
“Tu’shik, the Grand City of Canals.” Voshki gazed out in the direction of the gargantuan cityscape in the distance.

The ancient city of the Sun-Caller Kings shined like a gem encrusted into a monarch’s crown. The light of the waning sun illuminated the paradisiacal labyrinth till it seemed ethereal. The Garden District spiraled high over the dense urban sprawl, chiseled painstakingly into the flanks of a gargantuan mountain at the city’s heart. Fecund and exotic hanging gardens wreathed the inner walls that shielded the estates of the Qar nobility.


Anoush gave Voshki a sidelong look and forced herself to smirk. She lingered on Voshki's translation of the name 'Tu'shik'. "To most Carthites it is known as the City of the Sun, a font of endless wonders. It is a shame that the fate of such a grand city is to be determined by fear.. Imminent annihilation is all that anyone still behind those walls can hope for anymore. Or their king’s surrender.”

Lesser districts collected around those inner walls. They rose and fell in the pattern of much smaller hills spread around the mountain’s foot.

Voshki hawked a wad of saliva over the ornate marble railing into the canal. “Surrender? The Last of the Sun-Caller Kings would shame his ancestry to no end if he committed to such a craven act. If he were a man of wisdom, he would know that Tu’shik would not be spared in either case. The Great Sages have made their decree… the City of the Sun is to end in the flames of war.”

Voshki studied the crystalline canals that coursed through Tu'shik. The emerald waters created natural divisions in the city’s geographic topography. Alabaster marble flanked with inlaid brickwork of pure gold formed the opulent walkways of the maritime districts on either side of the waterway.

“A summary execution.” Anoush sighed. “The Children of the Sun stand no chance.”

An endless stretch of dockyards and seafaring vessels berthed in their harbors was all that remained between Voshki and her impending success. Somewhere behind the ancient sandstone walls of Tu’shik, the Black Bane’s quarry remained hidden. 

Voshki nodded. “I think the endless numbers of the slain would hasten to agree with your opinion on the matter. Dark have the times become, my Second. Make no mistake, this is no longer the honorable republic that we have always remembered. Carth bears no resemblance to the one the Sages fought for only four years ago.”

Voshki pried her gaze away from the Grand City of Canals to absorb her surroundings.

The dockyards were a maze of granite and lumber amalgamated into some semblance of the Carthite keeps on the eastern borders of the republic. She counted a score of watch-towers jutting from out of barracks scattered across the maritime district. Every barrack was fortified behind wooden palisades and death traps crafted from a maze of sharpened stakes.

Anoush nodded in agreement. “When men and women of the nobility become gifted with limitless power and begin to fear for that power and their lives… anarchy shall always reign.”

Voshki glanced once more in the direction of Tu’shik and considered the great contrast between either side of the canal. As she did so, a humid heat haze continued to bare down on the harbors even as the waning sun set the skies aflame. 

“Let them fear then.” Voshki sneered at the thought. “They have a good right to. The right to rule should lie with the true warlords that defended their realm from certain annihilation…” She pointed in the direction of Tu’shik. “I would tell this Sun-Caller King that his death is nothing personal. One must escape this anarchy and madness somehow lest they become consumed in the downward spiral. What better way than reaping untold riches to buy our passage to the distant west? Where you, our Black Bane Kindred, and I shall live like kings and queens for the rest of our days.”

Anoush considered the tragic scene playing out before them and grimaced. Her voice came in hushed tones. “Do you really believe we could escape all of this? All of Khios continent is ending in fire and violence, Voshki."

“No concern for the Black Bane Kindred.” Voshki watched the firestorms sweep across the breadth of Tu’shik’s western districts.
“We shall make good on our contract and leave this forsaken continent behind. Our orders remain clear. Infiltrate Tu’shik, murder a disgraced king, and sever his head to mount onto the Dam’s Gate. Once seen on the breaking of the next dawn, our client will know that our work is done.”

“Easier said than done.” Anoush pointed with her chin toward the myriad of siege engines arrayed against Tu’shik’s defenses. “The siege is reaching the zenith of violence.”

Voshki followed her Second’s gaze and took in the sight of warriors in their hundreds scaling Tu’shik's walls. Whether by ladder or siege tower, scores of the republic’s warriors were already on the battlements, locked in a brutal struggle to overcome the defenders.

Sunset waned into the evening dusk. The siege raged under a constant hail of flaming arrows, piercing ballista bolts, and explosions of flaming ammunition exchanged between trebuchets. 

‘I disagree, Anoush.” Voshki considered Anoush’s statement of doubt.
“To slip into a city on the brink of collapse? A game for children. Have a little faith.”

A constant barrage of screams drifted on a cruel and nigh nonexistent breeze. Voshki felt the earth tremble beneath formations of tens of thousands. The choking odor of scorched flesh mingled with ashen smoke lingered about the dockyards like a spoiled perfume.

“I would, Voshki.” Anoush smiled, the gesture burdened with anxiety. “If our ferryman contact were anywhere in sight. Unless you plan on having us scale the walls and fighting our way through?”

“He will show soon enough.” Voshki assured her. “Doubt shall not reap our reward for us. Gather the Black Bane Kindred.” She commanded. “The hour has come to earn our pay. Otherwise, our headless corpses will end up crucified outside the gates of Tu’shik. Like all of those poor souls piled high in their shallow graves outside of Zar’bau - The Citadel of the Enslaved.”

Anoush slipped away into the long shadows of the maritime district, now silent and abandoned. “Dire are the times we’re enduring… Let us succeed one more time, if only to regale our children that we somehow escaped with our lives and riches untold.”

Voshki shifted back to the besieged city and continued her observations of Tu'shik's western gates sliding into ruin. She considered what would be waiting behind those crumbling walls. She suppressed a shiver of dread. 

She hoped to every god in the Carthite pantheon that the rumors of the king they hunted were untrue.

Title: Re: The Embers of the Past 2.0 - Prologue: Dominion's Rise - Scene II
Post by: Myen'Tal on July 2, 2020, 07:13:55 AM
Made some additional edits to scene one.

EDIT: Made another pass on scene II.

~***~


“Kin of the Black Bane!” Voshki called out to her unit. “Attend your commander’s decree! Spare a moment from preparation and gather around me.”

      Elegant reinforced leather -dyed black- shielded her thighs, shoulders, and the upper limits of her arms. She rested a wicked barbed long spear on her shoulder, whose bladed tip was combined with that of a reverse barbed hook.

Amethyst satin robes cushioned beneath her chainmail billowed in the wake of a sudden squall. Emblazoned on the front of her cuirass was a Royal Cobra depicted with the shavings of precious stones created by the finest artisans great affluence could hire.

    Voshki emerged onto a lone pier of unadorned granite. She cast her gaze down its great length and noticed a solitary standard billowing in the gust.

     A silken standard emblazoned with the statuesque face of a young Sukhanite widow. Voshki peered into the hollowed sockets that wept crimson tears for her lost sons. The widow cradled her face in her own hands, a gesture of mournful despair among the daughters and wives of Sukhan.

The Wailing Widow Standard reminded Voshki of the solemn oaths that bound her always to the Sukhanite children and the Southern Wastes. She found her flaring temper soothed by its mere presence alone.

Anoush’s languid voice surged over the emerald waters of the canals, almost lost to the sound of the standard fluttering in the breeze. “Gather round, my brothers and sisters! The Firstborn would address the unit. Listen with intent!”

Voshki’s amber-gold eyes drifted below the billowing standard and she counted a score-and-a-half of warriors armored and dressed for war. As she had commanded, her Black Bane Kindred had ceased their idling and gathered their weapons.
 
   A chorus of rough and intimidating voices answered their commander. “Your kindred listen!”

    “Kin of the Black Bane!” Voshki addressed them. “Mark these words! Khios burns amidst the flames of unceasing war! Turn your eyes toward the western horizon and watch Tu’shik be reduced to cinders scattered on the wind.”

Amongst their ranks numbered a select few of the Sons of Kharan. The Half-Giants were easily marked from the rest of the unit by their exceptional height and incredibly gaunt physiques of scarred and whipcord musculature.

There were none among the Kharanites’ rare number that was not armed to the teeth. Quivers filled with vicious barbed javelins were slung over their shoulders. Wicked and ruthless blades dangled from sheathes fixated onto the great belts wrapped around their waists. Gripped in their gnarled fists were brutal two handed battle axes capable of splitting stone in twain.

Voshki spared them a word of encouragement. “Kharanite wisdom dictates that the realms must endure by the strength of their sword-arms alone. One does not deserve to dwell within this harsh reality without strength enough to survive on their own two feet. Shall our Half-Giant friends show us their unrivaled strength on the field of battle?”

“Our sword-arms are our pride and Kharan our hearts!” Guttural roars of primal ferocity answered Voshki. She could feel the great pride in their voices crash over her like a tide breaking upon rock.

Voshki too counted several female figures integrated into the Black Bane’s unit. All of them dressed themselves in light and flexible armor when compared to their masculine comrades. Each armed themselves with an assortment of poisoned weapons - daggers, crossbows, and throwing knives. Others carried small glassine flasks, grenades, and a rare gunpowder weapon here and there on their person.

    Sons of Sukhan comprised the rest of the unit. As was custom for the Children of the Southern Wastes, the Black Bane garbed themselves in the dreary colors of the night. Each Sukhanite tattooed calligraphic scrawl over the tarnished bronze skin of their chiseled, clean shaven, and scarred facial features. A detailed  history of their harrowing experiences in life.
 
   “Warriors of Sukhan.” Voshki gestured across all of her mustered warriors with the Crown Prince’s hooked and bladed tip. “And champions of the Serpent-in-Shadow are we all! These seven years have proven quite harrowing for the Black Bane Kindred, haven’t they? We’ve witnessed many great and noble kings become cast into slavery… their once resplendent civilizations crumbled stone by stone into the endless spiral of ruin. So many innocents endure endless miseries and sorrow.”

    Voshki rested the Crown Prince on her shoulder again and balled her free hand into a crushing fist. “The Republic of Carth burns and fades into ashes and embers. The cinders of all that remain gutters… Sukhanite wisdom does not dictate how to survive these anarchic times. Make no mistake, our continued survival hinges on our courage for one another and the kinship created by the proud lineage we share. It also depends on our ability alone to slay the last of the Sun-Caller Kings as our contract demands.”

    “Kin.” She addressed them solemnly. “Allow me the honor of commanding you one final time into the fires of battle. Our unit has survived many fierce conflicts. We’ve stormed many fortifications and left nothing more than ruin upon now abandoned and silent battlefields. The heads we have hunted for our employers? Beyond counting.”

Voshki continued, her voice resolute. “Never have the Black Bane been requested to infiltrate a city under siege before… let alone to slay a king. Trust in the instruction of your commander to see us all through till the end. Once our mission is complete, we shall be rewarded so generously that our passage to the west shall become a trivial fee, where all of us shall live as queens and kings until we become so grey of hair, that we can simply grow no elder and take our leave of this world.

“Sound like a plan worthy of execution?” Voshki swept her gaze across her unit. She noted the grim determination inset in their faces to see their task through to the end. Silent, but eager nods answered her in turn.

  “Gather your weapons and equipment. Our Ferryman seems to have arrived on time.” She pointed farther upstream of the canal at the massive platform of a raft drifting steadily toward the pier.

“Remember, kindred of my own blood, one final time into the maelstrom of battle. Combat any foe as you never have before, for your survival shall be answered with endless reward!”

Title: Re: The Embers of the Past 2.0 - Prologue: Dominion's Rise - Scene II
Post by: Dread on July 2, 2020, 08:08:39 PM
Sorry I haven't responded, actually I did, just forgot to hit send. I have a 3 day weekend so will catch up on it then.
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past 2.0 - CH I - Dominion's Rise - Scene III
Post by: Myen'Tal on July 6, 2020, 11:13:47 PM


“Tell me, ferryman.” Voshki spoke in soft undertones. “Did you never think to fortify your raft? We’re headed into the heart of an ongoing siege. This is not one of your romantic tours through the waterways of Tu’shik.”

Voshki craned her head and took in the sight of the simple and unadorned raft beneath her feet. It was large enough to ferry the Black Bane Kindred’s entire unit and their supplies without so much as even a slight submergence from the additional weight. She stamped onto the precisely hewn lumber that made up the floating platform. Such a raft could have easily undergone additional fortification in the form of reinforced palisades.

Hunkered behind the bulwark of the Black Bane sellswords, the ferryman offered Voshki an uncaring smile. He cycled his oar once more and the raft continued its steady drift from one side of the canal to the other.

“Should have hired an engineer instead of a simple ferryman.” The ferryman chortled. “Cease your fretting and let the placid waters soothe your impatience. You need not fear the perils of the night aboard this raft, my daughter.” 

Voshki gazed skyward toward a crescent moon anchored amidst a starlit horizon. She lowered her amber-gold eyes back toward the canal’s waters, now cloaked in darkness. Gentle rays of moonlight cast the resplendent harbors on the outskirts of Tu’shik in a stark silhouette. She considered the infernos ablaze behind Tu’shik’s conquered walls some leagues beyond the harbors.

“Sirius the Solar God would say otherwise, ferryman.” Voshki shrugged. “Your City of Wonders seems to have invoked his wrath. The night’s perils have never been so numerous. Are you not afraid?”

“Terrified.” The ferryman quipped. “Yet I find myself on these open waters for the same reason you hired me. Once I receive my due, I shall feel much safer once -like yourself and your kin- I purchase a ship to the farthest corners of the west. Somewhere that is at peace, like the coasts of the Black Shore.”

Voshki pitched her head back and rattled with laughter. “I hear the coasts of the Black Shore are wracked with storms and littered with ship graveyards. You would do better to find peace at the bottom of this canal than there, my friend.”

“Stories for children.” The ferryman clucked his tongue. “Great trade fleets from the western hemisphere often venture into those seas to trade with the kingdoms there.”

“That would only confirm my theories.” Voshki sobered and shook her head. “All of those ship graveyards remain in that sea because of all the pirates that raid those waters.”

“Voshki.” Anoush approached gingerly within earshot of the conversation. “Forgive me for interrupting…”

“Think nothing of it, Anoush.” Voshki stepped away from the ferryman and clapped a leather gauntlet on Anoush’s shoulder. “How near have we come to making our beach head?”

“Imminent.” Anoush answered, her voice hushed. “We’re quickly approaching the first sentry checkpoints. I’ve studied the lighthouses in the harbors for a handful of hours now. There has been no activity from them, not even simple patrols. Something seems amiss, Voshki.”

“Ferryman.” Voshki craned her head in the elder man’s direction. “No matter what happens from this point onward, keep rowing if you value your meagre life.” She gestured for Anoush to follow and forged a path to the front of the raft. “Black Bane, make room! Step aside, I said!”

Faris, another of Voshki’s Second-in-Commands, greeted her with the gritty steel of his voice the moment she shoved and pushed her way to the fore of the raft.

“Firstborn Voshki.” Faris sighed into the chill breeze besetting the raft. The scarred, but devilishly handsome sellsword pointed across the placid waters of the canal. “The Grand City of Canals would have proven a striking sight right about this hour were it not collapsing into ruin.

“Still.” Faris gestured toward the great peak at the heart of the city. Voshki followed his gaze toward the maze of endless lights that cast the entire Garden District aglow. Even the Hanging Gardens that wreathed Tu’shik’s inner walls bathed in the golden light. “The Garden Quarter glimmers in the light like a city of gold and alabaster onto itself. Wouldn’t you agree, commander?”

Voshki studied the districts of the Qar nobility. She looked to Faris and smiled wolfishly. “Never thought an age of strife and terror would make a romantic out of anyone. Yet I understand why anyone would cling to sights of beauty in a time when they become rare luxuries…”

Her voice took on a grave aspect after she trailed off briefly. “This is not the hour for appreciating the beauty of wonders, however, Faris. This is the hour that we risk all of our lives for the grand prize.

“So enough about the City of the Sun. Point out the sentry checkpoints!”

“Your command is my oath.” Faris answered. He shifted the point of his finger to indicate three lighthouses, each built upon the precipice of lonesome piers isolated from their respective harbor. “West, east, and north is where each of them guard entrance into the harbor respectively. There are many more scattered along the canals, but none of the rest are important to us. These three sentry posts are what stands between us and a successful beachhead.”

Voshki swept her hawk-eyes over the sentry posts and noted the garrison barracks each lighthouse stood vigil over. “Anoush mentioned there was no activity witnessed from any of these sentry posts? You could not spot even a guard or sentry?

“No chance in the infernal realms has the Sun-Caller King’s forces abandoned the maritime district entirely. If the Republic knew of such weakness, they would have passed through the Dam’s Gate and ended this siege several moons ago.”

Anoush chimed in. “There is a saying amongst Tu’shik’s proud nobility. Children of the Sun never turn their backs to a worthy foe, nor do they kneel in submission. Children of the Sun never shirk from the light of truth, nor the threat of death.”

“You’re saying that they await us in ambush. For surrendering the maritime district is to the Children of the Sun the same as turning your back to your enemy.” Faris pondered upon that truth briefly before replying. “A wise saying to live by in times of anarchy. A shame that only the Qar seem to know it. For most of this city has taken flight to more peaceful shores. Tu’shik may have had a chance if they had all stayed and fought.”

The raft continued its course until it passed under the shadow of the sentry checkpoints stationed both east and west of the harbor. Voshki continued to survey her surroundings. Wary of an ambush, she executed a silent command for the Black Bane to raise and interlock their shields in an impregnable wall.

“Can you blame them, Faris?” Voshki knelt on one knee as she continued to listen and watch the harbor for any signs of hostile movement. “To endure a siege is to live every waking hour in uncertainty and terror. The paralyzing fear of never knowing when the walls of your home are breached and the warriors sworn to defend it, slaughtered. Not until it is far too late."

Faris and Anoush knelt beside her.

Faris shook his head. “No, I would never blame anyone who would avoid such a fate… We would all be of the same mind on the matter in fact. Once the grand prize is ours, we shall be following in their wake soon.

“Still, it is a great shame that everything has culminated to this.”

Anoush interrupted their argument with an urgent whisper. “Voshki! On the eastern pier, three dozen paces from the lighthouse!”

Voshki shifted to gaze in the direction of Anoush’s coordinates. She felt her heart skip a beat the moment her eyes clarified a lone figure from the dark that cloaked him. Alone stood a Tu’shik warrior dressed in robes of cream cushioned beneath his chainmail and that of crimson draped over his pristine armor.

He held a moderate buckler tight across his chest in one hand and kept the other snaked around the hilt of a sheathed scimitar. The warrior bore no helm on his shoulders. Voshki looked past the wild and lustrous hair that covered much of the warrior’s face and found the core of his hazel eyes boring straight into her own.

The Child of the Sun made no sudden movements. He did not let out any sharp rebuke or war cry. He did not even let loose a whistle to warn his comrades. He merely stood anchored to his spot on the pier until the raft finally began to pass him by.

The warrior’s gaze never wavered from Voshki’s even as he broke into a deliberate pace to keep stride with the raft.

Faris let loose an irritable growl. “Should I give the command to strike down this brazen cur, Firstborn?”

“No.” Voshki shook her head, her gaze still trained on the lone warrior stalking them. “Whoever commands him sent him out here so that we would see him. They could have answered us with a hail of arrows. His master must desire an exchange of words."

Anoush shot Voshki a skeptical look. “Are you certain they aren’t simply tightening the noose around our necks?”

“We’ve already entered the serpent’s den, Anoush.” Voshki answered. “Our best chance of survival is to sing to the cobra now… music may yet soothe it.”

Faris chuckled aloud. “And if it deigns to spit acid in our eyes?”

“We shall strike first.” Voshki replied. “Let us meet our illustrious enemies and see who is better prepared to weather a fight.”


Title: Re: The Embers of the Past 2.0 - CH I - Dominion's Rise - Scene III
Post by: Myen'Tal on July 8, 2020, 12:06:32 PM
Did some additional passes across all three scenes and made quite a few subtle edits. Just announcing this in a new post as I'm sure no one would see it buried amidst the three scenes!
Title: The Embers of the Past 2.0 - CH 2- Dominion's Rise - Ara - Scene I
Post by: Myen'Tal on July 13, 2020, 11:46:53 PM
EDIT: Made a few further passes!

Dominion’s Rise - Ara



Beyond the ruined western gate of Tu’shik, Ara found himself on the battlefield. The skies burned in the light of the waning sun. The earth charred and blazed from the touch of hellfire unleashed from Tu’shik’s engines of war. Here on the scorched earth, only the desiccated remains of those slain several months prior marked the age of the siege.

Ara pushed the anarchic melee that raged around him out of his mind. His raven black eyes focused until he peered through the maelstrom of thrashing blades and thrusting spears. For a brief instance, clarity aligned with his perception and honed in on a grizzled warrior garbed in cream robes beneath his suit of chainmail and that of crimson draped over the exterior.

Ara quickly grounded himself and heard the crunch of brittle bones crumbling beneath his boots. He readied his scimitar behind and overhead to cleave the great bear of a Carthite down in one imperceptible blow. He gripped his moderate buckler tight across his chest and prepared to receive the Tuamphetamine parrote’s charge.

A hail of arrows rained down from the evening skies around them. Screams - far louder than those bellowed from the throats of defiant men - deafened him as steel-tipped arrowheads found purchase in callow flesh. A score of warriors fell to their knees around Ara, impaled everywhere from eye sockets to the core of their guts.

The momentary distraction blinded him but for a moment. The grizzled Tuamphetamine parrote fell upon him like a great bear. The warrior whirled his spiked maul around his head and swung into a crushing blow meant for the base of Ara’s skull.

Ara slid through the battlefield’s gore and grime away from the blow. The Tuamphetamine parrote followed in pursuit, the momentum in his maul threatening to crush Ara’s skull still. The Annahir Immortal weaved beneath the cumbersome swing. He deflected the fluid counter-strike with a flick of his shield-arm.

Ara quickly slid into his challenger’s guard. The Tuamphetamine parrote was left defenseless with his arms in the opposite direction. Obsidian, Ara’s scimitar, whispered in the wind with one irresistible cut.

The Child of the Sun staggered where he stood. Blood sprayed from the vicious wound and onto Ara’s raven robes and tarnished scale-mail armor. He respectfully stepped back from his kill. As the corpse fell onto its knees and began to sway, Ara watched impassively as the severed head toppled from the neck.

A Carthite’s ferocious screams roared in Ara’s ear from his right. “For the Twelve Tyrants of Carth!”

Ara sprung back into a combat stance, already locked in a movement to avoid the oncoming assault. A luminescent arc sliced through the rapidly cooling desert air from the same flank. The war cries pouring out of the Tuamphetamine parrote’s mouth culminated into a shriek of desperate agony - cut brutally short.

Ara halted mid-dodge and watched his assailant crumble to the blood-soaked earth. The Carthite clutched with blood-slick fingers at his sliced open torso from right shoulder to the left of his lower rib cage. A warrior of caramel skin and bushels of kempt and well-groomed raven black locks stepped between them. Gripped between his leather gloved fingers was an elegant long-sword that glimmered in the fiery light like a deep vein of sapphire.

Vahe of Grand Damira spared Ara a mirthless smile for the briefest instance. He turned back to the warrior writhing at his feet, every trace of his smile wiped from his grimace. He flipped his blade with practiced fluidity and plunged it straight through the stricken Tuamphetamine parrote’s heart chambers.

Vahe spared Ara another glance, his features suddenly aglow with relief. “Ara, my friend. Remember always that an elegant blade may kill an opponent beautifully. Remember now that a ruthless and merciless blade may not only kill one opponent unceremoniously, but many more and in quick succession.”

Vahe indicated the battlefield in an all-inclusive gesture. He sighed audibly. “This is not the duelist’s circle that we met in several years ago.”

Another hail of arrows descended upon the melee. Vahe visibly flinched from an arrowhead embedding itself in the skull of an Old Myrian Knight, dressed for battle as Ara was. He shook his head once in regret as the knight toppled where he stood.     

Ara frowned as he watched the Immortal spasm once, then grow eerily still. He turned back to Vahe. “You need not remind me. I desire to be here as much as you do, which is not at all, judging from the sorry state of your armor.” He gestured with a point of his chin toward Vahe’s battered, scarred, and partially scorched scalemail.

Ara managed a sliver of a smile. “How do you keep your hair so perfect and your armor so abused?”

Vahe pitched his head back and laughed, and Ara could tell that he hated himself for doing so. “This is not the time for your foolish banter!” He half-chortled, half-bellowed at Ara. “I don’t know, perhaps my foes have come to respect it more than the rest of my person?

“Enough about that, though, Nishan summoned you and I, Ara. He thinks this will be the final push to storm…” Vahe spared a glance over his shoulder and pointed in the direction of Tu’shik’s western gate. Ara followed the point of his finger toward the dust shrouded pile of still crumbling debris where the breach opened in the wall. “Into Tu’shik itself and claim the lower districts scattered around the Qar Garden District.”

Ara glanced around him and found the lingering traces of a battle in sharp decline. As foe after foe was struck down by the combined arms of the Old Myrian Knights and the Carth Republic’s forces, Ara confidently counted a couple hundred out of the thousands of men they had sent into the teeth of the enemy’s fortifications hale enough to continue the fight..

Most of the survivors ranked among the forces of Old Myria.

A ghastly and grizzled voice called out to them from someone who quickly approached. Ara turned on his heel to face the visage of a man irrevocably scarred by war. Great scars criss-crossed from one corner of his face to the next, those in turn deepened with lesser scars far after the original ones had healed over. A gently shut eyelid, crossed over by a roughly healed scar concealed the ruined eye that kept it permanently sealed.

Nishan the Scarred Child lifted his arms in a gesture of greeting. “Ara. Vahe. Victory at last belongs to the Republic and this hellish battlefield is ours to claim. The Children of the Sun are not long for this world. A generous reward for those who would support tyranny and deceit, and desire to collapse our proud republic from within.”

Ara frowned deeply at Nishan’s words. “Slay a tyrant, certainly… but this ceaseless flogging of innocents that do not share this Sun-Caller’s ambition irks me to no end, Nishan. Every warlord we have toppled, their cities and their populaces are not spared the Republic's sword. Every siege is the same and it never changes. Why do the Sages that rule your republic fear their own citizens?”

Nishan scoffed, then grimaced. “If Old Myria even cares, then why doesn’t your Autumn Queen merely force my hand and command an end to all this? From what I remember, the Dominion’s End Decree was partially her idea.”

Ara shrugged. “This is your republic’s war, Nishan. Old Myria is only here to help you secure victory in whichever way you see fit… doesn’t mean we’ll respect your methods when it's all said and done. Truthfully, I find them as distasteful and hideous as your scars, old friend.”

Nishan pitched his head back and chortled. “Well, that doesn’t mean I cannot respect two warriors of legend. Ara of Annahir and Vahe of Grand Damira…” He searched the battlefield as the last traces of war cries fell silent. Something caught his eyes toward the western gate. “Look, Old Myria’s standards billow over Tu’shik’s walls. Her defenses have fallen.

“It is time.” Nishan affirmed them with a nod. “The final assault shall commence and soon. Come, let us retreat to the commander’s tent and share a reprieve… Tu’shik has nowhere else to go in the meantime.”

Before Ara could utter another retort, the Scarred Child took his leave of them and marched in the direction of the sprawling encampment built along the other side of the Seventh River’s banks.

Ara grimaced, then sheathed his weapon and slung his shield. He cast a quick glance in Vahe’s direction and lowered his voice. “Did you hear him speak of tyranny, Vahe? He boasts about the republic’s morals as he buries half of Carth’s entire realm in shallow graves and ruins that crumble to their foundations.”

Vahe sighed with a brief nod. “Only one thing is certain about this war, Ara. The Republic of Carth has entered her final days. I fear the collapse of these warlords shall only hasten her demise. But this is not the place for such talk. Let’s follow Nishan and recuperate a little with the men. Once we have revised our plans for the final assault… we shall make our move under the cover of nightfall.”

Title: Re: The Embers of the Past 2.0 - CH 2- Dominion's Rise - Ara - Scene II
Post by: Myen'Tal on July 15, 2020, 04:30:39 PM
EDIT: Made some additional passes!

NOTE: Feedback from you guys about everything up to this point for the Embers of the Past 2.0 would be greatly appreciated. Just want to know how the story is looking overall to you guys, and if any major story / structure / organization changes need to happen.

Thanks!

EDIT #2: More additional passes! Throughout scene 3: CH 1 and Scene 1-and-2: CH 2

~***~

Ara listened intently to the wind. He heard Nishan’s gentle dirge before the Carthite had even stepped into sight. Vahe stoked the fire pit with a bushel of kindlewood until it belched embers and roared in his ears. An asynchronous choir of ancient war songs slurred beyond recognition from the throats of drunken men lilted into the night.

Beyond the fragile atmosphere of victorious celebration, he listened to the shrill cries of blades being sharpened on whetstones. The hammers of blacksmiths striking battered and broken armor back into some semblance of former glory. The distant screams of the wounded on their sick beds.

Ara searched the eyes of the warriors scattered around the campfires nearest him. Hidden within their vulgar displays of mirth, he witnessed in each of them the sheer dread of perhaps being the next men called to storm Tu’shik’s defenses. A pang of regret pierced his heart, for he considered their sorry state.

Ara knew all of them would perish in the fires of battle. The sad truth was that they had already defeated themselves. There was no man in sight that seemed capable of even raising a blade in their defense as they were now.

Nishan’s grim laughter drew Ara back into focus as the Scarred Child slipped out of the folds of the commander’s pavilion. The Carthite approached Ara and Vahe from behind, then circled around the fire pit to seat himself across from them.

The Scarred Child’s face was lit aglow like some phantasmal demon in the flickering light of the fire. He seated himself on a flattened chair with no back and considered his comrades with a quizzical look.

Nishan lifted his arms in a grand gesture of askance. “Why the dour faces, my brothers? Has the Sun-Caller King sallied forth and stolen your pride as men? Infernal fires, our campaign is about to culminate in total victory and here the two of you sit as if struck by melancholy?” Nishan answered Ara’s look of piqued ire with a nasty grin. “You would think that perhaps it’s your own city that is on the verge of annihilation."

Vahe laughed without mirth or humor. “It was only four years ago. Until these twelve warlords rose up from the ashes of the Desecration and delivered the western kingdoms from imminent annihilation. If you weren’t so shortsighted, Scarred Child, I’m certain the old coalition in Khios would still be in a time of well earned peace.

“But your sword-arm seems far keener than your mind. You test your mettle on your own people and leave their works in ruin. Is this truly for the republic you’ve sworn yourself to?”

Nishan’s laughter withered in his throat like a fruit grown rotten upon a tree branch. To his credit, the Scarred Child did not shirk from the accusation or hang his head in shame. Instead, he considered Vahe’s rebuke even as his voice grew grave and foreboding.

Nishan did not reveal his displeasure at the accusations, but instead smirked ever so slightly. He heaved his shoulders even as he addressed Vahe’s concerns. “Leave matters of statecraft and diplomacy to the Soothsayers and Wisemen, I say. You’re not speaking to such a man of your own elegance and flourish, Damirite.

“Here before you is only a Child of Carth, irrevocably scarred by the swords of my own kinsmen - the very same you idolize. And loyalty is the reason I am scarred so horrifically. What does it mean to these warlords and tyrants both of you are so quick to honor as heroes of old?”

Nishan gestured toward them with a point of his chin. “Gaze around you. These warlords were quick to spare your own kingdoms from the threat of war on your own soil. Yet none of them were ever so hasteful to deliver Carth from the ravages of the eastern powers. The Republic burned for years before even one of those pretender tyrants received an inkling in their head to rise up and join the fight.”

Vahe gestured toward Ara, though his eyes remained settled on Nishan. “Say, Ara, good friend of mine… Is there ever a time to rise into power when those who still reign remain alive?”

Nishan addressed Vahe again before Ara could signal his friend to hold his tongue. “Heed my words, Damirite, for the Scarred Child earned his name on the Crimson Bluffs. He was the Shield of Shyria in the Kindlestone Mountains. He was the Wrath of Sirius that cut through the Qi Steppes. He too was the Defender of the Republic that fought beside these warlords in Carth’s darkest hour.”

Ara considered Vahe’s question, but made no obvious gesture of agreement. “That alone would stem from many factors. I’d not doubt Nishan’s word, Vahe. I know he was there in the days of the Desecration’s inception.” He signaled for Nishan to continue his tale. “I know because I was there at the Crimson Bluffs on the day you earned your first scars. I too fought at the Kindlestone mountains where you lost your eye, remember? Though I’ll confess that I never set foot upon the Qi Steppes and faced the barbarous tribes that dwell there.”

Vahe became as silent as an abandoned grave.

Nishan’s good eye fluttered from weariness. “I’ll forgive you for such a trivial sin, Ara. Think nothing of it, brother.” Reminiscence stole him away into a past that Ara could not see. “The Desecration soon ran its course, as one of you certainly knows. The war of our time faded into the annals of history. The end.”

Vahe became suddenly animated as he searched the encampment for any who shared his puzzled expression. “Are you so certain this is the end of that tale? All of Carth still seems to burn before my eyes. You did not address my point about not sparing your own citizens the sword in either case.”

Nishan bristled and to his credit, kept himself from verbally flogging Vahe into shame.
“No Child of the Sun is kindred to me or the Republic of Carth. They do not share the ideas of my kin nor their values or traditions. You’ve seen the reaction of these cities, Ara. You know of the answer they gave onto the Republic’s forces when asked to surrender their tyrannical lords.

“Carth has always endured as the bastion of civilization since her fledgling years. A domain of the Sage and Scholar and a realm of free thought and prosperity.

“She is the crown jewel of all Khios. Tu'shik - the Grand City of Canals. The One Hundred Temples of Shyria. The Seven Great Libraries of the State of - now transformed into the horror of the Cursed Labyrinths of Zar'bau. These are all works - aside from the defilement of the great libraries - created by the hands of entire Carthite generations. What kindred of mine would wrench centuries’ old works from out of the hands of the many to call them their own?

“The only brothers and sisters that I see are those who have taken onto the field with me under the Republic’s banners.

“No Vahe.” Nishan suddenly surged onto his feet. His voice became sonorous with impassioned wrath. “You speak of witches and delusioned warrior-priests arising into power from out of the ashes of those who had already sacrificed everything for the sake of victory. You speak of enigmatic cowards that marched through the gates of our greatest cities and seized them for their own ambitions of building empires.

“Their dangerous ideas of dissent and anarchy spread like wild-fires across mountain valleys. Their words of promise and threat strike terror in the hearts of the masses till they celebrate at the madness of proposed tyranny and fanatical worship of their new found saviors.”

Vahe smiled sadly. “Do you think that crushing these misguided souls into the scorched earth shall truly scatter these ideals to the four winds? They shall only take root elsewhere with such tactless disregard for the lives you’re wanting to forever change. Whether that be by ending them or letting them flee to the four corners of the world. Making martyrs of the unfortunates you choose to make examples of shall only exacerbate the Republic’s quandary.”

All of the rage fled from out of Nishan’s chest and he visibly deflated from the rebuke.
Nishan acknowledged Vahe with a begrudged nod. “You impress me with such an elegant counter to my opinion, Damirite. I did not think you had that in you. But your home is famous for such passionate elegance. I would never have expected a warrior of your caliber to sally forth out of its gates.”
 
                Nishan shrugged. “Despite what you have said, all of the wisemen that still reign in these days of our fragile republic have disowned the Children of the Sun, and the Children of Shyria, and all of those poor wretches given over to chains in Zar’bau.

“They think it better to put these dangerous ideas to the sword and harvest them from the very roots of their corruption. So they called upon the Scarred Child, their only champion. So for the fate of the Republic I've always known… I cast down these tyrants, spit on their citizens, and stamp out their incendiary ideals.”

Nishan’s wicked grin returned as he craned his head in the direction of the City of the Sun, and watched the flames continue to rage unabated. He suddenly swiveled back to Ara and Vahe.

“You’ve witnessed the hand of the Sages’ retribution.” Nishan continued. “You’ve witnessed the brilliance of their sword, set aflame with the Solar God’s wrath! The Children of the Sun think themselves righteous of cause and unwavering of mind… see them scattered on the wind as embers spewed from their city’s demise!”

Vahe cursed under his breath and rolled his eyes in resignation. “As my friend, Ara, stated himself: You continue to speak of the Republic’s morals, Nishan, while half of your realm burns by your own hand, their citizens put to death in the shallow graves of their ruined homes. Old Myria only fights with you because the Autumn Queen does not understand the Republic’s intent and insists on granting you aid. Once she hears of what’s happened here at Tu’shik, Shyria, and Zar’bau, there shall be reprimands of great consequences.” Vahe mocked him. “But by all means, go ahead and think of yourself the last righteous savior of the republic.”

Nishan shook his head. “I care not for either of your opinions on the matter. Or I would have had all of you Myrites slain in your beds while you slept for the night. But a commander does not refuse aid for a republic in need.

“Whatever your judgements, Carth abides by the Dominion’s End Decree and so do all of the western kingdoms. Report and complain if you want, I have done no wrong throughout this campaign. 

“Carth shall not abide tyranny, submission, or subjugation. A man who would shackle others to his will, shall be fed only the blade. A woman who would forsake her own people for the promise of power both limitless and sublime, shall be crucified. Any warrior who would swear loyalty to those who forsake their countrymen, shall have their bodies broken on the field of battle…

“That is the way of Carth, my brothers. So, cast your judgements aside or return to your queen with your tails between your legs. Midnight is nearly upon us and the hour that we raze Tu'shik to the ground is at hand. Despite my confidence, I know it shall not be an effortless assault. Ara and Vahe, know that I respect your courage and valor in matters of war… and also the fierce spirit of your hearts. Know that both of you are still my brothers and that I'll be relying on Old Myria to eliminate threats that the Republic’s forces may be inexperienced in dealing with.

“Be forewarned… the Children of the Sun are said to possess fiery mystics among their number, famous for their innate ability to harness Sirius’ wrath. Are you ready?”

Vahe proclaimed. “The Annahir Immortals shall not perish in the fires of war tonight. It is our sworn oath to wither from old age, rather than the blades of our enemies. The Children of the Sun may do their worst. I know I questioned you, Nishan, but know that I am with you in dethroning the tyrants. I only have concerns about your methods. But I’ll let Queen Hazan take that issue to the Council of Sages. For now, we fight ever onward.”

Ara nodded swiftly. “We have a special unit equipped to deal with sorcery in any guise. You need not worry about us, Scarred Child. Just protect that face from becoming uglier.”
Nishan tilted his head back and bellowed with laughter.

Ara nodded, this time with finality. “Let Tu’shik fall tonight, brothers. Let the Children of the Sun grow cold in their hearts at the sound of the wolves howling at their gates!”

Title: Re: The Embers of the Past 2.0 - CH 2- Dominion's Rise - Ara - Scene 3.5 WIP
Post by: Myen'Tal on July 17, 2020, 11:13:47 PM

    Ara found himself once again on the abandoned battlefield at the foot of Tu'shik's ruined walls. Behind him, the armies of the Carth Republic amassed on the banks of the Seventh River.

Aside from the cries of leaders and their subordinates organizing the ranks into formation, Ara could not help but shiver from the disquiet emanating from the countless slain left on the scorched earth.

The City of the Sun-Caller Kings burned from endless fires. Ara took in the sight of billowing smoke clouds and the tsunami of unchecked infernos spreading across the breadth of an entire district. Were it not for the natural barriers provided by the canals, the ruinous flames would have consumed half of the city by midnight.

Nishan’s voice crept from out of the frozen wind. His presence was preceded by the neighing of his warhorse. “Are you nervous, Ara? The fate of Tu’shik shall be decided on the moment of our commitment. Either the city is razed to the ground or all of us shall perish amidst the flames, I feel.”

Ara folded his arms and craned his head upward to stare Nishan in his good eye. He considered the question and shrugged.

Ara replied with an honest answer. “I worry for my brother, Aslan. For myself? The Tuamphetamine parrotes shall come to fear the howl of the wolf and the strike of his fangs.  I am not fearful."

Nishan nodded. “Good, for you would fear for nothing then, if that is your only concern. Aslan mirrors many of your qualities, being your twin brother. He remains a Lion of War as you remain the Lone Wolf. That is all that separates the two of you in terms of potential.

"I swear upon the Goddess of Omens - Jumanah and her crescent moon, I’ve never had such prodigious wards to groom into command. You brothers certainly live up to the legend of your namesakes."

Ara continued to watch the crumbled walls of Tu’shik. He knew that Nishan could not see his slight smile under the cover of darkness.

Ara shrugged. “Your praise is appreciated, Scarred Child, but enough about my elder brother and I. The quicker we storm the Qin District, the quicker we can provide him support. Once we meet behind Tu’shik’s walls and combine our forces, Old Myria shall keep her promise and aid you in reaching the Royal Palace.

“Then this Sun-Caller King shall be cast off his throne and his crown sundered. Once we strike him down, the Children of the Sun shall scatter and perish in the fires of their burning city… though I also fear that this whole siege has progressed too effortlessly.”

Nishan rattled with laughter. He pulled on the reins of his horse till it circled around to face the Republic’s armies. He pointed down the length of his ranks, only visible in the torchlight held aloft by one in every ten warriors of the Republic.

The one-eyed warrior bellowed over the cries of his officers. His voice was a booming dirge in the vicious wind. “Warriors of our calibre should never surrender to the likes of dread and terror! These emotions are only weapons of war! Have we not mastered them as immaculately as the sword and spear, shield and bow, horse and rider?

Nishan swiveled his head to stare every warrior in the first rank before him directly in the eye. “What is the matter, Sons of Carth? Have the Tuamphetamine parrotes stolen your spines?” His laughter returned in hearty peals reminiscent of thunder cracking open the skies. “Gaze upon the conquered walls of Tu’shik, my kindred! Gaze and see that it is not us who tremble!"

Nishan’s mount moved restlessly underneath him. He gently stroked the ebony stallion’s stormy mane even as he pointed toward the City of the Sun-Caller Kings.

He continued. “Warriors of Carth, can you not see that you have broken the backs of the Children of the Sun? Do you not see that the strength of your sword arms has overcome your foe and laid them quite low?

“Your enemy does not believe in turning their backs to a worthy foe! Your enemy does not kneel! Your enemy does not submit! Sons of Carth should expect no less, for no quarter or respite was given!"

The Scarred Child beat upon his chest until the gesture began to ripple across the Republic's ranks. “What is there to be frightened of, when you have already outmatched their zealous steel? What more could they hope to punish us with? Death? Is such a reprieve from existence so terrible a fate? Perhaps we may never feast and drink in this world again, but the Gods shun those who shirk the reward of destiny!

“Let them not find us wanting!” Nishan screamed over the deafening barrage of hateful war cries. “Break the traitors on the grinding wheel of total war! Crucify the dead and spare no Tuamphetamine parrote the bite of your swords! The Republic triumphs one last time, and all of this madness comes to an end! For Carth,  sound the horns! One last effort to overwhelm them!”
                   
 A clarion call signaled the charge across the thousands gathered for the purpose of war and conquest. Ara unsheathed his sword and ran headlong in the direction of Tu'shik and her sworn defenders. Around him, the ranks shattered into a momentous charge and the wrath of the Republic was unleashed.


~***~
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past 2.0 - CH 2- Dominion's Rise - Ara - Scene 3.5 WIP
Post by: Myen'Tal on July 19, 2020, 11:30:49 PM
Hey guys, wanted to update you that the round of previews for The Embers of the Past 2.0 is coming to a close until I'm into at least Act 2. Can't share everything, can I ;D? However, let me say that I appreciate every lurker that has continued to come by time again to read the updates. Your views are really the only way to show that there's interest in TEOTP.

I think interest is growing :D. I'll likely share one more scene from Aslan before I start locking the content gates and start doubling down on the writing!

As always, I appreciate the comments from the few of you that do :). I understand that sometimes giving comments can feel like it's discouraging someone if it's critical in nature, I but enjoy reading your guys' feedback regardless, and it helps me continue to strive for bettering myself :).

Cheers, guys, here is the next scene!


Prologue - Aslan


Aslan listened to the crash of a hundred oars cycling in and out of the placid waterways. The sound deafened him like waves broken upon a shoreline's cliffs. Stowed away in the deep holds of the Emerald Siren, the sensation of the cargo vessel swaying upon placid waters made him feel ill at ease.

    An intrusive voice disturbed Aslan’s concentration and returned him to the waking world. He listened intently on the distant murmurings.

Aslan considered the dingy interior of the Emerald Siren and reflected on his life’s decisions. He looked over the slaves chained by their wrists and forced onto their knees in the cargo hold.  Dim candlelight cascaded through the grated ceiling above them, suddenly interrupted by passing shadows. In that precious light, he saw that all of them were young women from Tu’shik’s neighboring cities.

All of them had turned their teary eyes to where he stood vigilant in the cargo hold’s corner at some point or another. He offered them a smile of reassurance, but did nothing more as the cargo vessel continued toward its destination.

Aslan finally offered them some true measure of solace. “It will be alright.”
The voices spiked in volume and proximity the moment the doors into the hold were thrown open with a deafening clang.

“Mark my words, Avedis.” A Tuamphetamine parrote - one of the children of the fabled City of the Sun,
marched down the dozen stairs into the cargo hold. “One of the brothers is stealing supplies and a lot of it for only one man.”

A broad shouldered man, garbed in robes of cream beneath a suit of chainmail and that of crimson layered over it, considered his fellow’s words.

Avedis shrugged as he swaggered into the hold after his comrade. “Are you certain you’re not mismanaging resources? Whether the Council of Sages confesses it or not, there’s a civil war raging in Carth. I’d not be surprised if one merchant or another slighted you of your promised supplies.”
 
  His comrade scoffed, unconvinced. “If any merchant would have slighted me anything, Avedis, it would have been these women.” He recounted the number of slaves locked in the hold with a flick of his eyes. “None of what I requested is missing. No, I’m certain someone aboard the Emerald Siren is stealing out of the mouths of my sailors. You know our mantra…”
 
  Avedis sighed. “Children of the Sun never shun their burdens, nor do they punish their brethren with deceit.”
 
   The nameless Tu’amphetamine parrote who appeared to be the shipmaster, raised a clenched fist at Avedis in frustration. “Whoever is responsible must be crucified once found. Lessons must be learned.”

    Aslan chortled at the statement and rounded the pillar that concealed him. He pointed toward them with his chin the moment both Carthites swiveled their gazes in his direction.

Aslan confessed. “You should prepare your crucifix for me, then, shipmaster. For I too am guilty for murder and espionage.”

The shipmaster unconsciously drew his blade in alarm. He screamed at Avedis even as he unslung the shield protecting his back.

“Infernal fir-”

Aslan watched Avedis seize the shipmaster by the chin, force his head toward the grated ceiling, and ram the length of a drawn dagger straight through the side of his captive’s neck. Avedis twisted the dagger so that he could slice out the rest of the shipmaster’s throat. An arterial spray of blood sprinkled the frightened slaves, who screamed at the brutal display of violence.

Avedis shoved the shipmaster’s corpse face-first into the floorboards. He then looked back to Aslan and executed a graceful bow.

“Well played, Avedis.” Aslan acknowledged. He listened to the urgent cries following the disturbance of the shipmaster’s murder. “I would not linger here a moment longer. Give the signal and unleash the wolves!”

“Your command is my sworn oath, Aslan.” Avedis affirmed. “The signal was already given. We’ll come back and unshackle the chains of these women once we’ve secured the vessel.”
A storm of war cries raged within the Emerald Siren. The Children of the Sun suddenly found themselves assailed and cornered. The clamor of steel on steel echoed through the ship’s every nook and crevice.

Aslan brushed past Avedis, and heard his hurried footsteps follow him up the stairs. A warrior of Carth suddenly barred his path as he climbed the final stair. An arrow whistled from a concealed corner and struck the Carthite in his right temple. Aslan shouldered the corpse aside. He did not pause to watch it sprawl across the blood slick floorboards.
 
  Aslan emerged into an anarchic melee that raged throughout the halls and cabins of the crew quarters. Warriors dressed in the same cream and crimson robes as that of the Children of the Sun, marked themselves as Aslan’s allies by the lavender bands of silk cloth tied around their wrists.
 
  Casualties had already mounted to the point that Aslan waded through the thick of the slain. The dead were sprawled about the hall at odd angles or either slumped against the walls. As Aslan passed the first series of cabins, he noticed the still form of Tuamphetamine parrote warriors slain in their beds.
 
   As quick as the fighting escalated, so too did it fall into a permanent lull of silence. Aslan paused and found himself between either end of the crew quarters. Around him, warriors marked with lavender bands on their wrists waded through the thick of the dead. A few Carthite stragglers lingered in the waking world still, but Aslan did not need to mention them. The Knights of Old Myria put them down with grace and finality.
 
  “Avedis!” Aslan called out into the fragile void of quiet. The heavy footfalls of armored boots answered his call. The Lion turned to look Avedis directly in the eye. “How many do you think are left on the deck?”

    Avedis sighed and made several calculations within the span of a moment. “The alarm was sounded, Aslan. When the crew quarters were considered lost, the Children of the Sun would have chosen to make a last stand on the deck or within the Shipmaster’s quarters. I imagine a dozen souls were already above deck, and those who survived the slaughter here retreated to join them.”
 
  Avedis nodded to affirm his own estimations. “Probably twenty warriors await us up there. Give the command and I’ll see them thrown overboard with swords buried in their chests.”
 
  Aslan shook his head. He gestured toward the corpses strewn about the crew quarters. “No. Select ten men and clean all of this up. I would hate myself to have those women in the cargo hold endure another horrifying sight. I know it’s much to ask of a warrior, but… consider it a favor to be returned.”
 
  Avedis grimaced. “As long as you don’t mind us throwing them through the nearest hole we can find in this rat-infested and unkempt bucket. I’ll do as you expect of me, my Lord.” He considered the absent words Aslan never detailed. “I’ll wrangle you from the afterlife if you fall on a Tuamphetamine parrote’s sword.”
 
   Aslan smirked faintly and struck his chest once in salute. “A lion of war does not fall prey to the hawk.” He called several Old Myrian knights by glance and gesture alone. One by one, each of the lavender-touting warriors rallied around him.

    Aslan turned back to the route before him as Avedis and his retinue set about their grim task. He lifted his voice enough so that each member of his newly organized team heard him. “Immortals of Annahir, you understand what must be done. Once we’re upon the deck, strike first, strike hard, and crush the foe before they even think of lifting a finger in their defense. Fall into formation behind me.”
 
   The seven knights struck their chest once in salute. The combined might of their war cries made the floorboards around them creak and shudder. “For the Autumn Queen, Annahir, and Old Myria!”
 
   Aslan pressed onward in silence through the site of a massacre executed by his own hand. Though he had done so for Avedis, the young prodigal Lion of War could not find it in him to celebrate, let alone even smile at his triumph. He kept his gaze fixated in front of him, but could not stem the sickening feeling that welled within his gut.

    He wanted to bend over, then expel his bowels, then find the nearest port window and repeat the action. Yet Aslan knew that a Lion never shows weakness in the presence of kin, lest they think him weak and attempt to rival against his strength.
 
   The double doors barring the path onto the Emerald Siren’s deck appeared discreet and untampered with. If anyone had survived the ambush in the crew quarters long enough to barge through the cedar wood doors, they had slammed the door shut with no intention of locking it.
 
   Aslan sighed and approached the half dozen stairs that led up to the doorway. He whispered to himself. “Why I am not surprised. The Children of the Sun long for our sacrifices. They would avenge themselves rather than cower in their Shipmaster’s quarters.”
 
  Aslan unslung a broad round shield that hung over the small of his back. A heavy defensive weapon crafted from tempered reinforced wood compacted in several layers, then reinforced with a trimming of bluish-white veined steel. He readied his scimitar, the edge of the blade still pristine and unsullied with either gore or blood.
 
  Without a word, the Old Myrian Knights fell into a compact formation at Aslan’s back. Shields interlocked across their flanks, they grounded themselves for a sudden sprint through the double doors and onto the deck.
 
  Aslan exchanged nods of readiness with all of them, then stepped forward and slammed the bulk of his shield into the door with force enough that anyone above deck would have heard it. A moment of disquiet descended upon the Emerald Siren.
 
    He listened to the crash of the oars upon the waves. He heard the gust of wind billowing from the Valkyr’s Sea in the east. He felt the Emerald Siren rock gently in the wind until he thought that certainly the cargo ship would finally capsize.
 
  Whispers of the Tuamphetamine parrote language were scarcely audible from the deck behind the crew quarter doors. He heard curt phrases that sounded vicious, but Aslan could not make out their meaning.
 
  A fragile disquiet settled on either end of the door. Aslan heard only the faintest, quickest breaths feed the intensity clinging to the breezy sea air.
 
  Aslan spared a glance over his shoulder toward the Myrites positioned at his back. He mouthed a countdown that would spring their assault.
 
   Three… two… one.
 
   “Annahir!” Aslan roared at pique volume, then smashed the unbarred doors above him aside with an irresistible swing of his shield.

    Dazzling rays of the midday sun cascaded through the broken cellar doors. Aslan found himself blinded by the golden radiance of Sirius - the Solar God. He could scarcely perceive the dark shafts hurtling past him even as they impacted against the bulwark of Old Myrian shields. He felt a presence of reassurance pushing him forward until he emerged from out of the dim interiors of the Emerald Siren and into a world of sunlight and misty breezes.

The chants of three hundred oarsmen and the synchronous crash of their oars into the waterway uplifted Aslan’s spirit and granted him an unnerving calm. 
 
   His vision quickly refocused until it clarified the hazy outlines of ten Tuamphetamine parrote warriors interlocked in a shield wall. He lifted his shield and hunkered behind its impregnable protection, then charged forward under a constant hail of javelins. He heard several war cries shouted at his back and the footfalls of his knights overtaking him.
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past 2.0 - Prologue - Dominion's Rise - Aslan - Scene I
Post by: Alienscar on July 20, 2020, 05:03:37 AM
I understand that sometimes giving comments can feel like it's discouraging someone if it's critical in nature, I but enjoy reading your guys' feedback regardless, and it helps me continue to strive for bettering myself :).

Unfortunately/fortunately (dependant on your point of view) I have been back in work these last few weeks, so I don't have time to comment like I have been.

Hey guys, wanted to update you that the round of previews for The Embers of the Past 2.0 is coming to a close until I'm into at least Act 2. Can't share everything, can I ;D?

NOTE: Feedback from you guys about everything up to this point for the Embers of the Past 2.0 would be greatly appreciated. Just want to know how the story is looking overall to you guys, and if any major story / structure / organization changes need to happen.

So just wondering are you posting this story in chronological order, or are you still just posting random snippets of scenes taken from the chapters? If it is still just snippets then feedback on the structure of your story is impossible.

I haven't got time for my usual line by line feedback, but here are some quick items that stand out.

He shook his head once in regret as the corpse toppled over where it stood.    
Ara frowned as he watched the corpse spasm once, then become lifeless. He turned back to Vahe.

As I have commented on before a corpse by its very definition is lifeless. So a corpse can neither become more lifless nor complete an action.


He gripped his moderate buckler tight across his chest and prepared to receive the Tuamphetamine parrote’s charge.

The grizzled Tuamphetamine parrote fell upon him like a great bear. The warrior whirled his spiked maul around his head and brought it down in one momentous and crushing blow toward the base of Ara’s skull.

The Tuamphetamine parrote followed in pursuit, the momentum in his maul threatening to crush Ara’s skull still.

A luminescent arc sliced through the rapidly cooling desert air from the same flank. The war cries pouring out of the Tuamphetamine parrote’s mouth culminated into a shirek of desperate agony - cut brutally short.

He flipped his blade with practiced fluidity and plunged it straight through the stricken Tuamphetamine parrote’s heart chambers.

Something else I have commented on is that if you are using foul language in your writing then always let this sites filter handle it for those reader's that don't won't to see it. I don't have the filter turned on, so I can only imagine that you have written 'Tuamphetamine parrotte' yourself and for me its use doesn’t work. For one thing I can't pick one word that would work in every situation and for another it seems to be a lot of foul language to use.

Because you have capitalised the 'T' I also get the impression that you might be trying to be funny and have tried to invent a new word based on this sites swear filter.
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past 2.0 - Prologue - Dominion's Rise - Aslan - Scene I
Post by: Myen'Tal on July 20, 2020, 06:05:30 AM
EDIT: So, I've put up the latest revisions so far, completed yesterday.

- Hi Alienscar. I don't think I've ever tried to be humorous about something like that before. It's actually not a swear word at all. And no, I'm not manipulating the swear word filter. It's doing it automatically each time I refer to the Children of the Sun by the blanket name associating them with the city of Tu'shik.

Tu-shi-te, I have to use the hyphens in order for it not be flagged. But, remove the hyphens and you have the blanket term that I am using. It's no different than the way I refer to each kingdom's people: Myrites, Sukhanites, Carthites, Kharanites, etc.

It is quite irritating though, since people may end up misunderstanding my intent.

- Aside from the prologue, this is the chronological order. The prologue is the actual start of the story and it's not finished yet.

- Each POV takes place from a different aspect of the siege of Tu'shik.

Aslan - infiltrate the city and secure the maritime district.

Voshki - infiltrate the city, rendezvous with Aslsn in the maritime district, forge a path into the royal palace via the Ancestral Catacombs.

Ara - Aid Nishan in the frontal assault, defeat the garrison and cut a path straight through to thr royal palace.

Erasyl - Defend the Garden District of the Qar nobility. Defeat the Republic's forces before Tu'shik is lost.

Act 1 - Dominion's Rise

- Aslan
- Voshki
- Ara
- Erasyl
- end of act 1 (maybe multiple chapters)

That is the current layout.

Title: Re: The Embers of the Past 2.0 - Prologue - Dominion's Rise - Aslan - Scene I
Post by: Alienscar on July 22, 2020, 04:58:11 AM
And no, I'm not manipulating the swear word filter. It's doing it automatically each time I refer to the Children of the Sun by the blanket name associating them with the city of Tu'shik.

Tu-shi-te, I have to use the hyphens in order for it not be flagged. But, remove the hyphens and you have the blanket term that I am using. It's no different than the way I refer to each kingdom's people: Myrites, Sukhanites, Carthites, Kharanites, etc.

Well that is odd as that is not the way I thought this sites auto-censor works. If you write Tuamphetamine parrote (Tu-shi-ite) then I thought those people like me that select the 'leave word uncensored' option would see the word Tuamphetamine parrote.

Because I am seeing what looks like a censored version of a word this led me to think that you must be writing the words yourself, otherwise I would be seeing the correct uncensored word.

Edit: And as I can now see after I have written Tuamphetamine parrote it is displayed as Tuamphetamine parrote and not  Tuamphetamine parrote, so I can't imagine what is going on at your end.
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past 2.0 - Prologue - Dominion's Rise - Aslan - Scene I
Post by: Myen'Tal on July 22, 2020, 05:05:34 AM
I think I fixed it by turning the 'leave words uncensored' off. So I'll go back and make changes to that. Thanks for pointing that out.
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past 2.0 - Prologue - Dominion's Rise - Aslan - Scene I
Post by: Alienscar on July 22, 2020, 06:51:04 AM
Just a few more thoughts


Quote
The ancient city of the Sun-Caller Kings shined like a precious gem encrusted into a monarch’s crown. The light of the waning sun illuminated the paradisiacal labyrinth till it glimmered like a city of gold and alabaster.

Bustling crowds created from an endless deluge of citizens exiled from the ruin of their homes choked the harbor walkways till they seemed fit to burst.

Infernos raged behind Tu’shik’s compromised fortifications.

Somewhere behind the besieged and crumbling walls of Tu’shik, their quarry remained hidden.

'Inferno's', 'besieged', 'ruin'. These words/sentences create conflict with the first two sentences and it all creates confused imagery.


Quote
The Grand City of Canals; the City of the Sun; Gods’ Labyrinth.

Two names for one place can make sense, but I think three is one too many and starts to cause reader fatigue.

Quote
A font of endless wonders.

This doesn't need to be a separate sentence and as one does't quite work. The whole sentence would work better if you just wrote; 'To most Carthites it is known as the City of the Sun, a font of endless wonders.'

Quote
A great shame for the fate of an entire city of such grandeur to be determined by the dread of an Elder Council.

This sentence is also difficult to read due to its structure.

I think something like; 'It is a shame that the fate of such a grand city is to be determined by fear.' might be better.

 
Quote
wade of saliva

Wad


Quote
Easier spoken than executed.

Easier said than done is a well known and used phrase. By rewriting it you haven't really gained anything, and it is hard to imagine anyone speaking the phrase that you have used.


Quote
desert skies aflame.

A city of canals, a hilly garden district and a desert sky are hard to picture as existing in the same geographical space. It creates a very confusing landscape.

Quote
Voshki’s echoes surged into the refugees that crashed onto every berthed ship in the harbor. She cut through the endless flood without breaking stride. Disheveled wretches had only to glance in her direction to create a natural path for her to tread.
 
Voshki did not deign to conceal her swaggering stride. Raven black boots of boiled leather intentionally stamped the gold and alabaster walkways so that even those difficult of hearing shuffled from out of her path. Amethyst satin robes cushioned beneath her chainmail billowed in the wake of a sudden squall.
 
Distasteful words followed in her wake. Southern Barbarian. Pit Viper.  Sukhanite whore.
 
Elegant reinforced leather -dyed black- shielded her thighs, shoulders, and the upper limits of her arms. She rested a wicked barbed long spear on her shoulder, whose bladed tip was combined with that of a reverse barbed hook. Emblazoned on the front of her cuirass was a Royal Cobra depicted with the shavings of precious stones created by the finest artisans great affluence could hire.
 
Voshki paid the words of the craven horde no heed. She banished them from out of her path by vicious sneer alone. “Out of my path, disowned wretches. Or I’ll have you put down like the destitute dogs you are!”

This part is far too long to just describe Voshki walking down a walkway, and the last paragraph is essentially a repeat of the first.

Quote
Voshki paid the words of the craven horde no heed. She banished them from out of her path by vicious sneer alone. “Out of my path, disowned wretches. Or I’ll have you put down like the destitute dogs you are!”

As she has spoken she plainly had to use more than just a sneer.



Title: Re: The Embers of the Past 2.0 - Prologue - Dominion's Rise - Aslan - Scene 1.5
Post by: Myen'Tal on July 22, 2020, 01:24:46 PM
Hey Alienscar, I'll look over your feedback and start making some changes here before the end of the day. Keep the suggestions coming 8).

EDIT: Feedback Changes made.

Missile after missile impacted on Aegis and shattered from their own momentous force. Aslan lowered the great shield only when the Tuamphetamine parrotes felt so under threat that they unsheathed swords in their defense.

    The Annahir Immortals crashed into the Tuamphetamine parrote shield wall with the force of a battering ram. Aslan smashed the warrior in front of him to the floorboards, Aegis shielding him from retaliation. Around him, the Old Myrian Knights sundered their foe's formation and put the scattered remnants to the sword.

      With a mighty blow, Aslan cleaved his fallen enemy's buckler and shield hand in two. He finished his foe with a vicious cut across his throat.

    A mailed fist lashed out of the melee and struck Aslan on his left temple. The Lion staggered, but quickly ducked under the zealous cleave meant to sever his head. Roaring in frustration, his attacker swept his blade back to strike again.

    Aslan did not attempt to parry the attack, but stepped into the Tuamphetamine parrote’s guard and smashed Aegis into the zealot’s face. He heard the crunch of cartilage, the splatter of blood on Aegis’ studded rivets, and the fracturing of bone. One of the Immortals struck Aslan's assailant through the small of his neck, the spinal cord severed.

  Aslan watched the corpse impact upon the deck with no small amount of surprise. He only realized that the skirmish had ended after several moments of shock. He forced himself to stop reimagining the entire combat in his mind. He looked instead to the Annahir Immortals.
 
   Aslan nodded to himself, pleased, for none of the Immortals were slain in the chaos. He dismissed them with a silent gesture, then went to lean over the railing. Aboard the Emerald Siren, none among the Tuamphetamine parrotes remained in the land of the living.
 
   Aslan gazed out across the serene emerald waters. The grand canal was struck by golden sunlight until it glimmered like an incredible vein of the precious stone itself. He noticed the sight of hundreds of berthed ships - Biremes, Triremes, and even the majestic floating fortresses of Quinqueremes and many more besides.
 
                Galleons, sloops, and hulks from far-flung kingdoms mingled amongst their number. For every anchored ship, Aslan counted another harbor capable of anchoring many more besides.
 
   Aslan expelled the collected breath he didn’t realize he held in his lungs. He witnessed garrison-barracks capable of rivaling many strongholds in the west scattered throughout the endless maze of dockyards. Sentry towers guarded each checkpoint into the death trap of sharpened stakes and wooden palisades that shielded each miniature castle.
 
   Looming over the endless maze of the maritime district, Aslan spied the famous Dam’s Gate that isolated most of the labyrinthine city beyond the already formidable canal-side districts. The great sandstone wall stretched beyond the edge of his peripheral vision, but Aslan knew that the fortification was mere decoration.

The battlements had weathered centuries of seasonal rains to the point that they were compromised in many locations. Instead of repairing the ancient defence, the Tuamphetamine parrotes chose to build great ramparts from their maritime districts to the very heights of the old battlements. This way the maritime district retained access into her neighboring quarters.

Beyond the Dam’s gate, an opulent urban sprawl reminiscent of rolling hills rose into resplendent peaks, only to dip beneath the ancient curtain wall like the mountain valleys of Kindlestone. Aslan gazed upon the mighty settlement and felt dwarfed to the size of a minute insect.

He finally caught sight of a great mountain at the heart of the city. Whether crafted from the hands of men or that of the gods, he could not tell with any certainty. At the foot of the mountain was a great curtain wall of granite, cloaked beneath a fecund and sprawling hanging garden that thrived from the mountain’s foundation all of the way to the very pique of its summit.

The Lion peered closely and made out the architecture of hundreds - perhaps thousands of luxurious Manor-Estates ringed around the mountain in a never-ending spiral that touched the man-made artifice from base to summit. Upon the mountain’s pinnacle was a palace woven from the stuff of the heavens themselves.

Aslan looked upon the city with raven eyes alight with wonder and could not conceal his amazed smile in spite of his slackened jaw. He heard the sound of heavy footfalls approach him from behind. Aslan pried his gaze away for the briefest moment to watch Avedis join him by the railing.

Aslan sobered and killed his sense of wonderment. “I thought I told you to take care of things in the crew quarter?”

Avedis chuckled, then clapped Aslan hard across the broad of his back. “I was until we all heard fighting. I wanted to make sure you hadn’t gotten yourself cornered or worse.” Avedis absorbed the view alongside Aslan. “So we did arrive in the fabled city afterall. Tuamphetamine parrote sailors certainly know their own canals, don’t they?”

Aslan grinned broadly and spread his arms in an all-inclusive gesture. “Tu’shik - the Grand City of the Sun. I’ll confess only to you Avedis, that I never thought we’d really lay eyes on the home of the Sun-Caller Kings. To those who worship Sirius - the Solar God - Tu’shik is holier land than any realm or wilderness in all of Khios continent.”

Avedis chortled. “Would you wish to make an offering to the King of Gods, Aslan? A Lion of War would find much favor beneath his shadow.”

Aslan grimaced in distaste. “Never. You and I, Avedis, have always been children of the moon. That has always been the way of Old Myria. I would not slight Jumanah - the Goddess of Omen in the hour of our victory. Perhaps the victory shall belong to the sons of the Carth Republic. I hope they shall remember that it was Old Myria that stood with them to prevent its collapse. Besides, you know how Tu’shik looks nearer to her western gate. It’s an endless ruin.”

Avedis shrugged. “Several months of constant siege shall do that. That aside, do you know which harbor we’re headed for?”

Aslan shrugged. “The helmsman for the Emerald Siren was born here and is a friend of our enigmatic defector contact. He knows alone where we are headed.”

Avedis shifted to look Aslan in the eye. “Can we trust either of them?”

Aslan shrugged. “Someone with a lot of power in the Carth Republic certainly does. The decision is not mine to make, Avedis. I may be a Lion of War in Old Myria, but to anyone else, I’m a pawn being maneuvered on a chessboard.”

Avedis shook his head. “Learn what you can from the experience. You’ll soon learn everything you need to before Nishan retires you and your brother as his ward. You’ll be your own commander then, maneuvering all of the pawns the Queen grants to your disposal.”

Aslan scoffed. “That is a bleak outlook and make no mistake. I won’t be commanding obedient pawns, Avedis, but men of Old Myria. I’ll never dispose of them unless it’s absolutely necessary and beyond my control.”

Avedis sighed. “You’ll be commanding thousands, Aslan. You cannot save everyone. It’s what you do with the power and lives given to you, that can truly change the future of entire civilizations. But you’ll learn that lesson upon a day. For now, we learn a different type of lesson.”

Aslan’s expression turned stony, but he chose to keep his opinion silent.

Avedis pretended not to notice. He said. “Come, commander, we still have those women to unshackle in the cargo hold. Then we must discuss our strategy for when the Emerald Siren docks. We’ll have to tread carefully once we’re off the ship and in the maritime district.”

Aslan nodded. “Of course… though I only hope our defector friend doesn’t have any second thoughts, and betray us before we’ve even begun.”
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past 2.0 - Prologue: Dominion's Rise - 1st Scene
Post by: Alienscar on July 23, 2020, 11:30:23 AM
Quote
Bustling crowds created from an endless deluge of citizens exiled from the ruin of their homes choked the harbor walkways till they seemed fit to burst. Foreign emissaries and their retinues expelled back to their homelands. Affluent nobles of the Qar caste commandeering entire caravans to transport their amassed wealth and luxuries to distant lands. Warriors from across the realms of the Carth Republic amassed to storm the City of the Sun’s walls.

Quote
“Easier said than done.” Anoush pointed with her chin toward the myriad of siege engines arrayed against Tu’shik’s defenses. “The siege is reaching the zenith of violence.”

Voshki followed her Second’s gaze and took in the sight of warriors in their hundreds scaling Tu’shik's walls. Whether by ladder or siege tower, scores of the republic’s warriors were already on the battlements, locked in a brutal struggle to overcome the defenders.

I am struggling with some of the imagery being described in the first scene, and the paragraphs above hopefully show why.

I find the image of a city under siege and 'bustling crowds' to be at odds with each other. That is, the image of a bustling crowd and a busy harbour does not match my image of a city under siege, or even a city at war.
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past 2.0 - Prologue - Dominion's Rise - Aslan - Scene 1.5
Post by: Myen'Tal on July 23, 2020, 03:15:45 PM
I did not depict it very well, but consider Tu'shik's maritime district as a demilitarized zone established within the Republic's foothold within Tu'shik. Refugees that manage to reach the Maritime District are considered defectors by the Republic's armies and granted quarter. This is because the citizens fleeing from their besieged home before it is conquered will have no chance to return, and the Children of the Sun will no longer be considered an established civilization. Or  that is what the Sages who reign in the Republic believe once the survivors are scattered to the four winds.

The maritime district is bustling and full because there is an endless stream of panicked citizens wanting to escape the siege on the nearest ship they can board.

I will work on establishing that connection the next time I'm able to work on this.

Let me know if you have any opinions or additional questions on the above information.
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past 2.0 - Prologue - Dominion's Rise - Aslan - Scene 1.5
Post by: Alienscar on July 23, 2020, 03:54:02 PM
Traditionally once a siege has started the opportunity for besieged inhabitants to leave has passed and this is why I find your imagery slightly at odds with my image of a siege. It is not really much of a siege if people can leave freely whilst the siege is being enacted.
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past 2.0 - Prologue - Dominion's Rise - Aslan - Scene 1.5
Post by: Myen'Tal on July 24, 2020, 08:43:46 AM
Traditionally once a siege has started the opportunity for besieged inhabitants to leave has passed and this is why I find your imagery slightly at odds with my image of a siege. It is not really much of a siege if people can leave freely whilst the siege is being enacted.

I'm thinking you are correct on this. I'll work on these changes as well.
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past 2.0 - Prologue - Dominion's Rise - Aslan - Scene 1.5
Post by: Myen'Tal on July 26, 2020, 12:54:25 AM
So I've made some more passes to further reflect feedback and also made some changes on my end.

So the big thing is that the dockyards of Tu'shik are now depicted as abandoned and silent throughout all of the scenes and their respective chapters now.

Also, I've made changes to reflect that most of the bloodshed and damage from the siege is centered around Tu'shik's western gate and the district there.

Re-worded / simplified some awkward sentences, focused mainly on Aslan's chapter, but changes were made throughout each chapter.
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past 2.0 - Prologue - Dominion's Rise - Aslan - Scene 1.5
Post by: Dread on July 27, 2020, 03:10:23 AM
"Tuamphetamine parrote’" What is this?

I've enjoyed most of the reading and read thru Alienscar's advice. Not understanding if this is what your calling them or a mistake on your writing program.

Also reading this has helped me escape real life for a bit, this I thank you for tremendously.



Title: Re: The Embers of the Past 2.0 - Prologue - Dominion's Rise - Aslan - Scene 1.5
Post by: Myen'Tal on July 27, 2020, 08:29:05 AM
Hi Dread, the forum censor is playing havoc with that particular word. If you turn off your forum censor temporarily, you'll see the actual name.

It is Tu-Shi-te, I put the hyphens in there so that the censor does not filter it.

Tu-shi-te is a blanket term that refer to those who hail from Tu'shik. I don't know, starting to think that I may need to change it to something less confusing.

Also I'm glad my writing can provide some bit of respite, Dread :). Appreciate the kind words.
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past 2.0 - Prologue - Dominion's Rise - Aslan - Scene 1.5
Post by: Alienscar on July 28, 2020, 06:41:49 AM
I don't start work until 13:30 today, so I thought I would offer a bit of quick feedback.

Voshki

Quote
“Tu’shik. The Grand City of Canals.”

The description of the city shouldn't be separated from its name because as a separate sentence it does not work. Tu'shik, the Grand City of Canals would be better.

Quote
The ancient city of the Sun-Caller Kings shined like a precious gem encrusted into a monarch’s crown.

'encrusted' and 'into' are opposites so this sentence is hard to read. Encrusted means to cover something with a hard surface layer.

'The ancient city of the Sun-Caller Kings shined like a gem encrusted crown' Note that I dropped 'precious' and 'monarch's' as they are redundant.


Quote
The ancient city of the Sun-Caller Kings shined like a precious gem encrusted into a monarch’s crown. The light of the waning sun illuminated the paradisiacal labyrinth till it glimmered like a city of gold and alabaster. The Garden Districts spiraled high over the dense urban sprawl like the peak of a mountain crafted by the hand of the Gods. Fecund and exotic hanging gardens wreathed the inner walls that shielded the estates of the Qar nobility.

I am not sure about this, but for me there is something off-putting about your constant use of 'similes'. I can't quite put my finger on why, but with three 'similes' in three sentences I get a feeling of deja vu.

Also I feel that as the city is already shining like a gem there is no need for it to glimmer as well as this is essentially a different way of saying the same thing.


Prologue: Dominion's Rise - Scene II

Quote
“Kin of the Black Bane!” Voshki’s clarion call echoed into the haunted emptiness of Tu’shik’s maritime harbors. “Attend your commander’s decree! Spare a moment from preparation and gather around me.”

A clarion call is either a strong request for action, or the sound of a clarion. This is neither.

Also if the harbours are hauntingly empty who is he shouting at?


Dominion's Rise - Scene III

Quote
“Tell me, ferryman.” Voshki listened to the soothing sound of an oar cycling in and out of the canal’s waters. “Did you never think to fortify your raft? We’re headed into the heart of an ongoing siege. This is not one of your romantic tours through the waterways of Tu’shik.”

The sentence 'Voshki listened' is too separate from the rest of the paragraph and it results in conflicting imagery. That is, how can Voshki be listening if he is talking?

Dominion’s Rise - Ara

Quote
Beyond the ruined western gate of Tu’shik, Ara witnessed the nearing end of the Children of the Sun.

This is a bit melodramatic, and doesn't make a lot of sense when taken in context with the rest of the scene. 'Ara witnessed' gives the impression that he is idly observing something, but in the next paragraph it is clear that he is in the middle of a battle.


Quote
Just as the skies burned in the Solar God’s vanishing light, so too were the remains of a centuries' old civilization set aflame till nothing remained. Nothing, but so many embers on the wind.

I have read this a few times, but I still don't understand what it is you are trying to achieve with your simile.

Quote
Ara found himself on the battlefield. He found himself locked in the brutality of total war.

Being on a battlefield implies a war is going on, so these two sentences slow the paragraph as they come across as repeating the same information.

Prologue - Dominion's Rise - Aslan - Scene 1.5

Quote
Impact after impact battered Aegis, Aslan’s great shield.

An impact is the result of one object coming into contact with another. It is not an action.

'Blow after blow (or missile after missile) impacted on Aegis' would be correct.
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past 2.0 - Prologue - Dominion's Rise - Aslan - Scene 1.5
Post by: Myen'Tal on July 28, 2020, 07:57:02 AM
Changes made to reflect the latest round of feedback.
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past 2.0 - Prologue - Dominion's Rise - Aslan - Scene 1.5
Post by: Dread on July 28, 2020, 07:04:09 PM
Ah, got it.  ;)
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past 2.0 - Prologue - Dominion's Rise - Aslan - Scene 1.5
Post by: Alienscar on July 30, 2020, 06:24:04 AM
Prologue - Dominion's Rise - Aslan - Scene 1.5

Quote
Missile after missile impacted on Aegis, Aslan’s great shield. The missiles found no purchase upon its defense and shattered from their own momentous force. Aslan lowered Aegis only when the Tuamphetamine parrotes felt so under threat that they unsheathed swords in their defense.

For several reasons your first paragraph is confused. ‘purchase’ & ‘upon its defence’ don’t really work the way you have tried to use them.

‘Purchase’ means firm contact or grip, so the opposite of what you are trying to imply. That is, why do you want a missile to gain a good grip on a shield? A missile has done done its job if it hits something.

‘Upon’ is just a fancy way of saying ‘on’ and a shield affords its user defence against an attack it doesn’t ‘defence’ itself.


 
Quote
The Annahir Immortals crashed into the Tuamphetamine parrote shield wall with the force of a battering ram. Aslan leaped into the midst of the foe. He pinned all of his weight behind Aegis. tackling the warrior in front of him to the ground.

I find your use of short sentences offers a hesitant reading experience. That is, the sentence that begins ‘Aslan leapt into’ is too separate from the first and reads to me like the battle starts twice. Once when the Immortals crash into the shield wall and again when Aslan leaps into the fray.

Then the third sentence seems at odds with the second and fourth. The second and fourth sentences imply movement, but the third reads as static. That is, ‘Leaping’ & ‘tackling’  imply movement, but ‘pinned’ implies standing still.


   
Quote
Aslan hacked the buckler raised in his enemy’s defense. He cleaved the shield in twain with an irresistible blow of his scimitar. A scream tore itself from out of the Tuamphetamine parrote’s throat the moment his fingers toppled from his hand.

Aslan held the Tuamphetamine parrote in place with an armored boot. He finished his opponent with a vicious cut across the throat.

The overly descriptive account of a scream is unnecessary and slows the pace of the paragraph. Screaming is understood by your readers, so telling them that it came from someone’s throat is a bit redundant.

Again the three sentences of this paragraph offer a disjointed read and more of a flow from one action to the next would be better.

For example:

With a mighty blow of his scimitar Aslan hacked his enemy’s buckler and shield hand in two. His opponent fell to the floor screaming and Aslan silenced him by slitting his throat.


 
Quote
A mailed fist lashed out of the melee. Aslan was struck across his left temple. The Lion staggered, but quickly ducked under the zealous cleave meant to sever his head. The Tuamphetamine parrote bellowed at pique volume, his blade cutting backward in a reverse arc.

Similarly your use of short sentences has broken up this paragraph so that it offers a disjointed experience. Whilst I am guessing the first two sentences are meant to be linked your use of separate sentences means the link isn’t apparent as it should be.

Something like this might work, but apologies for my attempt at creative writing:


A fist lashed out of the melee and struck Aslan on his left temple. He staggered, but managed to duck under a zealous cleave aimed at his head. Roaring in frustration his attacker swept his blade back to strike again.

Quote
The Tuamphetamine parrote bellowed at pique volume, his blade cutting backward in a reverse arc.

As before ‘peak’ & ‘pique’ mean totally different things. Pique is not the correct word in this context.

‘backward’ & ‘reverse’ are two words meaning the same thing. I find repetition like this an odd reading experience.
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past 2.0 - Prologue - Dominion's Rise - Aslan - Scene 1.5
Post by: Myen'Tal on July 30, 2020, 10:42:40 AM
Hi Alienscar!

So I found this feedback particularly educational and very interesting. I've been trying to strike the balance between shorter sentences and those that kind of ramble on for too long. As you likely know, definitely had an issue with the latter. It seems that I drifted to the former side of this scale in this scene. I like your examples, and have tried to put my own spin on them for practice.

I've updated the 1.5 scene for Aslan to reflect your feedback. Let me know what you think of it.

Thanks :).
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past 2.0 - Prologue - Dominion's Rise - Aslan - Scene 1.5
Post by: Alienscar on July 31, 2020, 10:00:21 AM
I wish I had more time as sometimes I feel that my lack of comprehensive feedback isn't helping. You might not be aware, but the feedback I provide is never complete as some issues I see are beyond my limited knowledge and would take up too much of my time.

For instance, one thing that has been bugging me is your title. This is because I am fairly certain that 'Dominion's' is not a word, but I don't have the time to determine if I am correct, so I just ignore the problem. I think 'dominion' is an uncountable noun like sheep.

It is the same with some of your sentence construction. I concentrate on the things that are obviously wrong and easily explainable, but leave the things that I think are wrong and can't quickly describe.

A good example of this is the first paragraph from Aslan Scene 1.5

Missile after missile impacted on Aegis and shattered from their own momentous force. Aslan lowered the great shield only when the Tuamphetamine parrotes felt so under threat that they unsheathed swords in their defense.


I have highlighted this paragraph a few times now and would probably not refer to it again, but personally I still think it has issues. I wouldn't mention any perceived issue again though as they are a bit too complex for me to explain.

My issue is related to your phrasing and this is why I struggle to explain what I think I am seeing.

MISSILE AFTER MISSILE IMPACTED ON (SHOULD BE AGAINST) AEGIS AND SHATTERED FROM THEIR OWN MOMENTOUS FORCE

IMO this doesn't quite work and the problem is I am not certain why, but mostly I think my problem stems from the fact that your words and sentence construction don't quite work for the simple idea you are trying to portray.

Using mostly your words I think 'MISSILE AFTER MISSILE IMPACTED AGAINST AEGIS AND SHATTERED UNDER THEIR OWN MOMENTOUS FORCE' would read better, but I still wouldn't be happy. I feel this is better because 'from' is just the wrong word and means the point in time at which a particular process, event, or activity starts.


I think something like 'Missile after missile rained down onto Aslan, but he weathered the storm behind his great shield Aegis' is simpler and easier to understand. Note that this is just an example and I wouldn't consider my own example good enough as I think it is a bit 'flat'

Things need to make sense when you write and for me MOMENTOUS FORCE causes imagery issues. We all know Newton's third law, so if something strikes something else with a 'momentous force' then there has to be a reaction other than, in this case, the missile shattering.

ASLAN LOWERED THE GREAT SHIELD ONLY WHEN THE TUamphetamine parrotES FELT SO UNDER THREAT THAT THEY UNSHEATHED SWORDS IN THEIR DEFENSE.

My issue with this sentence is that mostly it comes across as exaggerated and also redundant. It seems unnecessary and possibly unrealistic for the action to occur in this fashion. Someone running with a shield has no real need to lower or raise a shield as I imagine a shield is always poised for use. It is redundant because I can't see what this sentence adds to the setting as a whole.

I won't be around much next week as I am working 07:30-16:30.
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past 3.0
Post by: Myen'Tal on August 6, 2020, 06:38:40 PM
Alright guys, The Embers of the Past 3.0 is set to commence soon!

@Alienscar: Sorry for the much delayed reply. I'll be honest, your feedback here was a lot to take in. After having another first chapter critique completed by the editor I worked with last time, your suggestions and concerns seem to be correct, as I always figured they were.

Starting to realize what you're saying about the writing and the language itself... these are issues I need to start working on, and combing back the fanciness. That is part of the reason why I'm moving onto the 3.0 build.

Back to the outline, back to the drawing board.

Goals for the 3.0 build -

Scale back all the background detail.
Character Origins
More streamlined language
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past 3.0 - Nishan: Scene I
Post by: Myen'Tal on August 9, 2020, 05:33:09 PM
EDIT One: A handful of small changes made.

So after listening to some counsel, I've decided this will not be a complete story refresh, but I'll be working with what I have and attempt to get that up to standard.

So I've decided that I needed to add another chapter that becomes before the others. Aslan's chapter has been removed, as there are too many characters jammed into the beginning story at the moment.

Voshki will also be removed due to the same issue. Ara's chapter shall stay, however, and I will be working to modify it.

So one should consider this the beginning of Embers, retold.

Nishan

“Gather around me, warriors!” Nishan shouted to the heights of heaven. “Gather around your general and heed my words!”

On the fertile banks of the Seventh River, hundreds of men and women heeded his call. Each performed an about-face to watch the commander’s addressal. Nishan rooted himself on a great hill overlooking his arrayed armies. A midday sun cast his forces out in the verdant fields beyond the Seventh in a shimmering haze.

The Scarred Child bellowed into the gust. “Listen with intent! A warrior always knows his enemy! A warrior always understands himself! A lesson taught to each of us from early childhood! An army that does not understand itself is not an army at all! It is a herd of sheep, doomed to slaughter!

“Do you know yourselves!? For who are we if not the Children of Carth!? Are we not all sons and daughters of the greatest civilization to grace the continent of Khios!? Are we not all brothers and sisters born into a shared manifest destiny!? Has our ancestors' blood not fed these heartlands for centuries?

“Do you know your enemy!?” Nishan cried out in askance. “Pretenders who would claim shared lineage of our honored blood! Gaze across the field and watch them stand against you!”

The general gazed across the fields and spotted hundreds of crimson and gold standards billowing in the wind. The standards were scattered across the forces of the Children of the Sun - thousands strong. In the heat haze, their warriors appeared as a flood of cream, crimson, and steel.

He noted the gargantuan city on the horizon, positioned safely behind his enemies. He considered the fabled realm of Tu’shik and how it seemed more mirage than an actual tangible thing.

By midnight, he would gaze upon Tu’shik for the first time. Then he would command his armies to wipe it from the face of the earth.

Nishan continued. “For too long, have the Children of the Sun been allowed to prosper within Carth’s lands! Once, we would have called them brothers! They were steadfast against the barbarian hordes… they were resolute against kingdoms both rival and upstart!"

The Scarred Child struck his chest like a war drum. His armored fist struck his scalemail cuirass over and over until his brethren began to repeat the gesture. Defiant shouts and war cries rippled across the ranks.  The sound swelled in volume until it became a deafening barrage of noise.

“But what does any of that matter, when loyalty begins to waver!? Should we honor allies that begin to shun our values and traditions!? Should we honor those who would show their backs to their betters!? What sons and daughters of Carth would yield their freedom to a supposed God-King and eke out an existence in tyranny!?

He swept his hand across his chest to point in the direction of the enemy. No sooner did he complete the gesture did the warriors of Carth shift around to face the Children of the Sun once more.

“Warriors of Carth know themselves and their foes, and these so-called Children of the Sun are no kindred! Spare none of them from the bite of your swords! Show them no quarter and grant them no respite!

“Sound the horns!” Nishan commanded. “Take to the field! Seize victory from Tu'shik's ruin!"

The horns sounded and called the Carth Republic to war. The earth itself trembled to the feet of thousands marching onto the battlefield. The Children of the Sun shimmered like an illusion in the haze. Yet Nishan noticed the dark blot sent hurtling into the sky from their archers.

He understood that there would be no turning back. He understood that every warrior under his command knew this too.

“Scarred Child.” A member of Nishan’s command retinue approached from behind. “Shall we answer these fools with Carth’s wrath?”

Nishan lifted his helmet off his shoulders and allowed his unkempt raven hair to breathe a little. He craned his head to look his lieutenant in the eye. To his credit, the subordinate officer did not flinch from Nishan’s grisly and scarred visage. Nor did he look his commander in the left eye, shut by a permanent scar.

He barked out a laugh as he turned from his marching forces. He smacked the lieutenant once across his plated pauldron.

“You might as well, Yervant.” Nishan cackled at his subordinate, who bowed apologetically after glimpsing his face. “Enough bowing, boy, you’re a member of the Scarred Child’s retinue. You bow only before the senate and the standard of Carth. Teach these zealous fanatics a lesson in humility instead!

“They shall learn that their Solar God shall break as any other weakling deity before the barrage of our cannons!”

Yervant erected himself and slammed his chest with a mailed fist. “Your command is my oath!” He turned to the signal bearers on the river bank. In one hand alone, he lifted Carth’s standard for them to see.

Nishan turned his gaze toward the fleet of Cogs anchored on the Seventh’s vast waters. Several minutes after the signal bearers executed their duties, a blistering volley erupted from the fifty bombards arrayed across the fleet’s port side.

The general shifted back toward the beginning battle. A constant hail of arrows was already assailing Carth's vanguard. Pride fanned within Nishan’s chest as his warriors weathered the storm under a bulwark of shields, then broke ranks in a massive charge to shatter the formations arrayed against them.

The whistle of cannon shells hurtling overhead quickly dissipated out of earshot. Before the first ranks of both armies could clash into one another, the earth heaved and erupted beneath Tu’shik’s armies. Nishan could not even wager a guess as to how many Children of the Sun were torn apart from the volley.

What was obvious was that the initial defense of Tu’shik was left in disarray. Remnants of their vanguard met Carth’s wall of blades, but were easily scattered, overcome, and routed.

“Squire!” The Scarred Child called. “Fetch the horses! Yervant, gather my retinue! We shall join the battle!”

“Commander?” Yervant arched his brow. “The battle has only been joined. You would put yourself at great risk.”

Nishan wheezed out a laugh. “You have a warm heart to concern yourself with the likes of me, Yervant. I’ve sworn that I’d turn you into a heart of steel. An exemplar leads by example! Come, before we are too late and the Children of the Sun break all at once!”


~***~
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past 3.0 - Nishan: Scene I
Post by: Dread on August 9, 2020, 06:40:33 PM
I have to say that this excerpt was rather bracing. I liked the warm explanation of the characters. The short and to the point phrasing. The fact that a word censor was not needed for the names. I could visualise each part and didn't have to force a visual. I enjoyed it but remember I'm not a writer so Alienscar will be better able to tune that part. As for art visual, I saw lots of potential.
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past 3.0 - Nishan: Scene I
Post by: Myen'Tal on August 9, 2020, 07:07:11 PM
I have to say that this excerpt was rather bracing. I liked the warm explanation of the characters. The short and to the point phrasing. The fact that a word censor was not needed for the names. I could visualise each part and didn't have to force a visual. I enjoyed it but remember I'm not a writer so Alienscar will be better able to tune that part. As for art visual, I saw lots of potential.

Thank you, Dread! Don't worry, I have my pencil stored nearby to take notes from Alienscar :). I'm glad that you found the imagery much more natural. I think I was conveying a lot of detail with too much specifics from how I imagined them specifically. Everyone thinks differently however, and imagines more different still. So I think I was actually frustrating the reader by trying to force an image into their minds. I need to capture that balance where a reader will receive a similar mental image that I want to depict, but give the reader enough room to comfortably imagine things there way.

I don't know if that makes any sense lol and there are many more issues I want to address as well. But I think this maybe a decent start?

Time will tell :).
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past 3.0 - Nishan: Scene I
Post by: Alienscar on August 10, 2020, 10:31:58 AM
@Alienscar: Sorry for the much delayed reply. I'll be honest, your feedback here was a lot to take in.

As I have said I am really sorry that I don't know how to help you more. Whilst you think my feedback was a lot to take in it might surprise you that it mostly only concerned the first paragraph from a few of your scenes. If I had more time there would have been more feedback.

Starting to realize what you're saying about the writing and the language itself... these are issues I need to start working on, and combing back the fanciness.

More streamlined language

I hope you don't mind me saying so, but it is not just about streamlining and cutting back the verbosity. Using the correct words, or using words in the correct manner will really improve the enjoyment of your readers. Things like pique instead of peak, from instead of under, impact instead of blow really slow the reading experience.

I could visualise each part and didn't have to force a visual. I enjoyed it but remember I'm not a writer so Alienscar will be better able to tune that part.

I am no writer either Dread. I am just an interfering internet busybody.
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past 3.0 - Nishan: Scene I
Post by: Myen'Tal on August 10, 2020, 11:11:57 AM
Quote
As I have said I am really sorry that I don't know how to help you more. Whilst you think my feedback was a lot to take in it might surprise you that it mostly only concerned the first paragraph from a few of your scenes. If I had more time there would have been more feedback.

No worries, it's kind enough of you to leave the amount of feedback you've provided already. Not certain how many others would keep doing this lol ;). Also, it's first and foremost my responsibility to correct these issues. I need to do some work on showing me the right way too, which is why I've chosen to work with an editor. Doing this allows me to see the issues in much more detail, and practice on resolving them.

Quote
I hope you don't mind me saying so, but it is not just about streamlining and cutting back the verbosity. Using the correct words, or using words in the correct manner will really improve the enjoyment of your readers. Things like pique instead of peak, from instead of under, impact instead of blow really slow the reading experience.

I am aware. As I mentioned, there are a number of issues that I'm going to start tackling. I just didn't detail every single issue that needs to be addressed.

Quote
I am no writer either Dread. I am just an interfering internet busybody.

Still appreciated :). In the latest scene I posted for Nishan, I have made attempts to not only scale back the amount of verbosity, but using simpler words instead of more complicated ones. Let me know your thoughts when you have time!
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past 3.0 - Nishan: Scene I
Post by: Alienscar on August 11, 2020, 12:50:56 PM
“Gather around me, warriors!” Nishan shouted to the heights of heaven. “Gather around your general and heed my words!”

'Gather around me', 'gather around your general' is essentially repetition. The addition of the word general isn't really required.

I would consider something simpler such as:'Gather around (closer?) my warriors and heed my words' Nishan shouted from his vantage point,

On the fertile banks of the Seventh River, hundreds of men and women heeded his call.


I am really not sure about the imagery you are creating here. I have been in a hangar with less than a hundred people and it is hard to hear one person making a speech. In the open standing high on a hill I struggle to see how Nishan could make his voice heard to hundreds.

Each performed an about-face to watch the commander’s addressal.

It is also hard to imagine that every person in a group of people numbering in the hundreds is facing the same way.

Adressal is the wrong word.

You listen to rather than watch a speech.



Nishan rooted himself on a great hill overlooking his arrayed armies.

This is one of things I would normally ignore as too difficult for me to explain, but 'rooted' isn't used like this.

A midday sun cast his forces out in the verdant fields beyond the Seventh in a shimmering haze.

It might just be me, but this sentence doesn't make sense.

The Scarred Child bellowed into the gust. “Listen with intent!

This is the wrong use of the word 'intent'


A warrior always knows his enemy! A warrior always understands himself! A lesson taught to each of us from early childhood! An army that does not understand itself is not an army at all! It is a herd of sheep, doomed to slaughter!


I think you should remove this. A warriors purpose in life is to kill what they are told to. There is no need for the peusdo psychology.

“Do you know yourselves!? For who are we if not the Children of Carth!? Are we not all sons and daughters of the greatest civilization to grace the continent of Khios!? Are we not all brothers and sisters born into a shared manifest destiny!? Has our ancestors' blood not fed these heartlands for centuries?

I feel like this speech could be shorter as overall this part doesn't seem to add much.


“Do you know your enemy!?” Nishan cried out in askance.


As mentioned before this is the wrong use of the word 'askance'.


“Scarred Child.” A member of Nishan’s command retinue approached from behind.


Another thing I would usually ignore as too difficult to explain, but I think you should drop use of Nishan's nickname. With his name being so short I can't imagine anyone wanting to use a longer version. If he were called scarface, or cyclops I could see why, but Scarred Child is a bit of a mouthful

“Shall we answer these fools with Carth’s wrath?”

This question seems more than a bit redundant considering the rousing speech and the fact they are stood on a battlefield.

Gaze across the field and watch them stand against you!”

Telling his troops to look across the battlefield and watch their enemy is a bit 'flat', or anticlimatic I feel. Also I feel that telling his troops to watch gives a sense that Nishan and his troops are somehow separate from the action.

Something like: 'Look across the battlefield and see how they dare to challenge you.' might work if you keep the speech at this length.

The general gazed across the fields and spotted hundreds of crimson and gold standards billowing in the wind.


The use of the word 'spotted' lends an accidental vibe to this sentence. That is, it comes across as Nishan is surprised to see the opposing army standing in front of him.


The standards were scattered across the forces of the Children of the Sun - thousands strong.

I don't think you need two sentences that refer to the banners. Having said that their are hundreds of banners I would take it for granted that they weren't huddled together.


He noted the gargantuan city on the horizon, positioned safely behind his enemies.

I am not sure about this sentence to be honest and normally I would just ignore it. A city is stationary, but saying that it is positioned safely behind his enemies gives the impression that it has a choice. Also as Nishan is just about to attack it seems odd for him to be thinking that the city is safe. The enemy are stood in front of the city would suffice.


Nishan continued. “For too long, have the Children of the Sun been allowed to prosper within Carth’s lands! Once, we would have called them brothers! They were steadfast against the barbarian hordes… they were resolute against kingdoms both rival and upstart!"


You have made the Children sound very helpful here, so it becomes less clear why they are being attacked.

The sound swelled in volume until it became a deafening barrage of noise

“But what does any of that matter, when loyalty begins to waver!?

A deafening barrage of noise that Nishan could be heard over!



Should we honor those who would show their backs to their betters!?

I am not sure about this sentence. Showing your back to your betters is not an expression that means anything to me. It comes across as if you have misused the phrase 'turn your back on'.




“Sound the horns!” Nishan commanded. “Take to the field! Seize victory from Tu'shik's ruin!"

“Scarred Child.” A member of Nishan’s command retinue approached from behind. “Shall we answer these fools with Carth’s wrath?”

Just to clarify why I think the Carth’s wrath question is redundant.



He understood that there would be no turning back. He understood that every warrior under his command knew this too.


Another sentence I am not too sure about as it isn't really clear to me what you are trying to portray. I don't understand why Nishan would be considering turning back.

I think what you are saying is: Nishan knew his order meant the death of many of his men and maybe himself.


Quote from: Myen'Tal
“Warriors of Carth know themselves and their foes, and these so-called Children of the Sun are no kindred!


Previously Nishan was asking if they knew themselves, now he is saying they do. This makes the speech a bit circuitous and somewhat repetitive.


Quote from: Myen'Tal
Nishan lifted his helmet off his shoulders and allowed his unkempt raven hair to breathe a little.


Why has Nishan removed his helmet just as he has commanded his army to take to the field? It gives the impression that Nishan is relaxing rather than preparing to fight.

Quote from: Myen'Tal
He craned his head to look his lieutenant in the eye. To his credit, the subordinate officer did not flinch from Nishan’s grisly and scarred visage. Nor did he look his commander in the left eye, shut by a permanent scar.

I am not sure about this as it causes me to think too much. Is this the first time that Nishan has met the lieutenant? Nish is called the Scarred Child, so how much of a surprise is it that he is scarred?


Quote from: Myen'Tal
“You might as well, Yervant.” Nishan cackled at his subordinate,

This might just be me, but I don't like the use of the word 'cackle' here. Cackle refers to a shrill laugh, or a noise similar to that of a hen laying an egg.




Quote from: Myen'Tal
who bowed apologetically after glimpsing his face. “Enough bowing, boy, you’re a member of the Scarred Child’s retinue. You bow only before the senate and the standard of Carth.


This is a strange reaction and I find the issue you have created concerning Nishan’s scars to be 'odd'. Are people not meant to look at Nishan? Does everyone bow if they accidentally look at him?
 

Quote from: Myen'Tal
Teach these zealous fanatics a lesson in humility instead!


Why do they need to be shown how to be humble? What is that they have done to indicate they are arrogant?

Quote from: Myen'Tal
“They shall learn that their Solar God shall break as any other weakling deity before the barrage of our cannons!”

Something like:'They shall learn that not even their God can save them from our onslaught.' might be simpler and easier to understand.

For their God to break under the barrage it would have to be there.

A weakling deity is unnecessarily descriptive and slightly confusing. By adding the word weakling you have diluted what you were trying to imply. That is, you are implying that the cannons are only good enough against weak things. Do God's have a physical presence in your universe?


Quote from: Myen'Tal
Yervant erected himself and slammed his chest with a mailed fist.


This is not how 'erected' is used. Erect means to lift up, or set upright. 'We erected a flagpole'

Quote from: Myen'Tal
“Your command is my oath!”

Your wish is is my command is a well known and understood phrase. I am not so sure your version is as easy to understand. An oath is just a promise or a statement. 'I promise to tell the truth, the whole truth...' for example. I am not sure that a command can/should be turned into a promise.



Quote from: Myen'Tal
He turned to the signal bearers on the river bank. In one hand alone, he lifted Carth’s standard for them to see.

In one hand alone is unnecessarily descriptive as 'one hand' already describes something singular. I get the impression that you are trying to say that Yervant is strong, but that message doesn't come across clearly enough if that is the case.

Quote from: Myen'Tal
Several minutes after the signal bearers executed their duties, a blistering volley erupted from the fifty bombards arrayed across the fleet’s port side.

I am not sure about your use of the term 'bombards'. You have been calling them cannons up until now, so I don't see a good reason to change to such an archaic term.


Quote from: Myen'Tal
Nishan turned his gaze toward the fleet of Cogs anchored on the Seventh’s vast waters. Several minutes after the signal bearers executed their duties, a blistering volley erupted from the fifty bombards arrayed across the fleet’s port side.


This might just be me overthinking things, but I think you have let your knowledge of modern warfare seep into your writing.

A cog is a particular type of ship that was popular until the 14th century. Cannons firing from the broadside of a ship didn't become popular until the 16th century. Whilst a mortar (bombard) could be used they fired forward rather than broadside and wouldn't be used on a single masted cog.




Quote from: Myen'Tal
The whistle of cannon shells hurtling overhead quickly dissipated out of earshot.


Again this might just be me overthinking things, but the first naval cannon capable of firing explosive shells didn't appear until the 19th century. Also I think this could be another example of modern thinking creeping into your writing as I don't imagine a low velocity cannonball made much of a sound.



Quote from: Myen'Tal
Before the first ranks of both armies could clash into one another, the earth heaved and erupted beneath Tu’shik’s armies. Nishan could not even wager a guess as to how many Children of the Sun were torn apart from the volley.


Shells of a calibre that would make the ground heave and could be launched from a ship definitely didn't exist in medieval times.
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past 3.0 - Nishan: Scene I
Post by: Myen'Tal on August 19, 2020, 01:44:37 AM
Sorry for the late reply, been working on moving into the new home. I am currently working on this and will hopefully have an update soonish :).
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past 3.0 - Nishan: Scene I
Post by: Dread on August 19, 2020, 11:04:59 PM
Yup. Moving into a new house too. Everything is topsy turvy. Got some of my gamestuff over to the new house tonight.

Haha, yes Alienscar, I understand. If I can see it in my head with no fog, it works. If this was drawing, I'd go nuts with suggestions.
Title: The Embers of the Past: I - Offering
Post by: Myen'Tal on October 2, 2020, 07:30:01 PM
I

Offering

    A ghastly breath of stale wind coursed through the labyrinthine tunnels beneath the Southern Wastes. The nameless girl caught the tell-tale scent of spilt blood and decay carried upon its gentle current from the old mining shafts. Through the half-collapsed entrances into the Emerald Mines, a pleasant rush from hidden underground rivers echoed through the vast, lightless caverns of the Royal Den of Vipers - Surannir to the masters of these barren wastes.

    The nameless girl would often journey on the treacherous routes through notorious criminal dens, simply to come rest by the long-forgotten tunnels near the underground river feeding the underworld haphazardly integrated into the mine that once thrived in this place.

    In silence, she watched what precious sunlight crept this far into the caverns refract against the streams that coursed deeper than even the mines could venture. It was exceedingly little, but the refracted light dancing on the tunnel walls brought some small and merciful measure of solace that was all but void in the depths of the Royal Den.
 
   Before the cleansing waters that she could not reach, a desperate, nameless girl contemplated on how her day had descended into peril on one of her foolish whims. She had played a henchman of the Obsidian Vipers for a fool in a skewed game of dice.
 
   Her prize, several pieces of copper and an offer for less than savory work. His own prize, The nameless girl’s contract to take up less than savory work and slave for the Vipers for the rest of her life in misery and solitude.
 
   Of course, the nameless girl had not tampered with the dice - a game for children who had entered the wrong arena. She had tried her hand to earn the coin and let the Viper win as she expected. It was the roast pieces of meat that he popped into his mouth on occasion through the game’s duration that murdered him.

    The nameless girl had done as she was asked, and sprinkled her employer’s newest created poison -dubbed the Black Rot - across the entire skewed pig. She had poured a goblet of the vile stuff down its gullet too when no one had bothered to even watch over it being cooked.

    The Viper she had played the odds against wretched, vomited, and writhed from the midday bell to the lightless onset of the evening dusk. What the nameless girl had not planned for, was the celebratory feast the Obsidian Vipers hosted for their victory of being the greatest thieves’ den in the Royal Pit. A score of Vipers across various ranks of their family spectrum were slain that night as well.

    Threatened and infuriated, the Vipers thirsted for vengeance and sallied forth to scour the four corners of their territories in search of the vermin that had bitten them.

    They hacked through their own flea-bitten serfs and prostitutes first, uncaring of who they uncovered and dragged out of their hovels, so long as evidence existed of a rat having crawled through the area. The tortured screams of the dying scattered hordes of the meek and terrified like an inferno uprooting all life in a forest.

    What surprised the nameless girl as she heedlessly forged her escape through every cracked open nook and hidden crevice of the Den and that of the Emerald Mines, was the lightning speed the Vipers surged out to corner her. Soon, as she neared the underground rivers where she had always found haven, the frenzied screams of chemical induced rage soon drowned out the pitiful suffering of their victims.

    It was only a matter of time before they had sped ahead of her to spring their ambush…

~***~

   ‘Oh amphetamine parrot.’ The nameless girl wheezed, exhausted from the constant pursuit. ‘amphetamine parrot - amphetamine parrot - amphetamine parrot!’
 
   She charged onward and heedlessly hurled herself through every cracked open door into the homes of the impoverished, only to leap through gaping holes in their walls back into the twisted maze of the Royal Den of Vipers. She had tossed their dining tables and leveled decrepit bookcases to stall her pursuers for the briefest pause.
 
   The nameless girl had no choices left. She had no leads, save only a direction. She had no solace of a definite, safe card to draw and play. If she was shunned and turned away from the only refuge, she would be fed directly into the hands of the V-
 
   A rickety wooden door not even several steps away from her burst open with such force, she had to slide under the slab of termite infested wood as it flew off its hinges.

A lean figure of dark caramel skin, garbed in black leathers and fiery robes emblazoned with gold - stormed down the stairs toward her even as the nameless girl ground to screeching halt in the muddy grime.

The Obsidian Viper rattled with furious laughter as he reached out to seize her.

She twisted in his reckless grip on the scuff of her collar, tearing the fabric of her rough-spun clothes. A glimmer of steel cut across the damp and oppressive atmosphere of the lower depths. Rolling into her captor, the dagger hidden in her clothes tore a bloody slice across the Viper from cheek to the tip of his ear.

The chemically induced street thug reeled from an explosion of pain, one hand cradled over his right eye. The nameless girl pounced and buried the blood slick dagger to the hilt in the Viper’s throat, and twisted for good measure before resuming her flight.

Several voices ushered into earshot - so near their breathing echoed through the cavern she hurtled down at full-tilt. The sound of their footfalls giving urgent pursuit hastened her to the height of her limits. Whistling pierced the murky depths, culminating in the vicious impacts of javelins striking the earthen rock all around her.

The nameless girl descended further into the depths until the oppressive night thickened into a nigh impregnable abyss - void of any glimmer of the sun or moon. She reached out with bloodied, grasping fingers for any purchase so that she could find her way forward.

The Vipers hounded her in their relentless chase, somehow gaining on their prey. Her pursuers chortled and screamed constant, blood-curdling threats, hurling their javelins whenever they were convinced of their aim.
 
   A spark ignited in the darkness. An intense fiery glow that caught the nearby shadows aflame. An incredibly brief flicker, near enough that she could reach out and grasp its warmth. As swiftly as it came, the candle of light was snuffed as if robbed of fuel. The nameless girl tried to arrest her loping speed, instead slipping into a slide through the unstable mud flows on the cavern floor.
 
   The spark ignited once more before combusting into a flood of flameborne light. She raised her hands in pitiful defense of being reduced to cinders as the flames crashed over her body. An explosion without warmth to the flame whipped and lashed, but could not scorch her. The surprised screams of her pursuers, more from sudden terror than actual death, became snuffed out of existence as quickly as the flameborne explosion withered into nothing.
 
   She did not realize that her eyes were shut until the roaring in her ears dissipated. Quivering hands removed themselves from where they latched onto her face as a makeshift shield.

    She flicked open her eyes, then forced them shut from the acrid smoke wafting from burning braziers on ancient vine coated walls of weathered, wet slick stone. Crystalline waters streamed through ornate drains near to overfull from an underground river’s gentle falls. Her eyes followed a cobblestone walkway that ran straight to a great set of doors carved from onyx. Ancient calligraphy, drawn and crafted from pure silver, was inlaid across the polished stone.
 
   A clattering of armored footfalls approached hesitantly from behind, their confidence and surety challenged by fear of the unknown.

    ‘Encircle her.’ One of them commanded.  'The Royal Viper would glimpse this wretch before we put her down. Don’t stand so idly! Do your damn jobs!’
 
   The Obsidian Vipers scurried to obey their master, but their eyes continued to steal glances around their enigmatic surroundings.
 
   ‘Don’t just gawk at her, fools!’ Their commander encouraged. ‘Seize her!’

    An armored boot kicked Voshki across the temple and sent her clattering to the stonework with a sharp yelp. Another several kicks forced her to double over on her side in pain. Scarred, mutilated hands seized her by the arms and pinned them behind her back. She felt the heated burn of rough rope being pulled tight across her wrists.

    A morose voice like that of a sullen widow crept out of the dark behind the gang of Vipers.‘What’s happening out here?'

    The Viper nearest the source of the voice scrambled forward with an open palm raised.
 
   ‘Halt!’ The Viper screamed furiously, but behind the facade, the nameless girl detected a note of superstitious terror. ‘Return back the way you came, hag! This doesn’t involve you..’
 
   ‘Are you jesting?’ Another Viper arched his brow. ‘Skewer this whore and let’s move on.’ He hawked and spat in the direction of the mysterious voice.

    Their commander began to issue orders. ‘Faris, guard the girl! The rest of you, encircle our heroic woman here and silence her protests.’
 
   The Obsidian Vipers unsheathed their weapons in unison, all manner of wicked blades laced with dark crimson venom. They stormed forward as one unit to corner the patch of darkness where the torchlight could not touch.
 
   ‘Offerings for the Lady of Misery and Sorrow.’ The voice proclaimed in low undertones. ‘Join the Black Descent then, cowards.’

    The mere mention of the Black Descent threatened to snuff the flame of the braziers for the briefest moment. The nameless girl jumped as any nearby traces of light wavered momentarily. To their credit, the Obsidian Vipers seemed resolute in their confidence.

    ‘Enough…’ The grizzled viper commanding his band of subordinates gestured toward the hazed outline of a woman eclipsed by shadow. ‘Break this be-atch limb by limb. Bring me the head when you’re done.'
 
    One thug charged and caved in the skull of the insubstantial figure, dispelling the illusion with a brutal hack of his club. None noticed their leader's  severed head tumble from his shoulders until it smacked the ground with a wet thump.
The remaining vipers whirled around and regarded the corpse where it had fallen in place on its knees. A frozen chill breezed by each of them as they readied their weapons for another assault.

Two of the Vipers sprung forward, war cries on their lips as they closed the gap between them and their foe. The woman neatly lifted her slender blade and parried a reckless hack of a nicked, tarnished weapon. Her physical form seemed to meld into the shadows as she stepped around the vicious swing of her other attacker.

The spiked club gripped in both of his gloved hands cleaved harmlessly through the dissipating shadow, only to crush in the teeth of his comrade who had charged in with him. The brutality of the blow obliterated the Viper’s jaw and knocked him out of consciousness the moment he collapsed onto the cobblestone path. One of his comrades mercifully ushered him from the mortal plane.

‘Three souls.’ The woman coalesced between them and answered with two flicks of her wrist.

Another victim's weapon clattered to the ground, an urgent hand over his ruptured wound where his heart rested. The bruiser with the gore-slick club staggered and wheezed out a long, agonized scream as his torso began to fall apart.

‘Begone from this place.' The woman demanded of the three remaining souls standing frozen in place, seized by horror. ‘The Black Descent was not meant for your souls.'

The Vipers heard her command and scrambled to obey. The Obsidian Viper by the name of Faris considered the nameless girl in his grasp. He did not think long before relinquishing her and joining his comrades to vanish into the dark.
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past : II - Sacrifice
Post by: Myen'Tal on October 4, 2020, 08:56:37 PM
II

Sacrifice

My Dearest Mentor & Master, Shoushan,

I’ve never ceased counting the days since I’ve escaped the Black Descent and the horrors of Surannir. Dawn shall break within the next several hours and mark the nine-hundred-and-sixty-seventh cycle of sun-and-moon across the horizons of Khios continent that I've seen. I’ve wandered this continent for nearly three years, commandeering a disparate band of mercenaries through the endless wealth funneled from your pockets and into my coffers.

‘Three years of ceaseless strife since I’ve tread this earth with the light of the sun beating down on my skin. The bandit clans have come to live in fear of my Black-Bane Kindred. Innocents are quick to flee with their families toward safer horizons when they see our Wailing Widow Banners billowing in the  distance. I’ve scoured entire battlefields for a scent of my prey, and struck them down before departing without another word or violent blow needlessly.

‘Times have been rough for the Black Bane, Zeroun. No matter how many trials we endure. No matter how many rivals and would-be enemies we leave rotting in these arid sands… stronger enemies rise up and pose new challenges for us to overcome. I know the names of the five hundred who left Surannir behind with me. I still remember the four hundred and twenty four buried in the dirt with the discarded weapons of their foes carved their backs. 

‘The Children of the Sun harried us from the Khoisan Heartland, where the Dominion of Carth reigns over the center of the known world.  In truth I am glad that we were forced away from that place, for it is a war-torn nightmare on the verge of utter collapse as internecine warfare rages unabated between the splinter factions that have arisen there.

‘I now find myself in the northern realm of Old Myria, in the Black Solitude Forests… where the Crescent Bridge leaps the gap over the Drake’s Chasm and terminates before a solitary, forlorn tower.

‘I swear on my oaths that if I survive this one last task… I shall cease aggression and negotiation with all of these foreigners and return home, back to Sukhan and dreaded Surannir. Perhaps it is a pit of royal vipers… but it is the pit that I grew up in. It is home more than any other opulent castle or palace that I’ve ever seen or enjoyed.

    See you soon, Shoushan and bid greetings to your disciples on my behalf,

    Yours into eternity,
    Voshki


~***~
Distant lightning bristled in the bellies of dark thunder clouds on the horizon. A cacophonous crack of thunder sundered the midnight skies and a great deluge descended from the heavens. A howling northern wind coursed out of the Black Solitude Forest Voshki had left behind over the ancient bridge.

Ceaseless rain fell into the Drake's Chasm several kilometers beneath the bridge's arch. On the road to the city of Annahir stood a solitary tower that blocked entry into the highlands beyond.
 
         A shiver crept into Voshki's bones as rainwater began to soak through her hood and black leather armor.
She studied the forlorn tower in front of her. It seemed more a noble's retreat than a token watchpost. She raised her voice in challenge to the tower's guardian.

'Arshavir!' Voshki shouted. ''Arshavir, you coward! Come forth and face this challenger!'

Voshki waited out in the open rain for what seemed like an aeon onto itself. She lifted her head the merest fraction as the oak door that led into the moss-coated stone labyrinth of the old watchtower was pushed aside. Once a thin ring of light shining through the gaps in the door-frame, the torchlight within the watchtower itself became a bright gateway as an unfamiliar figure emerged and stepped out into the storm.

Becalmed and patient as the sage, the lone guardian reverently shut the way into the watchtower and then locked the doors behind him. Voshki peeled her eyes and watched Arshavir pivot on a heel, then stride down the watchtower steps with a confidence that had her green with envy.

She considered the Annahir Immortal as burning pyres hidden along the ancient bridge made his laminar armor shine like polished obsidian. Unsullied chain-mail filled each perceivable weak point in his suit of armor. Lavender silk robes fluttered where the mail and laminar came to an end on his person.

Voshki lifted her gaze to meet the hollow sockets within the Immortal’s crimson plumed helmet. She pushed one leather gloved fist through the folds of her black cloak until the Crowned Prince - her wicked long spear - was unveiled in the smoldering light of the pyres.

In that moment, the Immortal unsheathed a scimitar that glimmered like luminescent sapphire. He broke out of his calm stride and charged heedlessly forward. Voshki could feel his armored footfalls make the ancient and mossy cobblestones beneath her boots quake. His impressive speed belied the bulk he armored himself in. As her combatant stormed forth to answer to her challenge, a thickened damp mist coalesced around them.

Voshki screamed with the effort of her rapid lunge to draw first blood. Crowned Prince thrust home to pierce and shatter the Immortal’s heart, but each of her seven quick paced strikes was answered with an effortless parry of her foe’s scimitar.

Voshki weaved around the broad warrior’s sheer bulk, his laminar so thick that the bone-cutting force of her thrust into the small of his back merely shoved him forward even as he hurtled past her.

The Annahir Immortal pivoted suddenly on the ball on his foot and caught Crowned Prince in the midst of an arced swing meant to lop off his head. He cast the long spear aside and charged in for the fatal blow.

Voshki already had a hand on the hilt of her handheld crossbow. She had leveled her aim so subtly, her hand still hidden behind her cloak. She pulled the trigger and heard the bolt loose with a sharp whistle.

The Immortal cried out - the bolt obliterated his right eye and rocked him off his feet with such force that he was cast backward onto the bridge. A sharp crack punctuated his fall.

Voshki did not have to command any of her own warriors. Four lean men clad in raven black leathers stepped out of the shadows and approached the Immortal even as he tried to desperately find his feet. One spear thrust through his right thigh pinned him in place. Another blade hacked through the meat and bone of the Immortal’s sword arm. A crossbow bolt to the chest sprawled him out upon the blood-slick cobblestones.

The remaining raven-clad warrior glanced briefly in Voshki's direction. He tore away the Immortal’s proud helm, breaking the wooden bolt lodged in the right eye and drawing out a shriek of pain. The rogue seized the immortal by the strands of his hair and cut open his throat with a jagged slice of a poison-laced dagger.

‘Well done.’ Voshki inclined her head in acknowledgment. ‘Black-Bane Kindred, move out!’

‘Tough bastard…’ Faris kicked over the Annahir Immortal’s corpse. He did not smile at the sight of the Immortal sprawled face-first in a pool of crimson rainwater. ‘Pompous bastard was miserable by the end of all that.’

A young woman of dark chestnut skin and lustrous falls of braided obsidian hair emerged from out of the shadows with the rest of the Black Bane Kindred - Voshki’s infamous band of clandestine sell-swords. A belt filled with various flasks and crossbow bolts was slung over her left shoulder. In her right hand was a hand-held crossbow. Her left hand cradled the hilt of a wicked dagger sheathed on her hip.

‘Hey.’ Anoush called out to Faris and snapped her fingers in his direction. ‘Show some respect to your enemies. It's an ill omen.'

Faris pitched his head back and rattled a mocking laugh. ‘Truthfully, whenever I wish a woman to rebuke me on matters of war, she’d be more than welcome to prove the bite behind her words.’ 

‘Faris.’ Voshki spared a brief glance over her shoulder from where she stood by the watchtower’s oaken entrance. ‘Goad Anoush again and I’ll have you tossed over this bridge. I’m certain you’d appreciate such a merciful death over the one that Old Myrian received. You believe the males under my command would follow you? You’d be gravely mistaken after they realize you’d never be able to pay them a silver coin in return for their loyalty.’

Faris spread his arms wide and made a deep bow of surrender. ‘Your command is my oath, Voshki. Anoush understands that I only jest about her abilities. I respect her, yourself commander, and every woman in this unit like they were siblings of my own blood.’

‘Enough.' Voshki rolled her eyes. ‘Get over here and breach this watchtower!’

‘Commander?’ Faris rushed his fingers through his kept raven hair and sighed. ‘Arshavir has been this bridge’s sole guardian for the last eleven years… in spite of his ferocious reputation-” Faris gestured to the maimed corpse splayed out on the bridge’s stone brickwork behind them. ‘He has fallen. Never shall another man of his like return for the rest of our days. Let the watchtower stand here abandoned till it collapses in upon itself.’

Voshki dangled a bloodied key from its iron-linked chain. ‘Always make a decision with certainty, my Second. All I know in this moment is that Arshavir locked the entrance behind him, so that no soul may enter but he. Something tells me that avoiding this tower would be some nuisance for us in the end. I’d rather secure the tower and ensure our lives remain unspent on the break of another dawn.

‘So fall in and let us storm through this place. Do your damned job instead of barking out bad jests! Come on, gather around me! I want this watchtower breached and anyone hidden within put to the sword! No survivors! No witnesses! One simple mistake shall betray us all and ensure our failure! So heed my words!’

The Black Bane readied an assortment of axes and approached the oaken doors of the Forlorn Tower.
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past : II - Sacrifice
Post by: Myen'Tal on October 6, 2020, 12:18:55 PM
Just wanted to go ahead and update this as I've realized that I have not yet.

So Chapter I  II - neither are finished yet. I'm kind of experimenting with building blocks in different sections of the story, and it's really helping me put together Voshki's arc as opposed to forcing myself to flesh out the story in a straight line.

I wanted to share these updates so that people are given a feel of where the story as a whole is headed - and to show that this isn't dead by a long shot.

Thanks.
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past : II - Sacrifice
Post by: Dread on October 6, 2020, 06:18:06 PM
Glad to hear. Gonna try to read it thru the next few nights.
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past :Descent
Post by: Myen'Tal on October 9, 2020, 11:17:17 PM
Ara watched the fire bleed from the skies as evening began to fade into dusk. Only a golden crown of light lingered over the Autumn Realms of Old Myria, set to fade beneath the horizon briefly afterward. He gazed out over the paradisaical hills and felt abandonment fester in his heart like the creeping shadows of the night.

Mustaphen stood proud on the heights of the Ardent Vigil, reverent in the constant watch he shared with Ara. The Black Wolf of Annahir combed his leather-gloved fingers through the stallion's proud obsidian mane.
Voshki had never returned.

Ara had swallowed his insurmountable pride and confessed to the Black Bane’s commander that he came to care for her more than anything he had ever desired. On that fateful night, curled up with him beside the campfire and isolated from the rest of the world,

Voshki had whispered her love into his ear. Ara remembered. He had smiled genuinely for the first time in the bleak years after his childhood. For once his celestial light seemed to burn brightly for him as opposed to it’s constant eclipse in the light of rivaling stars. He had not only accepted the Ashen Cobra’s lure,but had fallen for something he once thought a charade. Then he shared her love by the fireside.

Voshki had departed in silence on that same night for the Southern Wastes. Her desire to confront the cruel past had forced her back in the direction of more familiar shores. Somewhere in the Southern Wastes, Voshki would find the answers she sought - a collection of keys held in the palm of her enigmatic master’s hand. Shoushan’s concealed truths would unlock the chains that ensnared the Ashen Cobra’s heart.

Ara studied the horizon with a stoic gaze, but grief and concern consumed him from within beneath the surface. He had guessed right. That he was but a pawn in the cruelest of divine comedies. The Gods ever remained fickle and quick to punish his mistakes. They neglected and denied him of his good deeds, all committed in the act of begrudged penance. Perhaps, he considered, that they found him wanting because the penance was not given freely.

Ara could not bring himself to withdraw from the Vigil's flames. He had waited from sunrise to sunset and knew that nothing would change the fate forever sealed for him.

Voshki would not return and Ara found himself abandoned once again.
A soft rhythm of iron-shod hooves clattering along the Fall’s Road greeted Ara from a brief distance. The last rays of the evening dusk withered and the stars began to settle in the night sky. He watched the road ahead of him with peeled eyes, but failed to make out anything through the encroaching dark, but the soft glow of torchlight.

Ara forced a weary greeting out of his mouth, punctuated with a sigh of resignation.
‘Jumanah guide your way traveller.’

A familiar voice pierced the gentle dark, striking Ara through the heart enough to make it skip a beat. ‘And I bid you safe travels by moonlight, stranger. Say, you watch the eastern horizon as if someone you truly cared for has vanished in the lands over yonder, never to return to you?’

A gale of relief whipped through Ara and washed away the dead weight of his guilt. He felt his dark veil of grief suddenly crack and splinter, until hope welled up in the core of his chest. He felt himself smile genuinely again for the second time.

Ara shrugged, visible in the burning light of the Ardent Vigil's eternal flame. ‘Is the thought of my grief truly so incomprehensible? The woman I cared for ventured into that distant horizon, silence being her only parting gift. Do you think it foolish that I came to the first place that we crossed paths, in hopes that she’d be here?’

Voshki considered Ara’s questions in silence, before uttering an answer. ‘Don’t be foolish. I’m certain she believes that you’ve proven the truth of every word shared between the both of you. Perhaps, this woman will turn away from her black fate in the  south, for it is a cruel and unforgiving land that will certainly swallow her whole.’
Ara nodded. ‘Did you speak with your master then?’

Voshki continued her approach until moonsilver came to rest at the foot of the hill Ara kept vigil on. She answered. ‘I could not bring myself to face Shoushan. I could have drawn the Crowned Prince against her, but that would be like striking down my own mother.’

Ara kept an air of stoniness about himself, and fought hard not to sour at the mention of Shoushan’s name. ‘Even though you know of the Black Pacts she’s sworn? Or of the bleak fate she’s handed all of your kindred?’’

Voshki inclined her head in affirmation. ‘Blind vengeance won’t shatter Shoushan’s hold on the Black Descent. She is the Guardian of the Gate, Alastrine’s Hound… Striking her down in the black pits of Surannir would only be like breaking another illusion.’

‘An illusion?’ Ara arched his brow, though he knew Voshki could not see it. ‘How can you be so certain that your master is not truly in the Royal Den, if you never ventured there since you left with the Black Bane so many years ago?’

‘Shoushan is my master, Ara.’ Voshki shook her head, her voice grave. ‘I’ve always glimpsed her hidden truths, even though I never understood them. I know now that I’ve never truly laid eyes upon her. My guess, is that she awaits us in the endless chasm of the Black Descent, where the souls of my kin dwell in purgatory.’

Ara hawked and spat at the thought. ‘I’d normally say that any Sukhanite damned to that place is more than welcome to remain there -’

‘Ara.’ Voshki bristled.

Ara continued. ‘Yet if the gods truly wail for these lost souls… if they point their fingers in rage at the treacherous demon in their midst… should they desire judgment on those who shirk the cycle for limitless power and immortality, then I won’t deny them their chance at absolution. It is a great coincidence that Zesiro delved into that chasm to escape retribution.’

‘Listen, Ara.’ Voshki demanded. ‘Before the schism between my master and I, when I remained her greatest disciple, Shoushan revealed the location of the Black Descent to myself and only myself. You don’t have to follow me into that cursed labyrinth. I won’t ask you to descend onto that house of evil. I remember well that Alastrine marked your soul for greatness. There’s little need for you to risk your immortal fate for a woman who abandoned you for the eastern horizon.’
 
  Ara barked out a laugh. ‘I’d follow her into the blackest depths willingly. To unravel the dark pact that shall doom all of Khios with its fulfillment. Neither shall we descend alone....’
 
   Voshki sighed audibly. ‘Do you think any of those fools will listen to either of us?’
 
   ‘Yes.’ Ara answered. ‘My elder brother shall hear us out. The others already have an idea of what sacrifices must be made to defeat our foes. Zesiro is the nemesis of all of us. We shall decide together where we shall venture to fight her.’
 
   Voshki kicked her mount gently in the flanks. The milk white stallion spurred itself into a gentle trot up the Fall’s Road’s sharp incline to the summit of the Ardent Vigil. Ara watched her approach, till her eyes glimmered like polished emerald in the firelight and her breath brushed over him like a honeyed breeze.
 
   Voshki sighed with a brief shrug.  ‘A conversation for when our merry band of rogues, priests, and wayward warriors assembles once again… Where are you camped?’
 
   Ara gestured further north and west. ‘’On the outskirts beyond Grand Damira’s walls, in the Crescent Fields where the Alabaster River bends further west.’
 
   ‘Where your father was slain?’ Voshki regarded him with a morbid curiosity. ‘You decided to camp on a battlefield?’
 
   Ara brushed aside his own thoughts of mourning and managed a brief smile. ‘Would it frighten you to know that the site of his grave brings me some solace?’

    Voshki scoffed. ‘A hero’s grave should serve as an inspiration for anyone, even more so for his descendants. I thought it would have brought back un-cherished memories. And that is not how you should remember a man like Azat.’
 
   ‘Is it not?’ Ara answered, as grave as the night’s haunting quiet. ‘You did not know him well, but Azat always use to say to Aslan and myself, ‘Never take up the sword my sons, unless you’re prepared to wield it for the rest of your lives.’ I don’t think I ever really understood the meaning behind his warning until now. Decades of ceaseless conflict finally convinced Azat to settle and begin our family, but not even in solitude could he ever find true peace from the horrors that stalked him.

    ‘Aslan and I were his great pride, but I’ve always known that the thought of what we’d become after growing up in the shadow of his legacy, haunted him just the same. I asked him upon a day if he thought that everything he’d sacrifice - for Realm and Queen, was worth the seemingly unbearable weight of the consequences…
 
   Ara’s weakened smile broadened with no small measure of pride. ‘Azat gazed out toward the Crescent Moon and laughed at my ignorance. Yet I could tell that he found great amount of solace in the question I asked him. He merely spoke these words to me:
       
     ‘Blood is the heart and soul of a warrior.
 
  ‘His sword is the manifestation of his wrath.
   
 ‘His armor a bastion of his courage and faith.
   
‘His technique is the honed intellect of his mind.
   
 ‘The command of his master is his sworn oath.

    ‘And a warrior’s oath is his honor in the eyes of the gods.

‘It is by fate’s decree that a warrior shall be asked to offer up all of these aspects of himself.

‘Without this sacrifice, all civilization is but embers to be scattered on the wind of oblivion.

‘You’ll soon learn, Ara, that there is no justice in this world, save for what only the strong care to provide.

‘Your justice shall be meted out on the edge of your sword, and judgment executed by your own will.

‘You shall learn upon a day, my son, but not today..’


Ara barked out sudden laughter, then quickly sobered. ‘I never thought about those words ever again in my life… till I came across the site of his unburied grave, somewhere in the heart of the Crescent Fields. He taught me a lesson that he intentionally never taught me till after his death. That a man should never take up the sword, unless he is prepared to wield it for the rest of his life, lest justice and judgment fail him. It’s a never ending spiral of consequences, isn’t it?’

Voshki inclined her head in agreement. ‘Such is the way of mortals and the lives they eek out upon this earth. Impermanence and violence is our destiny, till the gods decide they’re tired of our amphetamine parrot and rescue us from ourselves. Whether that be by cleansing or salvation, they care not. Our immortal fate is the gentle dark of the void. I think the gods must seldom open their gate for less than a quarter of the foolish souls hurled against them.’

‘Hmm…’ Ara pondered aloud. ‘I wonder if Azat often thought the same. He was never religious either… but even he seemed changed in his middling years. I wonder if you and I shall always think this way till the end of our days?’

Voshki grinned wolfish at him. ‘Show me something worth believing in and perhaps you’ll be surprised.’

‘Come.’ Ara gestured in the direction of his camp. ‘It’s not an ideal location, my camp is on a hill that overlooks most of the battlefield. You shall feel haunted if you watch the field beneath the moonlight. But at least it’s peaceful.’

Moonsilver trotted to join Mustaphen’s brief journey down the Fall’s Road in the direction of the Crescent Fields. Ara lifted his gaze toward the crescent moon glimmering in the night sky and could not help but feel Azat’s strength and fortune shower down on him from the heights of the heavens.

His immortal fate remained uncertain, but it was a damn sight better than the certainty it was before...
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past : Penance
Post by: Myen'Tal on October 14, 2020, 08:18:02 PM

Voshki inhaled a shallow breath before she snapped back into the waking world. Awareness seized hold of her and she sat upright in a satin emerald gown. She was damp with sweat from her own nightmarish dreamscape.

A sudden pain flared in her broken nose where her fingers  grazed the bloodied bandages wrapped there--someone had corrected it. Scars, gashes, and cuts too burned within their stitched over wounds.

Voshki cursed. She desired to hunt Azat down and bleed him. Memories of what had happened last night came rushing back to her mind in fragments. She recalled Faris' ignoble death - his horrifying screams when he was reduced to nothing more than ashes and blackened bone.

Her mind pieced together a recollection of the Black Bane slaughtered with ruthless precision. Of the Annahir Immortals luring them into the heart of their lair to strike the mortal blow and put down the Sukhanite sell-swords once and for all.

Azat had accomplished his mission for the Immortals. For Old Myria.

For the first time in her second life, Voshki had failed Shoushan and the Ashen Cobra. She had failed the Black Bane even further - and now their lives were extinguished. She wondered if their immortal fate would be to join the Black Descent till the end of time.

Voshki swallowed the hard lump in her throat and shook her head. A fate well deserved in exchange for a lifetime of immorality and anarchic violence. The thought still made her heart race with terror, but she forced it out of her mind's eye.

She made to clean the beads of sweat off of her brows when her hand hit an invisible barrier against her own volition. Voshki ripped her arm back toward her person in an effort to break the iron-linked chain clasped around her wrist. The nightstand by her bed squealed as it was dragged on the alabaster marble floor so loudly that any servant or nobleman would scream in fright.

A rough and grizzled voice familiar in the subtleness of its mocking tone announced itself.

A quiet wheeze of cackling laughter betrayed Azat's presence where he lounged on a cushioned chair near the doors to the chamber.

'Don't bother, girl.' Azat suggested. 'You'll break your arm in twain before you before you free yourself.'

A furious rage welled up behind Voshki's hawk-eyed stare. 'Had I a moment longer when we fought, then I would have silenced you forever.'

Azat reclined into his chair and plucked the pipe out of his mouth. A steady stream of acrid smoke streamed out of his lips with a sigh of resignation. 'You should know - that all your Black Bane kin that journeyed here with you are all dead. The Lady of Misery and Sorrow can keep their souls in the infernal chasm she dwells in.'

The Immortal of Annahir waved briefly and servants hidden in the chamber's dark swathes scurried to open the blinds and three balconies afforded to this one room. 'I won't offer half-truths -whether friend or foe… You've not many options left and your time in this world is rather fleeting.'

'Then I shall embrace an honorable self-sacrifice.' Voshki was unable to control the spike in her own volume. 'For the Black Bane mercenaries… Your immortals could not stay my blade that fated night I slit the Autumn Queen's throat.'

Azat regarded Voshki with a grim sneer and shook his head in deliberate motions. 'Oh, did you think it was so simple? You slit someone's throat, of that everyone is certain.
Hazan's own twin is the victim of your attempted regicide.' He shut his eyes as if the thought made his head ache from the implications of the political fallout. 'You can imagine that she is not content that you're here, breathing. Neither are the One Hundred Families. Neither are the Annahir Immortals, who you've bled more than you had any right to.'

Azat considered his own words with a wolfish grin. He spread his arms in a grand gesture that folded back onto himself. 'You live by my grace alone... you're fortunate that I'm honored enough that any of them would listen to an old wolf like myself. Anyone lesser and they would have drawn and quartered you.'

'A great coincidence.' Voshki grimaced. ‘Your sorrow seems borne more from your headache than loss, so perhaps you speak to the truth of the matter. I’d imagine Hazan’s demise would have led to your self-imposed exile otherwise.’

Azat's vicious sneer deepened. 'I've no endless chasm to hide in like the Black Descent. Unlike yourself, when  I am cornered, I simply cut down what stands in front of me. I would not be the commander of the Autumn Queen's personal retinue in either case if your words were even near to truth.

‘Your entire mission is a failure. Your kin died on our swords for nothing. The Queen's sibling  died on the end of your spear for nothing. All of my brothers and sisters in the Immortals that stood against you and died - all for nothing.

'It was a pointless act of terror on a scale I've rarely seen here in Annahir or all of Old Myria. You must've stood to gain some substantial wealth or divine gift for your success, I’m certain. Now you gain nothing in defeat. And I am left with an entire band of dead sellswords - save for one young girl with the heart of a lion and the mind of a wolf...'

Voshki scoffed. 'I've nothing to say to you, Old Myrian. You may as well grant Hazan's wish and strike me down. You'd stand to gain some measure of retribution that way.
Torture me if you'd like. I can tell that it'd haunt you for the rest of your days. That would grant me peace and contentment with what little life I have left in this world.'

Azat leveled a sidelong look in her direction, lost in contemplative thought. After a brief pause, he stood - then made to stride through the chamber door.

'Our servants shall help you choose your wardrobe. Get dressed, then you’ll meet with me somewhere more appropriate and beyond prying ears. They shall guide you onto that place when you are ready. For now I take my leave. In the meanwhile, contemplate and reflect on all that I have said. Once you've truly chosen your next course of action, I shall be able tell if speaking with you was a folly or a good investment of my time.'

Azat crossed through the silver-inlaid oak doors and shut them with a deafening report.

Voshki watched the doors close shut and cursed herself. She'd never give into despair, but she had no desire to stubbornly walk into her gruesome destiny either. Azat seemed so certain that his words would persuade her into betraying hidden knowledge. She knew little of the man and more importantly, his intentions with such information.

Voshki considered her predicament and realized that perhaps the choice Azat had offered was merely an illusion of promise.
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past : Confessions of Star-Crossed Lovers 10000 vew posti!
Post by: Myen'Tal on October 24, 2020, 02:23:14 PM
Ara gently opened the door into the lonesome cabin. He was greeted at once by a rush of fireborn heat that breezed through the fabric of his dark robes. The mind-numbing spell of the autumn cold was lessened from the hearth’s crackling flames, but not entirely dispelled. He stood upon the stairway leading back into the world outside, and considered shutting the door to leave Voshki alone for the night.

Ara stood fixated between two worlds of bright light given warmth and that of the gentle comfort of the night given the biting wind of the cold. He searched the cedar wood floors of the cabin for her.

He did not see any sign of Voshki.

Lured by his own urgent curiosity, Ara entered into the abandoned house and shut the door behind him. Had she already fled the moment Ara had turned away from her? He was foolish enough to leave her to her schemes for an entire cycle of sun and moon to acquire food for both of them. Now she could be leagues apart from him, in any direction.

Voshki’s voice wafted over the soft crackles of the hearthfire. ‘You search this cabin as if frightened that you’ve lost something.’

Ara suddenly realized the burdensome weight of the young venison slung over his back. He noticed the way the deer's haunch cringed beneath the intense grip of the fingers on his one good arm. The Black Wolf gently closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, and visibly relaxed his entire frame.

Ara shrugged. ‘I thought you had fled when I wasn’t looking. Would have been smart of you, if you desired to escape the Autumn Realms unnoticed. I’m the last weapon of the Queen that can hold you to justice.’

Voshki was curled into herself away from the hearth, tucked away in an obscure corner dimly lit in the flickering orange glow. She teased Ara with a mocking chuckle. ‘You’re the latest pawn she has thrown to the wolves, if she decided to hold me accountable through you. I had a mind to follow you into the woods, track you whilst you scrounged around for any merchant with supplies in his storehouse.. I could have slit your throat and not bother myself with watching you choke on your own blood. You would be long departed from this world and I’d be on my way to home, hearth, and freedom in the gentle dark of the Royal Den.

 'Perhaps I've grown soft, Ara? If Old Myria has taught me anything, is that I've underestimated how far justice can reach out and touch someone, fatally.'

Ara watched Voshki’s cold gaze search his own, cornering him with the glower of a dormant predator. His eyes wandered ever so subtly over Voshki's slender body. As quickly as the thought of her unique beauty crossed his mind, Ara cast it aside.

Ara managed a faint smirk and nodded. 'You've learned something from Azat's countless lessons. Good, no harm in understanding knowledge meant to keep one hale and alive in this harsh world.'

Voshki inclined her head in agreement. 'He's a renowned warrior and a survivor. He understands that one must live one's life by cheating
Alastrine at every turn. Never cease moving through the cycles, always keep your wits about you, and master any tool to strike down mother death in all of her guises. Lest she catch and ensnare you, then devour you mind, body, and soul.'

Ara shrugged, then laid the venison down on the floor. 'How unfortunate for this deer that he had no such philosophy to live by. I'll take him into the shed-'

Voshki interrupted. 'Leave it for a moment.' She chuckled again at him. 'You're still shivering from the cold outside.'

Ara blew out a breath and considered the dead venison for a moment, then glanced down toward his numb and subtly quivering fingers. A sudden aching oozed into his bones from carrying his game the entire way back to the cabin.

He noticed Voshki's searching eyes upon him. He knew she could see every vulnerability within his stance. He felt her eyes touch upon every weak point in his body. No doubt assessing what a simple game it would be to kill him where he stood.

          Ara realized that something about the Ashen Cobra made him aware that his concerns were for naught. At least for the time being.

         Ara took a seat before the hearth,  respectfully distanced from the assassin. 'The winter will be ferocious this year. Autumn has not yet passed, but the northern winds already bite to the bone.
 
          'The fell weather arrives with Zesiro's intrusion on Khios, as that half-blood zealot priest -Kendal, was it- forewarned.'

           Voshki sighed, a blissful affirmation as if she had only half heard Ara's words. She gracefully picked herself off the couch in the obscure corner and took her place on the fine fur rugs in front of the hearth, so near that her breath breezed down his neck when she shifted to look him in the eyes.

            Voshki curled into Ara, pressing her clothes and dark caramel skin into his own. Where her breath had breezed down his neck before, it now streamed passed his collar and onto his chest.

           Ara realized that she had sat far enough from the hearth that she felt cold to the touch.

            Voshki's eyes peered deep into his, the deep veined emerald of her irises transfixed him. Ara knew he should have moved away, that a hidden dagger beneath his ribs would seal his fate.

            Yet try as he might, Ara could only lose himself within the emerald dream of Voshki's gaze.

           Only her next words brought Ara out of her reverie. 'Aslan told me the demon raked your arm with her ghastly talons. Said you may never be able to hold a shield again?'

            The mere mention of his wounded arm shattered his reverie and brought him crashing back into reality.

            Ara turned his gaze away in frustration, recalling his elder brother having to aid him just to even lift a simple buckler.
 
          Ara could not conceal the disappointment in his voice. 'The demon cleaved through my shield, which I had raised in my defense. She shattered it, then raked my arm with her cursed talons to the bone with every finger… how should I have known that she could fight with such inhuman strength?'
     
        A sharp tremor of pain raced up his wounded arm from the touch of Voshki's fingers around his wrist. Before he could ask, she was already peeling back the sleeve of his robe.

            She paused before unveiling the wound. 'Do you mind?'

      Ara considered her morbid fascination with a mild distaste, but relented with a sigh of pain and a brief nod.

*Scene to be continued... maybe*
;)
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past : Confessions of Star-Crossed Lovers 10000 view post!
Post by: Dread on October 26, 2020, 12:22:31 AM
MAYBE! Well let's just talk about that... anyhow, like the imagery but think they were wrapped up in front of the fire a little to quick. I like the trust goes both ways scenerio but maybe a bit more before the fire scene. I see it playing out in my minds theatre so good job.
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past : Confessions of Star-Crossed Lovers 10000 view post!
Post by: Myen'Tal on October 26, 2020, 09:30:42 AM
MAYBE! Well let's just talk about that... anyhow, like the imagery but think they were wrapped up in front of the fire a little to quick. I like the trust goes both ways scenerio but maybe a bit more before the fire scene. I see it playing out in my minds theatre so good job.

Thanks, Dread.

So I'm not certain if I mentioned this, but these all scenes from different chapters and none of it is in chronological order at all. It's actually a new method I'm trying to start with the creation of important pieces of the book, then filling in the gaps between those moments, and so-on until the entire novel is created.

Plus, can't give everything away 8).

That's the reason though that it may have seemed a bit quick for Ara and Voshki to start reacting to each other in the way that they are. Once this version of Embers comes nearer to completion, I'll have a much more developed arc in this area (and pretty much any other arc that I've touched on so far).

Thanks for reading, friend :D.

I also made a few passthroughs on the scenes I've written so far. I just haven't applied them to the posts in this thread yet.
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past : Baptism of Fire
Post by: Myen'Tal on November 1, 2020, 05:36:44 PM
About to cross the hallmark of 1/4 of 100,000 words. ;D

Sirius - the Golden Sun in the heavens, reached its zenith in cerulean skies over the Isle of Irothis. A thick mist rolled onto the shoreline from the Black Sea. An endless cycling of the waves came crashing through the translucent white shroud.

Ara readied himself, his stance poised for combat. His bare feet sifted through granular sands, soaked through by the endless tides. He listened to the rhythm of the waves crash onto the beach.

Golden sunlight gleamed in his eyes, so intense that he needed to rest them behind the shadow of his own shield. He gently shut them, listening for the moment to unleash the serpent’s bite.

A subtle sound of wet sand crushed underfoot warned Ara before the keen cry of a sword cleaved through mist and air. Ara pivoted on his left foot and side-stepped a hacking blow.

Eyes opened against the light, Ara parried a fluid counter with his steadfast shield arm. He lashed out, his practice sword grazing his opponent on the shoulder.

‘Decent, brother!’ A familiar voice roared with laughter. ‘Better than your last strike!'

His elder brother's shadow fell across his peripheral vision.

Ara’s world became a whirlwind from the tackling charge that followed. A great city built in the reaches of mountainous Irothis came into view before his gaze lifted skyward.  As he landed on his back, his eyes settled over the deep sapphire waters of the Black Sea.

Ara squeezed his eyes shut from the blinding light of the sun. When he next opened them, Aslan stood triumphant over him.

Ara recalled how familiar the gleam in his elder brother's amber eyes seemed to be. Almost as if standing in front of a sheet of glass. His short raven black hair - a balance between kept and unkempt, matched Ara’s.

Aslan loomed over him like a young lion reared up on its hind legs. He stood poised to strike Ara down should he attempt to come back to his feet.

Ara heaved up a thick spray of sand with the rim of his shield instead, forcing Aslan on the back-foot. He scrambled out of his makeshift grave of coastal sand. A particularly strong wave crashed upon him in that moment, almost planting him back into the earth again.

Ara struggled against the foaming waters threatening to pull him back down, but managed to remain afloat until the moment the wave broke altogether.
 
   Aslan had already recovered from the spray of sand, already locked in the motion of striking his younger brother square in the neck.

Ara slid through the wet sand away from the rapid lunge. Aslan stormed forward with a flurry of quick-paced attacks. Ara parried half of them with his shield and denied the others on the length of his wooden sword. Before his elder brother could change the pattern of his attacks, Ara pounced in the moment his opponent retracted his sword.

Ara lunged and thrust the unsharpened edge of his sword into Aslan’s chest directly where his heart rested. Aslan surprisingly did not shirk from the blow, unfrightened of losing to his younger brother for the first time. The moment before the strike hit home, an invisible force seized the practice blade in Ara’s hand and snapped it in twain like a child’s toy.

Ara realized that Aslan had discarded his own sword to arrest Ara’s winning blow. The practice sword was sundered in twain, the strength behind the breaking force enough to turn Ara’s momentum away from Aslan and straight into the largest wave he had seen that morning.

The curling wave smacked Ara square in the chest and threw him off his feet. Pulled under the foaming waters, Ara cursed himself mentally as the wave broke and receded back into the sea.
 
   Ara did not realize he had his eyes screwed shut until the waters had completely receded from the beach. He gently opened them to find himself sprawled back first amidst the endless sands of the beach. Once more, Aslan stood over him, triumphant, but with an apologetic smile on his face.
 
   Aslan shook his head and shrugged. ‘You just had to leave one opening before you finally struck me down… and of course I must survive to maintain my reputation. Sorry, brother, but I applaud your effort. You came nearer to triumph that time than any other practice bout we’ve had.’
   
 ‘amphetamine parrot…’ Ara sighed, then chuckled mildly. ‘My triumph stolen by an uncaring wave.’
 
   Aslan chuckled with him. ‘Face it brother, you defeated yourself. Like you always do when you’re facing me. You overthink fighting me too much.’
 
  Ara suddenly jerked himself upright as a gentle wave broke over his ankles. ‘How does a wolf overthink fighting a Lion? Father was right to grant you that name on the day of your birth, brother. You’re indomitable. I’ve never seen any other youth even come near to defeating you.’
 
   Aslan cracked a knowing smile at him. ‘If you cannot find a way brother, there may be no other I know that ever will.. There must be renowned warriors out there with a keen interest in my coming of age… if my younger brother cannot find weakness in my form, I’d wager they could. I need someone I trust who can defeat me, so I can continue to learn and not become complacent. Lest these foreign challengers defeat and perhaps strike me down where I stand.’
 
   Ara shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t want that for you brother, no matter how much I’d like to see you humbled. I shall match your skill one day, I swear on my honor.’

    Aslan nodded. ‘And still you hold greater skill with sword and shield than any would-be rival of mine. I’ll be honest, you’re still my chief competitor despite your record. Keep trying, I know you can do it.’

Azat, their father of legend, called out in the authoritative voice of a mentor with a lesson in hand. He approached his only sons, wrapping a hand around either of their shoulders to pull them into a close embrace. ‘Ara, my lone wolf. Your elder brother speaks to the truth of the matter.

'Your elder brother’s strength has always been his martial prowess and unmatched courage. It has always been your strength, Ara, to discern truths from foolish falsehoods. That is equally important in methods of combat, battle, and warfare as much as the skill one wields their weapon of choice. You need only a little more practice to put that to your advantage when you couple both aspects to become a great warrior.’

Ara shook his head. ‘What falsehoods would gain me victory over a lion?’ He gestured toward Aslan with a point of his chin. ‘It’s an impossible task, father.’

Azat bellowed with laughter, then shook his head. ‘Lesser warriors with brittle minds will often think that of someone physically imposing. Contrary to what they may think about their impressions extending their lifespans - it is quite the opposite.

‘Ara, a warrior can never better himself and become greater by shirking from challenges. You should be honored, my youngest son, for you’ve been granted the harshest trial of all. Upon a day, I believe that you will exceed even Aslan. You need only awaken that hidden potential, that spark of divinity within you that was granted by your mother…

‘Though Aslan defeats you with impunity… I always have only seen you rise, then strike again. You’ve more endurance and perseverance than any youth I’ve seen. Only Aslan would have more if he did not exert himself to the limits of his ability, mind, and body again and again.

‘... but enough of my ramblings. How about one more bout, before we break for a meal?’

An unfamiliar voice called out from farther inland, on the outskirts of the great granite sprawl scattered over the mountains in reply. ‘As good of weather as any for the practice of swords and physical strength. Is it not as any of you would say?’

Azat released his grip on his sons and all of them turned to address this mysterious voice. Ara searched the outskirts of Irothis for the voice’s source. His hazel eyes halted upon a slim figure, garbed in warrior robes of obsidian, burgundy, and crimson. The nameless warrior waited patiently with his hands behind his back, half leaning on the pillar of a great arch that led farther into the city. His face, obscured as it was by distance, was hidden underneath the shadow of a white cloak.

Aslan arched his brow in the stranger’s direction. ‘Do you know this one, father?’

Azat shrugged and contemplated, but his features were locked in a morbid grimace. ‘Ara… Aslan… return home, back to the manor.’ He commanded suddenly. ‘Do not fear, I believe I know this man… an old friend from bygone days. But I must speak with him and alone, if you would.’

Aslan clapped Ara hard on the shoulder. ‘Come brother, let father and his acquaintance have their peace… though it will only bring dark tidings, I’d wager.’

Azat swiveled his head in Aslan’s direction. ‘Stop belly-aching and go home. Dark tidings come to us all, Aslan, it matters not the time or day, or the frequency in which they occur. One day you shall understand that for once.’

‘Alright, alright!’ Aslan sighed. ‘Ara and I are leaving.’

Ara did not protest or refuse, but left his father alone on the shores of the Black Sea. Aslan and him raced back to the manor overlooking the Western Straits from the high cliffs of Irothis.

As home drew ever nearer, Ara felt a sinking suspicion well up in his chest that his father had not heard the last of this strange visit.
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past : The Sworn Brotherhood
Post by: Myen'Tal on November 9, 2020, 08:40:22 PM
So just an update on how the manuscript is looking so far.

I have scheduled the third first chapter critique for The Embers of the Past since I've truly started on it.

I'm happy to announce that not only was my editor very pleased with the progress that was made, she seemed seriously impress with a lot of the changes!

The Chapter that she reviewed was the 'Offering' - Voshki's introductory chapter.

To give a brief quote from her 5 page report - 'You have made some serious improvements with the first chapter of The Embers of the
Past—so much that you’ve catapulted your story from being “fraught with too many murky
details,” as I said in my previous first chapter critique, to now being a major success.'

And that, my dudes, has me stoked. I've made a lot of changes and corrections across the entire manuscript so far- and it's sitting around 27,000 words. So far I have high hopes for The Embers of the Past. My goal is to get it through the editing process fully sometime next year.

That aside, I might try and post the latest version of 'Offering' so you guys can see what's changed in the meantime.

Without further ado, though, here is another snippet from - from another chapter: The Sworn Brotherhood.

~***~

Galerider galloped across the alabaster fields beyond the Crescent Valley Pass. Mounted on the scale-mail barded steed, Azat’s cries rang out over the cacophony of armies gathered for war. The Commander of the Annahir Immortals shouted encouragement to thousands of Old Myrian warriors gathered from every corner of the Autumn Realms.

‘Gather!’ Azat cried out to any within earshot of the front ranks. ‘Gather your courage, men and women of the northwestern lands! Grab  your shields and gird your armor and swords!’

Azat cast his gaze down the organizing ranks of the Old Myrian forces. Scarred men and women of the Silver Shields - grizzled veterans of several campaigns, amassed on the front-lines. Archers formed rank after rank on the higher hills overlooking the vast mouth of the Crescent Valley.

Cavalcades of Knights and light horses raced on the flanks of the great muster. A silver and raven black host that glimmered like a tide of shadows even in the midday sun. Banners and pennants fixed to their pristine lances shone in the bright sun as onyx and alabaster. A golden lion clawing a crescent moon was emblazoned on every standard.

The heraldry of the Autumn Queens stoked a fierce pride in his heart. Even the lowest of the militia cried out their exaltations at the merest glimpse of Old Myria's royal coat-of-arms.

‘Courage for your families!’ Azat took a hand off the reins to gesture across the ranks. Unfamiliar warriors screamed his name like a war cry, beating their weapons across their shields or raising them toward the dawn. ‘Remember the oaths you took, for Queen and Kingdom! Old Myria and Annahir!’

Galerider rode like the wind itself down the lines of the Old Myrian army. They eventually reached the banks of the Alabaster River, the crystalline waters shimmering with sunlight.

The Annahir Immortals arrayed themselves for battle on the banks where the river bended. The Autumn Queen’s personal retinue numbered in the several hundred. Old Myria's highest honored elite held an aura of martial prowess and grandeur in spite of their insubstantial quantities.

Azat raced to meet them on the river bank, only to reign in Galerider to a swift halt where he felt the expectant gazes of all of the men and women under his command. He glanced over their pristine and shining formation and the host of weapons and distinct round shields carried in each of their hands.
 
  ‘Immortals!’ Azat shouted. ‘What an assortment of steel you’ve gathered before your commander! Swords and spears, maces and gladiuses… it matters little what weapon you’ve chosen for the purpose at hand, so long as you have mastered the art of killing with it.’
 
   ‘Our Queen has spoken. Her command has issued us forth from the halls of Ember Hearth. Our only mission is to see Old Myria triumph in the Crescent Valley against the Dominion of Carth! An alliance of barbarians and religious zealots! A coalition of the deprived and the oppressed - all enslaved to fight for the execution of their master’s will!
 
   ‘You’ve all banished their ilk from our fair land in years long passed. You’ve heard the war cries that honor this petty tyrant! They call him the Firstborn of man! That he is the Sun-Caller of the Heavens! A child of the sun itself! That he is God-King of the Dominion of Carth!
 
   ‘Brethren… what God-King chains and whips his own, so that they may fight for him by fear of his command alone? What Firstborn of mankind was born into this life with nothing to his name, but some backwater city built in the heart of an arid wasteland? What Child of Sun would darken this land with zealotry so blind and fanatical, that those enslaved to its dogma would mistaken it for freedom and enlightenment?'
 
   Azat watched his Immortals nod their heads in silent agreement. In their eyes, he could see their desire burn hot to scream their defiance and curse the god-king’s name. Yet such was their discipline that not a single soul amidst their ranks interrupted their commander.

    Azat called out with grim finality. ‘I say this man is no God over any slave that builds his empire for him! He is no master of Old Myria! And today we teach him a vital lesson in humility.'

Azat unsheathed his sword with a keen cry. He lifted the illuminated blade so that it caught the rays of the midday sun with a sheen. ‘For Queen Hazan, Annahir, and the Autumn Realms! Ride with me to glory and victory! Our swords shall not cease until this God-King and his entire army is trampled into the earth of this valley!

'Onward, Immortals!'

Galerider did not need a command, but spurred off in the direction of the greatest battle of Azat’s time. A rolling thunder of cheers erupted from the Immortals as their ranks sallied forth to give battle.
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past: I - Offering
Post by: Alienscar on November 10, 2020, 05:27:22 AM
OFFERING

Quote from: Myen'Tal
A ghastly breath of stale wind coursed through the labyrinthine tunnels beneath the Southern Wastes. The nameless girl caught the tell-tale scent of spilt blood and decay carried upon its gentle current from the old mining shafts. Through the half-collapsed entrances into the Emerald Mines, a pleasant rush from hidden underground rivers echoed through the vast, lightless caverns of the Royal Den of Vipers - Surannir to the masters of these barren wastes.

 
Due to your phrasing I can't determine if the girl is inside the tunnels, or stood outside an entrance.

I find 'ghastly breath' and 'gentle current' to be at odds with each other.

A 'cavern' is a large cave, which implies something natural. 'Mines' implies man made.

'A pleasant rush from...' is an incorrect use of the word rush. 'The sound of rushing water...' would be correct.

Is it 'Emerald Mines' or 'Royal Den'. I find the use of two names for the same place confusing.


Quote
The nameless girl would often journey on the treacherous routes through notorious criminal dens, simply to come rest by the long-forgotten tunnels near the underground river feeding the underworld haphazardly integrated into the mine that once thrived in this place.

'Treacherous routes' implies a path that is known, so I find that this then clashes with 'long-forgotten'


   
Quote
In silence, she watched what precious sunlight crept this far into the caverns refract against the streams that coursed deeper than even the mines could venture. It was exceedingly little, but the refracted light dancing on the tunnel walls brought some small and merciful measure of solace that was all but void in the depths of the Royal Den.

Refract doesn't mean the same as reflect, which is what you seem to be describing.

Overall I find the first three paragraphs too repetitive. As they all mention tunnels, mines and underground rivers it is like I have read the same passage over and over, just written in a slightly different order.
 
 
Quote
Before the cleansing waters that she could not reach, a desperate, nameless girl contemplated on how her day had descended into peril on one of her foolish whims. She had played a henchman of the Obsidian Vipers for a fool in a skewed game of dice.

Why can't she reach the waters?

Just two paragraphs down you explain that the game wasn't fixed, and also that it wasn't whimsical. This contradictory content makes for a difficult reading experience.
 
 
Quote
Her prize, several pieces of copper and an offer for less than savory work. His own prize, The nameless girl’s contract to take up less than savory work and slave for the Vipers for the rest of her life in misery and solitude.

There is no need to add 'misery and solitude'. Being a slave for the rest of your life is enough of a description.
 
   
Quote
Of course, the nameless girl had not tampered with the dice - a game for children who had entered the wrong arena. She had tried her hand to earn the coin and let the Viper win as she expected. It was the roast pieces of meat that he popped into his mouth on occasion through the game’s duration that murdered him.

A game for children! This is a dice game being played by hardened criminals for slaving contracts. It doesn't sound childlike to me.

Entered the wrong arena! I have read this a few times now, but I am still not sure what you are trying to say.

Quote
The nameless girl had done as she was asked, and sprinkled her employer’s newest created poison -dubbed the Black Rot - across the entire skewed pig.


Skewered, not skewed.

Quote
She had poured a goblet of the vile stuff down its gullet too when no one had bothered to even watch over it being cooked.

To me this premise does not make a lot of sense. A whole pig is generally roasted whilst it is horizontal and skewered through its mouth. This alone would make it hard to pour anything down its throat. On top of that though is that once dead its throat, being a complex arrangement of muscles, will have collapsed.
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past : End of Thread Announcement
Post by: Myen'Tal on November 10, 2020, 07:36:57 AM
Hey Alienscar, just going to let you know that the vast majority of the stuff you're critiquing is outdated.

Also, while I have made a few passes on this material that I haven't posted. Please keep in mind that none of this has gone through the actual editing process, it's first draft material.

EDIT:

Honestly, I think I've reached the point where I'm going to cease updating this thread. The journey I've taken across the length of The Embers of the Past has been a very positive one for me. I think I've learned a lot of important lessons from both friends, critics, and editors.

Sharing The Embers of the Past on this forum however, has been kind of a double-edged sword. I never expected to receive a lot of feedback, and I appreciate the time of anyone who has given feedback because it's something that's helpful and voluntarily done. However, I feel like the last several months, I've just been getting torn down repeatedly with little or no positive things to take away from it.

This kind of led me into a rabbit hold of chasing issues instead of working on an actual book. Worst part is that I don't feel I've gained much for all the weaknesses pointed out in quite some detail.

I *assume* that I've reached almost 11,000 views on this thread because some readers perhaps enjoyed what they were reading, in spite of the flaws within the text itself. If that is the case, I hope everyone who feels some investment in this narrative will continue to patiently wait for the arrival of the novel.

It'll still quite a road ahead, but I'm hoping to get Embers through the editing process fully sometime next year. The cost of doing that is not small by any means, so I have to focus on completing every aspect of the story, one step at a time.

I also still plan on having a website built, a digital map drawn, some extra art created, and cover art done up too. This adds to the expense further, but you receive from an investment what you put into it.

Once I have any of these things, I'll come make an update. Until then, take care of yourselves, folks, and always, thanks for taking the time to be a reader :).
 
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past : End of Thread Announcement
Post by: Alienscar on November 11, 2020, 05:54:55 AM
However, I feel like the last several months, I've just been getting torn down repeatedly with little or no positive things to take away from it.

Well, as the person that has left the majority of the feedback, I have to say sorry that I have made you feel that way. I have said many a time I wish I that I could have helped you more and that is still true.
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past : End of Thread Announcement
Post by: Myen'Tal on November 11, 2020, 12:28:24 PM
However, I feel like the last several months, I've just been getting torn down repeatedly with little or no positive things to take away from it.

Well, as the person that has left the majority of the feedback, I have to say sorry that I have made you feel that way. I have said many a time I wish I that I could have helped you more and that is still true.

More of it's my fault than it is yours. I shouldn't have placed so much responsibility for bettering myself off of your feedback. I feel like that put you in a position you didn't necessarily want or have the time to be in. No hard feelings :), but I realize that Embers needs some more development time in the background as opposed to the spotlight.

Sorry I never said anything before, I didn't want to alienate anyone, which I suppose I ended up doing anyway. So apologies should be on my end, not yours.

I do hope to share some stuff closer to the manuscript's completion.

Appreciate you, Alienscar.   
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past : Apology for Alienscar & Latest Version of Offering
Post by: Myen'Tal on November 18, 2020, 09:28:32 PM
@alienscar: Realized that I probably came off as a big jerk in the last few post and wanted to apologize for that. I think it may have been uncalled for the way I vented my frustrations like that - and I think I was being slightly irrational with how I was looking at the situation.

So, I want to formerly apologize to you. Because no one has put forth more effort to help in this thread than you (though Dread and all readers are appreciated!).

Also, it's my fault with definitely with not being consistent in the quality of the posts. I'm going to try to be better about that.

Just thought I'd leave this here, in case  you still wanted to review it. It's the latest version of what I have for Offering. Hoping you find it better than the last version I posted. Stay honest about your opinion, as you've always have :).

I'm actually prepping for a small beta readers test that'll feature the first three chapters in order pretty soon.

Alienscar, if you'd like to be a part of this beta reader test, let me know and I'll send you a pm.

Dread, same for you  :).

I've got about four or five readers enlisted at this point, so you guys are definitely welcome.



Offering - Complete

A fell wind howled from out of the depths beneath the Southern Wastes. Voshki caught the scent of spilt blood and decay upon its current. She heard underground rivers course through ancient caverns - choked by mankind’s refuse. Beneath the surface world in the Royal Den of Vipers, sunlight seemed nothing more than a distant dream.
 
She would often navigate the treacherous routes through notorious criminal dens. All for the chance to rest in the long-forgotten caves that channeled the underground rivers.
   
Time was an obscurity this far beneath the surface. Voshki would watch what precious sunlight crept into the caverns from what she imagined was dawn to dusk. The illumined rays refracted and reflected amidst the streams. It was exceedingly little, but the dancing light on the earthen walls brought some small measure of solace.

A time of reflection that had come to an end.

Voshki caught the dancing lights in the corner of her eye as she hurried by her favorite spot beside the underground river. She contemplated on how her day had began with such tranquility only to descend into urgent peril. She had played a henchman of the Obsidian

Vipers for a fool in a skewed game of dice.
Her reward was the offering of her first contract. To commit murder against an unfamiliar name from a rival den – by the lethality of a newly concocted poison.

Of course, she had not tampered with the dice. She did not need to seize triumph from defeat. Voshki had already received a counter-contract from said rival den. She had already tested the lethality of this new poison dubbed ‘the Black Rot’ on several pitchers of wine scattered around the Vipers’ Den.

The lackey she had played the odds against had wretched, vomited, and writhed from the midday bell and expired in precisely within the span of an hour. What Voshki had not planned for was the feast the Obsidian Vipers had hosted to celebrate another ‘Blood Debt’ – a notorious rite of passage for their new recruits.

Thirty more Vipers had died that very hour.

The Vipers thirsted for vengeance and marched out of their dens in force. Their numbers continued to swell until it seemed hundreds had taken on the task of scouring their territories in search of the vermin that had bitten them.

They hacked through their own flea-bitten serfs first. Uncaring of who was dragged out of their hovels, the criminal syndicate acted with brutal efficiency. The tortured screams of the dying scattered the meek and terrified like an inferno that uproots all life in a forest.

It was only a matter of time before they had sped ahead of her to spring their ambush…

~***~

‘Oh amphetamine parrot.’ Voshki wheezed, exhausted from the constant pursuit. ‘amphetamine parrot - amphetamine parrot - amphetamine parrot!’

She fled heedlessly, hurling herself through every cracked open door into impoverished homes. She tossed their dining tables and leveled decrepit bookcases to stall her pursuers for but only a moment. Then she leapt through the gaping holes in their walls, back into the twisted maze of the Royal Den of Vipers.

Voshki had no choices left. She had no leads, save only a direction. She had no solace of a definite safe card to draw and play. If she were shunned and turned away from the only refuge, she would be fed directly into the hands of the V-

A rickety wooden door not even several steps away from her burst open with such force, she had to slide under the slab of termite infested wood as it flew off its hinges.

A lean figure of dark caramel skin emerged - garbed in black leathers and fiery robes emblazoned with gold. He stormed down the stairs toward her even as she ground to a screeching halt in the muddy grime.

The Obsidian Viper rattled with furious laughter as he reached out to seize her.
She twisted in his reckless grip on the scuff of her collar, tearing the fabric of her rough spun clothes. A glimmer of steel cut across the damp and oppressive atmosphere. Rolling into her captor, the dagger hidden in her clothes tore a bloody slice across the Viper from cheek to the tip of his ear.

The street thug reeled from an explosion of pain; one hand cradled over his right eye. Voshki pounced and buried the blood slick dagger to the hilt in the Viper’s throat and twisted for good measure before resuming her flight.

Several voices ushered into earshot - so near their breathing echoed through the cavern as she hurtled into the depths. The sound of their footfalls giving urgent pursuit hastened her to the height of her limits.

Voshki descended farther into the oppressive darkness until it became impregnable like an abyss - void of any glimmer of sun or moon. She reached out with bloodied, grasping fingers for any purchase so that she could find her way forward.
The Vipers hounded her in their relentless chase and somehow gained on their prey. Her pursuers chortled and screamed constant, blood-curdling threats. How did they find their way in the dark so easily?

A spark ignited in the darkness. An intense fiery glow that caught nearby shadows aflame.
An incredibly brief flicker near enough that she could reach out and grasp its warmth. As swiftly as the candle of light burst into brilliant life was it snuffed by an invisible force. She tried to arrest her loping speed, instead she slipped and slid through the unstable mud flows coursing through the earthen caverns.The spark ignited once again, combusting into a flood of flame born light. She raised her hands in pitiful defense of being reduced to cinders as the flames crashed over her body.

An explosion without warmth to the fire whipped and lashed but could not scorch her. The surprised screams of her pursuers - born from sudden terror rather than actual death - became snuffed out of existence as quickly as the flame born explosion withered into nothing.

She did not realize that her eyes were shut until the roaring in her ears dissipated. Quivering hands removed themselves from where they latched onto her face as a makeshift shield.

Her eyes flicked open, then shut again from the acrid smoke wafting from braziers burning on an ancient vine coated wall of slick and weathered stone. Crystalline waters streamed through ornate drains near to overfull. The drains followed cobblestone paths that wound into the dark. Her eyes followed the dimly lit road straight to a great set of doors carved from onyx. Ancient calligraphy, drawn and crafted from pure silver, was inlaid across the polished stone.

A clattering of armored footfalls approached her hesitantly from behind. The confidence in their striding steps was challenged by fear of the unknown.

‘Encircle her.’ One of them commanded.  'Don’t stand so idly! Do your damn jobs!’
The Obsidian Vipers scurried to obey their master, but their eyes continued to steal glances around their enigmatic surroundings.

‘Don’t just gawk at her, fools!’ Their commander encouraged them. ‘Seize her!’

An armored boot kicked the girl across the temple and sent her clattering to the stonework with a sharp yelp. Another several kicks forced her to double over on her side in pain. Scarred, mutilated hands seized her by the arms and pinned them behind her back. She felt the heated burn of rough rope being pulled tight across her wrists.

A morose voice like that of a widow in mourning crept out of the dark behind the gang of thugs. ‘What’s happening out here?'

The Viper nearest the source of sound scrambled forward with an open palm raised.
‘Halt!’ He screamed, furious, but she detected a note of superstitious terror behind his bluster. ‘Return back the way you came, hag! This doesn’t involve you.’

‘Are you jesting?’ Another Viper arched his brow. ‘Skewer her and let us move on.’ He hawked and spat in the direction of the mysterious voice.

Their commander began to issue orders. ‘Faris, guard the girl! The rest of you, encircle our hero here. Silence her protests.’

The Obsidian Vipers unsheathed their weapons in unison, all manner of wicked blades laced with dark crimson venom. They stormed forward as one unit to corner the patch of outlying darkness where torchlight could not so easily reach.

‘Offerings for the Lady of Misery and Sorrow.’ The voice proclaimed in low undertones.
‘Join the Black Descent then, cowards.’

The mere mention of the Black Descent threatened to snuff the flame of the braziers for the briefest moment. Voshki jumped as any nearby traces of light wavered momentarily. To their credit, the Obsidian Vipers seemed resolute in their confidence.

‘Enough…’ The grizzled viper commanding the rabble pointed in the direction of a hazed outline of a woman eclipsed in the shadow. ‘Break her limb by limb. Bring me the head when you’re done.'

One thug charged in to cave the skull of the insubstantial figure. A brutal hack from his club withered the illusion into shades of wet mist. None of them had noticed their leader's severed head tumble from his shoulders until it smacked the ground with a wet thump.

The remaining vipers swiveled around and regarded the corpse with a begrudged disbelief. A frozen chill breezed into them as they readied their weapons for another assault.

A pair of the Vipers charged again, war cries on their lips as they closed distance with the shadow in their midst. The woman neatly lifted her slender blade and parried a reckless hack of a nicked, tarnished weapon. Her physical form seemed to meld into the
shadows as she stepped around the vicious swing of her other attacker.

The spiked club gripped in both hands cleaved harmlessly through the insubstantial mist. Instead, the reckless blow caved in the teeth of the comrade who had charged in with him.

The brutality of the blow obliterated the Viper’s jaw and knocked him out of consciousness the moment he collapsed onto the cobblestone path. One of his comrades mercifully ushered him from the mortal plane.

‘Thrice-cursed shall each of your deaths become.' The woman coalesced between the remaining assailants and answered with an effortless flurry of fatal cuts.

Another victim's weapon clattered to the ground, an urgent hand over the ruptured wound where his heart rested. The bruiser with the gore-slick club staggered and wheezed out a long, agonized scream as his torso began to fall apart.

‘Begone from this place.' The woman demanded of the three remaining souls frozen in place, seized by horror. ‘The Black Descent has claimed more than its share.''

The Vipers heard her command and scrambled to obey. The Obsidian Viper by the name of Faris considered the adolescent girl in his grasp. He relinquished her and vanished into the shadows after his brethren.

‘And what manner of stray has wandered into my domain?’ Her mysterious savior cooed from out of the gentle dark. ‘Another troublesome adolescent fleeing the venomous bite of the viper. You are fortunate that the Lady of Misery and Sorrow has her eye on you. The sacrifices made in your name are worthy of her dark blessing.

‘Tell me, who are you?’ A woman emerged from out of the shadow, garbed in quilted leather armor the color of dark storm clouds. Polished steel plates reinforced the quilted suit of armor in the form of gauntlets, greaves, and pauldrons.

Her braided hair was that of rose and chestnut entwined, shifting into hues of raven black where slim lockets fell over her temples. Four old scars - a form of ritual scarification was etched with precision over the left emerald eye. Her other eye shone a dark silver in the dim firelight.

Voshki slipped out of her hastily bound restraints. She quickly picked herself off the blood-slick stone, her rough spun clothes caked in grime and splattered gore. She bowed her head in submission and knelt amidst the dead offerings claimed by the Goddess of the Underworld.

‘I am nameless.’ She eked out as the adrenaline began to subside. ‘I am nothing more than a passing shadow. I would devote myself to the knowledge of the Black Descent and the ways of its guardians…’

‘An aspirant? Amusing…’ The enigmatic woman considered the young girl before her. ‘But truly? We shall see how bad you truly wish for that.’ She snapped her fingers once and the burning braziers on the stone walls had their flames snuffed in an instant. 

‘My name is Shoushan.’ The shadow melding woman called out from nearby. ‘Do you fear what dwells in the night? Does your heart shiver in terror at the thought of death? Does your mind become your enemy, when faced with a threat that you cannot trace with mortal eyes?’

Voshki felt her heart still within her chest. ‘Of course not.’

Shoushan filled the abyss with echoes of amused laughter. An oppressive silence filled the emptiness it left behind.

‘There may be potential within you. To what degree, we indeed shall see. Arise and I shall welcome you… my only rule for the time being is that you never betray hidden knowledge… and that you avoid death - no matter its guises.

Somewhere in the gloom, Shoushan snapped her fingers once again. The dormant braziers on the stone walls ignited once more. She stood patiently by the mysterious door blocking the path further into the depths. ‘So, arise and welcome, Voshki of the Ashen Circle. Come, step into these hallowed halls… we’ll see if the clandestine arts were always meant for you.’

~***~


Title: Re: The Embers of the Past : Apology for Alienscar & Latest Version of Offering
Post by: Alienscar on November 19, 2020, 10:22:54 AM
@alienscar: Realized that I probably came off as a big jerk in the last few post and wanted to apologize for that. I think it may have been uncalled for the way I vented my frustrations like that - and I think I was being slightly irrational with how I was looking at the situation.

So, I want to formerly apologize to you. Because no one has put forth more effort to help in this thread than you (though Dread and all readers are appreciated!).

There is no need for you to apologise Myen'Tal, and you definitely have not come across as a jerk. If my feedback has caused you frustration then you are well within your rights to vent at me as much as you like.

My feedback is only my opinion based on 'feelings' I get reading your story, so it has no actual merit. As I have said before I have no editorial experience, so if you ever think that my feedback is crap then you must tell me (and that is true for anyone reading this)

Just thought I'd leave this here, in case  you still wanted to review it. It's the latest version of what I have for Offering. Hoping you find it better than the last version I posted. Stay honest about your opinion, as you've always have :).

I will certainly try to continue my feedback, but it won't be for some time.

I'm actually prepping for a small beta readers test that'll feature the first three chapters in order pretty soon.

Alienscar, if you'd like to be a part of this beta reader test, let me know and I'll send you a pm.

I will have to say no to that offer Myen'Tal as lately my works shift patterns don't leave me much free time at home.
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past : Apology for Alienscar & Latest Version of Offering
Post by: Myen'Tal on November 19, 2020, 04:32:45 PM
Quote
There is no need for you to apologise Myen'Tal, and you definitely have not come across as a jerk. If my feedback has caused you frustration then you are well within your rights to vent at me as much as you like.

My feedback is only my opinion based on 'feelings' I get reading your story, so it has no actual merit. As I have said before I have no editorial experience, so if you ever think that my feedback is crap then you must tell me (and that is true for anyone reading this)

Yeah I need to improve communication on my end, so I'll definitely give some thoughts on any feedback I may disagree with / have questions about.

Quote
I will certainly try to continue my feedback, but it won't be for some time.

No problem! It'll still be here when you get around to it.

Quote
I will have to say no to that offer Myen'Tal as lately my works shift patterns don't leave me much free time at home.

No worries, I know you're busy. Just thought I'd throw that out there.
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past : Some Backstory and World Building
Post by: Myen'Tal on November 23, 2020, 09:00:41 PM
Working on the backstory behind the scenes. This first scene is something I've written up and might integrate into a prologue that introduces the first book's antagonist:

The Khiosian Pantheon has long abandoned the realms of Mankind on Khios Continent. On the dawn of man's first empires and civilizations - a Pact of Black Sin would forever seal the fate of each and every generation sired throughout the Eastern Realms. A Sun-Caller King - last of his proud lineage - had made an alliance with Alastrine - Lady of Hell and Queen of the Underworld. Immortal Life in exchange for the souls of every man, woman, and child cursed with life on Khios - a harsh realm of fickle and zealous gods where their children must already endure lives of constant struggle.

Once blessed by the Gods of Khios - they in turn shunned and abhorred the creation of this new God-King. When Eraysl of the Children of the Sun betrayed all the souls on the world of Ios onto the Demon Queen of the Underworld, so disgusted had the gods become that their presence on the mortal plane waned until only the slightest sliver of divinity remained within the hearts of mankind.

For generations have the children of Khios endured and dwelled in a world where their Gods remain nothing more than echoes of remembered glories. Almost four thousand years of unknowingly stumbling farther into damnation - nearly every soul that walks the world of Ios is branded with the mark of hell - fated for an eternity in the Palace of Misery and Sorrow.

As the third millennium begins to draw to a close - something seems amiss on Khios in these dark times. Centuries old Empires prepare for a continent spanning war. Entire civilizations are put to the sword and their great works crumbled to their foundations. No realm can escape the endless tides of destruction.

Only a handful of souls -bound for greatness- seem to stand between Khios and the dark fate that has ensnared it since the beginning of mankind's fledgling steps. As the entire world seems poised to tear itself apart, the Goddess of the Underworld seems to only grow more ambitious and wrathful.

In these dark times where the Palace of Misery and Sorrow should be overfull with the souls of the cursed - Alastrine strikes fear in the hearts of the Damned with screams of anguish.

In these dark times - the Palace of Misery and Sorrow is now emptied for reasons unknown. Alastrine unleashes her greatest champions - Zesiro and Amunet - into the mortal world to investigate not only where the souls within her palace are vanishing to - but to discover who is stealing out from under her in both the mortal plane and the divine realms.


This second piece is some backstory that I've created for a character soon to enter The Embers of the Past proper.

A Child of Sun and Moon

Born in the Province of Mist Hollow, Kendal is a unique individual - his father of the Qimbri Elves - Of the Genesis of Durwaith Clan - of the Celithorn Empire and his mother an immediate relative of the Autumn Queen of Old Myria. Both figures of royalty among their respective houses - having fled from the Isles of Remorse off the coast of the Old Myrian Empire - where the Celithorn Empire hosts its embassy on Khios. Having chose a life of minor nobility after situating themselves in the courts of the Kingdom of Hallorn, Kendal was raised as an only child.

Borne under the Light of the West - a star associated with the Goddess Nihali of the Ishalnan Elves and that of Jumanah in the Old Myrian Pantheon - Kendal has always been associated with wisdom, prophecy, and faith since the earliest days of his childhood. A child of scholarly pursuits - Kendal commenced his studies in arcane and religious lore, and also that of the histories.

His unnatural gifts - abilities to commune with the divine through visions and wield the Heavenly Flame - never became apparent until his adolescent years. Plagued by harrowing visions throughout his younger years, Kendal continued to grow into a hale young man. His affinity with fire magic -while a great contrast with his stoic and measured nature - continued to influence his desire to turn his talents to a more martial path.

On the eve of his eighteenth birthday and coming of age - Kendal beheld a sign of Divine Favor by the Royal Evergreen on the farmland his parents owned. During the midst of a winter storm was a single-tailed comet sailing across the atmosphere. The comet was borne aloft on wings of celestial fire, burning in a rainbow of shades. The flaming tip of the comet appeared as a Goddess' flaming sword, proceeded by the music of an angelic choir.
During the comet's passing, the winter storm began to break and not even an hour later had passed on. God rays cascaded through the gaping wounds in the ashen skies till sunlight suddenly cleared the clouds away.

Kendal took the vision as a sign of divine omen - and departed from his parent's farmland to travel to the city of Raven's Croft and pledged himself to the Grand Temple of Hanneth to become a Priest and Disciple of the Goddess of Heaven.

Kendal of Mist Hollow happened upon his mentor - who took an interest in the young man after the other Devoted Priests and Priestesses of the Temple shunned him for his twin-heritage.

His mentor introduced himself as Vindiaccos of the Titan's Hand - A Sworn Warrior of the Raven Veil Vigil - and Disciple of Hanneth. A grizzled veteran of many wars of faith - and one with a sense of humor - Vindiaccos took an interest in Kendal's unusually reserved and stoic nature.

Kendal studied and trained under Vindiaccos' leadership - thought not for the priestly role he initially expected or wanted. In the following years, Kendal found his calling as a warrior-priest and paladin of the Raven Veil. He quickly earned a reputation for the grace of his swordsmanship and his innate might when commanding the Heavenly Flame. After two years of constant arduous labor, Vindiaccos knighted him as a member of the Brotherhood.

Though Kendal earned a revered reputation as a Vigilant of the Raven Veil - many of his colleagues saw him as an enigma - someone they cannot relate to or the tenants of his personal faith - which mismatch theirs. Despite his more isolated role within the Temple of Hanneth, Kendal continued to gain fame and popularity with the local masses.

Kendal's story begins when messengers from a distant land arrive in the port of Raven's Croft. News of the foreign agents spreads like wildfire throughout the city, and naturally many of Kendal's faithful see an uncanny resemblance between him and these strange emissaries. Many of Kendal's peers within the Temple question Kendal's origins and if they're as humble as he believes they are. After several tensed or violent encounters with small groups of these emissaries, a handful of the more zealous clergy demand Kendal's resignation from the Raven Veil Vigil.

Vindiaccos, curious of these foreign emissaries, implores Kendal to return home to his farmstead and speak with his mother about a potential revelation about Kendal's past. Haunted by what these foreign emissaries are hunting for - Kendal attempts to depart from the Grand Temple of Hanneth - but is cut off by a band of zealots who covet his death - and also claim to know the truth about him.

Kendal draws his blade and cuts down his attackers - leaving them for dead. Unable to return to the Grand Temple once the deaths have been discovered, Kendal imposes self-exile upon himself and returns home. He returns to find his mother and father, and the emissaries from the distant land of Old Myria.

Kendal's mother, Ankine, reveals that she is a member of the Royal Family of the Old Myrian Empire - an immediate relative to the Autumn Queen Hazan. She has been commanded to return home, and she intends to do so with her son - who shares her heritage as royalty.

Kendal of Mist Hollow has journeyed from the distant shores of Western Ios - from the continent of Tambria et Nossos - to the eastern realms of Khios. His efforts to reach the Autumn Throne in capital city of Annahir is the culmination of a decade of labor.
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past : Some Backstory and World Building
Post by: Alienscar on November 25, 2020, 07:29:09 AM
Offering - Complete

It is not everything, but here are a few of my thoughts on the Offering.

Quote
A fell wind howled from out of the depths beneath the Southern Wastes. Voshki caught the scent of spilt blood and decay upon its current. She heard underground rivers course through ancient caverns - choked by mankind’s refuse. Beneath the surface world in the Royal Den of Vipers, sunlight seemed nothing more than a distant dream.

Winds don't blow from out of caves.

'depths' & 'beneath' essentially mean the same thing, so I think it would be best to drop one of these words.

The word 'spilt' seems an unnecessary embellishment as well and I think the sentence would flow better without it.

The second sentence is too separate from the first and on its own doesn't work as a sentence.

'In the caverns beneath the Southern Wastes Voshki caught the scent of blood and decay on the air...' is a bit punchier I think.

Quote
She would often navigate the treacherous routes through notorious criminal dens. All for the chance to rest in the long-forgotten caves that channeled the underground rivers.

I can't determine where Voshki is standing. The first paragraph would seem to be describing Voshki standing outside listening to underground rivers, but the paragraph below descibes her being underground.

Quote
Time was an obscurity this far beneath the surface. Voshki would watch what precious sunlight crept into the caverns from what she imagined was dawn to dusk. The illumined rays refracted and reflected amidst the streams. It was exceedingly little, but the dancing light on the earthen walls brought some small measure of solace. A time of reflection that had come to an end.

Reading the whole scene I struggle to see how the first twelve paragraphs link with the rest of the story. Voshki goes from quite reflection by the side of a river to running for her life, and for me there is no link between them.

Quote
Voshki caught the dancing lights in the corner of her eye as she hurried by her favorite spot beside the underground river. She contemplated on how her day had began with such tranquility only to descend into urgent peril. She had played a henchman of the Obsidian Vipers for a fool in a skewed game of dice.

She murdered him rather than play him for a fool and the game wasn't skewed as far as I can tell.
 
I find the mindscape that you are trying to create very confusing. You mention underground rivers, so this gives a sense of being deep underground. On the other hand reflected light is still being seen, so this would indicate that Voshki is near an entrance and the surface. I feel that the romanticised use of underground rivers has led to most of this confusion.

Quote
Her reward was the offering of her first contract. To commit murder against an unfamiliar name from a rival den – by the lethality of a newly concocted poison.

To be honest I am finding this difficult to follow. Her reward for what?

Quote
Of course, she had not tampered with the dice. She did not need to seize triumph from defeat. Voshki had already received a counter-contract from said rival den. She had already tested the lethality of this new poison dubbed ‘the Black Rot’ on several pitchers of wine scattered around the Vipers’ Den.

'seize triumph from defeat'! In the context of its paragraph I do not understand this sentence.

A 'counter-contract' would imply that the Vipers knew what was going on and who was going to attack them.

If she has already tested the poison then the Den should have been littered with people writhing in agony before the dice game, unless no one was drinking. If that was the case then it wasn't much of a test.

Quote
The lackey she had played the odds against had wretched, vomited, and writhed from the midday bell and expired in precisely within the span of an hour. What Voshki had not planned for was the feast the Obsidian Vipers had hosted to celebrate another ‘Blood Debt’ – a notorious rite of passage for their new recruits.

Surely the feast was already in motion before she carried out her attack.

Quote
A lean figure of dark caramel skin emerged - garbed in black leathers and fiery robes emblazoned with gold. He stormed down the stairs toward her even as she ground to a screeching halt in the muddy grime.

I find this a bit cartoonish in its premise. It is hard to make a screeching sound in mud.
 
Quote
Rolling into her captor, the dagger hidden in her clothes tore a bloody slice across the Viper from cheek to the tip of his ear.

I am no knife fighter, but I find this hard to imagine. If someone is rolling over I would picture them  head down, so this then makes it  hard to picture someone with a knife held high enough to strike someone's cheek.
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past : Some Backstory and World Building
Post by: Myen'Tal on November 25, 2020, 01:12:21 PM
Hey Alienscar.

So I've made some changes and clarifications to reflect your feedback (which are good points), but I haven't posted them yet. I'll wait till I receive your feedback for the whole chapter before I post anything up - that way I can make changes across the board if necessary.

I do agree with your point in particular about the first 12 paragraphs. I didn't remove them entirely but instead removed a good bit - did some rewriting to better the merge the scenes into a more seamless experience. 

Title: Re: The Embers of the Past : A Promise Relinquished
Post by: Myen'Tal on November 26, 2020, 10:56:11 PM
‘My disciple. Pleased I am with your timeliness. Come, you may enter.’

Shoushan’s voice drifted through the sigil etched door Voshki found herself in front of. In the higher echelons of the Ashen Circle - she stood in the midst of an inconspicuous hall. Weathered onyx stone lined the ancient walls of the corridor. Braziers burned on colonnades that filled the spaces between door after door - what lied beyond  them all remained unknown.

Voshki spied no guardians hidden in the shadows. Neither could she detect any assassins in the dark. It was moments like these that Voshki had come to fear the most. To tread in a place of death where a threat may lay hidden where she could not see.

Voshki fought to calm her rapidly beating heart. She fluttered her eyes shut, then reached out toward the sigil emblazoned on the smooth oak surface.

‘Where there is no light, I find a haven.

‘Where there is darkness and shadow, I draw my strength.

‘Where there lies misery and all the sorrows therein, I am called to Faith.

‘May the Lady of the Palace open the way.’


Voshki flicked her eyes open. The calligraphic symbol etched upon the doorway blazed with violet flames before vanishing in a scatter of embers. The door slid backward from the subtle force of her palm on the faded runic etchings.

Voshki peeled her hawk eyes and gazed into the windswept room of granite beyond. Hesitantly, she took one step forward and entered. Her bare feet touched upon fine rugs - tanned from the hides of several different predators in particular - each of them feline in origin.

A bellow of flames from the hearth’s fire took her by surprise. A pleasant laughter reacted that sounded uncharacteristicall y amused.

Shoushan stood on the height of a dozen stone stairs. The elevation separated her personal office near the arched window from the rest of her bedroom. Voshki swiveled her head in the direction of her master, who gazed casually beyond the light of her window. She kept her back turned to Voshki - simply achieving the impossible by gazing out into… dazzling sunlight?

Shoushan snapped her fingers once, then gestured behind her back for Voshki to become seated at her office desk.

Compelled by her oath of obedience, Voshki wordlessly approached her desk and took a seat in the nicest leather chair she had ever seen.

Shoushan continued to watch the world through her window. ‘Curious, isn’t it? That a subterranean labyrinth can hold a view of the outside world? It is one of the many hidden routes that venture into the world beyond that of Suannir - the Den of Vipers.

‘It was ironic, your unintentional discovery all those many nights ago when you fled the Vipers. If you only knew the correct phrase, you could have opened the way before you and have been on the surface before the next sunrise.

‘You’d have starved or worse in the harsh deserts of the Southern Wastes. But you’d have died a free woman.’

Shoushan finally pivoted on her heel to face Voshki. Her endless veil of raven black hair whipped back behind her shoulder. A rare moment, when Voshki’s master unveiled herself in a way that seemed more human than shadow.’

‘Fortune always did have a way of favoring you.’ A faint smile appeared on her face. Shoushan seemed to glow in the light of the hearth’s fire. ‘Destiny never allows you to misstep, does it? Despite the odds, it brought you before me. Fate has elevated you from a homeless urchin into an Assassin of the Ashen Circle.’

Voshki inclined her head in gratitude. ‘My mother always did say that I was born with a lucky star over my cradle. Before she passed that is.’

‘Mhm.’ Shoushan agreed. ‘Fortune is a bitter-sweet notion, isn’t it? For someone to win by the Goddess of favor, there must always be many more who shall lose. It is simply one of life’s myriad little games, but a test none-the-less.

‘Take your role as an assassin as an example.' Shoushan pointed out. ‘Should you wish to even continue breathing, every contract is a matter of life and death. It requires a mastery over who shall live and die by the words written upon it. One mistake and you have sealed your own fate. Another mistake still and someone meant to perish on the end of a blade and have their soul collected… may yet live.

‘The factors that spring forth from these events are never-ending. No matter which way the game of fortune plays out. All one can do is continue to see to their own success… or to the way that they shall leave this world.’

Voshki arched her brow. ‘Is that why I’m here, Shoushan? Because I’ve made a mistake that’s sealed my fate?’

Shoushan shrugged. ‘Mistakes can be an issue of perspective, Voshki. Do you believe that I’ve called you here from the Dominion of Carth because you failed me in some way?’

Voshki considered Shoushan’s remark. ‘... I know that Zagir has always been your favorite. She earned your love as a daughter would from her mother. She earned my respect as a friend and comrade.

‘Zagir is dead.’ Voshki uttered with grim finality. ‘Because I could have done better. I believe that’s why you called me back.’

Shoushan studied Voshki’s blank expression with a studious glint in her eye. She cocked her head at her, then shook it in disagreement. ‘I do not confide in many of my pupils, as you often know, because of the nature of the business that we coordinate.

‘Zagir was like a daughter to me, that much is true.’ Shoushan answered. ‘She was fated to perish that night. Nothing you could have done would have delivered her from death. Her time had come long before I sent both of you into the Heartlands of Khios.

‘I do not grieve her death. In truth, I do not grieve over the loss of any of my disciples… not even you when you eventually fail and lose your game with Lady Fortune. It is simply the nature of the immortal cycle… It is the reason that we cling onto our faith in the Goddess of Misery and Sorrow.

‘All of the Ashen Circle is united in death in the end.’

Voshki arched her brow, surprised. ‘Then why call me back to Suannir at all? I could have continued and finished the contract.’

‘Because it is null, Voshki.’ Shoushan quipped. ‘Due to circumstances beyond your ken, there is no longer a need for the contract’s fulfillment. I called you back to Suannir so that I could employ your talents elsewhere.’

Voshki arched her brow. ‘Are you jesting? Zagir and I endured hell and back crawling through that crumbling empire! We had spilt our blood and those of countless others for over two years! Who nullified the contract?’

Shoushan shrugged. ‘Who do you think? And Zagir served her purpose in death. She would have done the same willingly, even if she had known. She would have always chosen death so long as it was by my command. I need you - not her - for the mission that lies ahead.’
Voshki deigned not to reply, shocked into silence.

‘Enough about what happened.’ Shoushan changed the subject. ‘You’ve been coming and going from the surface for several years now. How do you find it up there?’

‘Surreal.’ Voshki blinked, giving an honest answer without thought. ‘It’s beautiful, beyond anything that I’ve ever imagined as an urchin in the Royal Den. I’m surprised, you never asked me before in all of these years.’

There was that pleasant laughter again.

Shoushan nodded. ‘I figured as much. The surface world has a certain charm about it compared to the caverns of Suannir. In truth, the next contract that I have lined up for you is about a world and a half away. So distant that you have never heard of it, I would wager.

‘Your destination lies in the farthest reaches of western Khios, on the other end of the continent. Tell me, do you truly know nothing of the Old Myrian Empire?’

‘Nothing.’ Voshki stated, her expression blank. ‘As you said, I’ve never heard of it.’

Shoushan sighed, disappointed. ‘I’d hoped you would prove me wrong. You must journey to this far-flung place. The journey alone shall require a year's time to reach the border, let alone infiltrate it. I do not intend to recall you once you set forth.

‘You’re to act under the guise of a sell sword warband. There is much for you to learn, practice, and execute in this regard. Four hundred men and women - the most elite of the Ashen Circle - shall be yours to command.

‘I hope you understand, Voshki, that you must be more ruthless than ever before should you wish to succeed. You shall spend five years under my direct tutelage in all things related to this mission and the skill set you shall need to master to accomplish it.

‘Understand, that once I set you forth to the lands of Old Myria… never shall I expect you to return - whether in success or failure.’

Voshki cocked her head. ‘What is that supposed to mean? Are you exiling me?’

Shoushan laughed at her. ‘No. I simply mean that when you commence this mission… you shall know everything that I must teach you. You will be your own woman - with your own goals and dreams. Once you complete this contract, you will never be indebted to me again.

‘So be certain to never return - and go your own way.’

‘Shoushan...’ Voshki started but was interrupted.

Shoushan smiled. ‘No one can win against Lady Fortune forever… but you’ll continue to reap reward for many years yet. I know as much. So, Voshki of the Black Bane Kindred Mercenaries. Do you accept the offer of this contract?’

Voshki could not hide the predatory glint in her eye, focused on the sunlight beyond Shoushan’s chambers.

She knew the answer without having to think or hesitate. She spoke the words she had never thought she would be able to after all these years.
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past : A Promise Relinquished
Post by: Alienscar on November 27, 2020, 07:19:02 AM
There are several issues with diction & syntax, but overall I have found this scene a much easier read than your previous scenes. I think the flow and pace are pretty good which helps the overall reading experience.

This might just be me, but when reading the Voshki scenes I am reminded about the Faceless Men from Game of Throne. The theme of a 'nameless' vagabond trained to be a lethal killer is just a bit too familiar for me. As I said this is probably just me though.
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past : A Promise Relinquished
Post by: Myen'Tal on November 27, 2020, 10:35:45 AM
There are several issues with diction & syntax, but overall I have found this scene a much easier read than your previous scenes. I think the flow and pace are pretty good which helps the overall reading experience.

This might just be me, but when reading the Voshki scenes I am reminded about the Faceless Men from Game of Throne. The theme of a 'nameless' vagabond trained to be a lethal killer is just a bit too familiar for me. As I said this is probably just me though.

Hi Alienscar. Flow and Pace is definitely something I'm working on currently with the manuscript. I've made a *lot* of changes and revisions since I've posted a lot of these scenes, though I know it's probably far from perfect.

I do have some problem spots - Offering in particular is a bit of a thorn at the moment. I actually did do away with those 12 paragraphs as you suggested, as I realized it was just too disconnected from the rest of the chapter. So I'll need to make revisions to the beginning of the scene that happens afterward as well.

This might just be me, but when reading the Voshki scenes I am reminded about the Faceless Men from Game of Throne. The theme of a 'nameless' vagabond trained to be a lethal killer is just a bit too familiar for me. As I said this is probably just me though.

Your opinion about Voshki is understandable and I definitely see the points you've made. I do think, however, that any similar storyline about someone being taken off the street and trained to kill throughout their existence is going to have a similar storyline that can be considered cliché - in the beginning - at least it would depend on the author.

Voshki definitely does have that cliché beginning to her character arc. I do have plans for her to evolve out of that and become something far more unique. She is certainly in the anti-hero / antagonist field at the moment, but should she succeed in her mission and earn her freedom - she'll come to a crossroads as her life will become something more than to eke out a living murdering others. She'll still probably find a reason or two, of course  ;), but things will soon change for her very rapidly - until she becomes one of the protagonist.

So what I think I'm going to do is gradually post the first three chapters in chronological order and see how people feel about them. I'm sure not too many people will come providing feedback, but I have a few second opinions outside the forum and any criticism / advice is appreciated from anyone.

At the moment I'm focused on whether there is enough driving force in the first three chapters. Depending on feedback, I may need to make some adjustments on that front before moving forward.

To give a better idea of what to expect:

Offering - Voshki's POV

The Lantern's Flame - Ara's POV

A Child of Sun and Moon - Kendal's POV

Not many will probably be familiar with Kendal as the last time he was mentioned in any of this material, he was an infant child being sought out by Erasyl and his agents in The Tapestries of Faith. Quite a different storyline we've reached at this point ha-ha.

I thought The Embers of the Past could use some more unique perspectives and make the character cast stand out more with some interesting additions.

A pair of supporting characters will also eventually join the narrative, but I've decided that I cannot give them all origin chapters as I think I've already reached maximum capacity to fit in the first act - 25,000 words and still drive the narrative forward. 
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past : Offering - Revised
Post by: Myen'Tal on November 30, 2020, 07:04:59 PM
Offering - Revised

The rogue navigated forgotten halls made treacherous by fallen debris. She charged through every cracked open door into cobweb infested rooms and abandoned dungeons. Dusty tables were tossed, and bookcases toppled to stall her pursuers. At the first sight of an escape, she leapt through a gaping hole in the dungeon walls back into the twisted maze of the Den. 

Voshki had no choices left. She had no leads save only a direction. She had no solace of a definite safe card to draw and play. If she were shunned and denied her only refuge, she would be fed directly into the hands of the V-

A half-collapsed door within proximity of her burst open. A lean figure of dark caramel skin appeared - garbed in black leathers and fiery robes emblazoned with gold. Off footed by her own surprise, Voshki slipped and lost her footing amid the scattered debris, tumbling to an abrupt halt.

The Viper rattled with mocking laughter and seized her by the collar.

Voshki twisted in his reckless grip on the scuff of her collar, tearing the fabric of her rough spun clothes. She somehow struggled onto her feet and grasped the dagger hidden in her clothes. She lunged into her captor - a glimmer of steel in her hand thrust upward into her assailant’s throat. She buried the dagger to the hilt in the Viper’s neck and twisted for good measure. 

As the Obsidian Viper choked to death on blood and steel - Voshki relinquished the dagger and resumed her flight. Several voices ushered into hearing - so near that their breathing echoed through the cavern. The sound of their footfalls in urgent pursuit hastened her to the height of her limits.

Voshki escaped the claustrophobic confines of the abandoned stronghold through the old dungeons. She descended into the caverns underneath even Suannir’s forgotten and buried ruins. She reached out with bloodied and grasping fingers for any purchase to find her way forward. 

The Vipers screamed their blood curdling threats as they continued to gain ground on their quarry. A light flickered in the darkness, so intense that it caught nearby shadows aflame. An invisible force snuffed out the light after a moment.

An explosion of flames took her by surprise. Voshki lifted her hands in pitiful defense of being reduced to ashes as the flames washed over her. Tongues of fire lashed about – but nothing burned her. Her pursuers screamed – more from actual terror than death. 

Voshki did not realize that her eyes were shut until her ears ceased ringing. She peered through the choking smoke wafting from braziers embedded on vine-coated walls of weathered stone. Crystalline waters streamed through ornate drains about overfull. Onyx doors marked with calligraphic characters stood in front of her. 

Armored footfalls approached her from behind – hesitant. 

‘Encircle her.’ One of the Vipers commanded.  ‘Don’t stand so idly! Do your damn jobs!’ 

The Obsidian Vipers scurried to obey, but their eyes continued to steal glances around their enigmatic surroundings. 

‘Don’t just stare at her, fools!’ He commanded again. ‘Seize her!’ 

An armored boot kicked Voshki across the temple and onto the stonework. Several more vicious kicks made her double over on her side in pain. Scarred, mutilated hands seized her by the arms and pinned them behind her back. She felt the heated burn of rough rope being pulled tight across her wrists. 

A faint voice crept out of the dark behind the syndicate henchmen. ‘What’s happening out here?'

The Viper nearest the source scrambled forward with an open palm raised. 

‘Halt!’ He screamed, but Voshki detected a note of terror behind all his bluster. ‘Back the way you came, hag! This doesn’t involve you.’ 

‘Are you jesting?’ Another Viper questioned his comrade. ‘Skewer her and let us move on.’ He spat in the direction of the mysterious voice. 

Their commander began to issue orders. ‘Faris, guard the girl! The rest of you, encircle our hero here and silence her protests.’

The Obsidian Vipers unsheathed their weapons, wicked blades laced with dark crimson venom. They stormed forward and cornered the patch of outlying darkness untouched by torchlight.

‘Offerings for the Lady of Misery and Sorrow.’ The voice proclaimed in low undertones. ‘Join the Black Descent then, cowards.’ 

‘Enough…’ The grey viper commanding the rabble pointed toward the hazed outline of a woman eclipsed by shadow. ‘Break her limb by limb. Bring me the head when you’re done.'

One rogue charged in to cave the skull of the insubstantial figure. A brutal hack from his club withered the illusion into shades of wet mist. None of them had noticed their leader's severed head tumble from his shoulders until it smacked the ground with a wet hit. 

The remaining vipers regarded the corpse with a begrudged disbelief. A fell chill breezed into them as they readied their weapons for another assault. 

Two of the henchmen charged with war cries on their lips. The woman neatly lifted her slender blade and parried a reckless hack of a nicked and tarnished weapon. Her physical form seemed to mix into the shadows as she stepped around the vicious swing of her other attacker. 

The spiked club gripped in both hands cleaved harmlessly through insubstantial mist. Instead, the reckless blow caved in the teeth of the Viper who had charged in with him. Knocked out of consciousness, one of his comrades mercifully ushered him from the mortal plane.

‘Thrice-cursed will each of your deaths become.' The woman coalesced between her assailants and answered with an effortless flurry of cuts. 

One Viper’s weapon clattered to the ground, an urgent hand over the wound gouged into his heart. The bruiser with the gore-slick club staggered and wheezed out an agonized scream as his torso began to fall apart. 

‘Begone from this place.' The woman demanded of the three remaining souls seized by horror. ‘The Black Descent has claimed more than its share.''

The Vipers heard her command and scrambled to obey. The one named Faris considered the adolescent girl in his grasp. He relinquished Voshki deliberately, then vanished into the shadows after his brethren.

‘And what manner of stray has wandered into my domain?’ Her mysterious savior cooed from out of the dark. ‘Another troublesome adolescent fleeing the venomous bite of the viper. The Lady of Misery and Sorrow must watch over you. The sacrifices made here are worthy of her dark blessing. 

‘Tell me, who are you?’ A woman garbed in quilted armor the shade of dark storm clouds stepped out of the shadow. Polished steel plates reinforced her armor in the form of gauntlets, greaves, and pauldrons. 

Endless falls of raven black hair fell to the small of her back and spilled over her shoulders in a mess of serpentine coils. Four similar scars – a form of ritual scarification – were etched over her left emerald eye. In the dim light, her right eye shone as a dark veined silver. 

Voshki hastily slipped from out of her bound restraints. She picked herself off the blood-slick stone and ignored the splattered gore caught in her clothes. She bowed her head out of submission, kneeling among the dead offerings claimed by Alastrine, Goddess of the Underworld.  

‘I am nameless.’ Voshki replied in hushed undertones. ‘I am only a passing shadow. I would join the ranks of the Ashen Circle and learn the ways of its warriors.’

‘Amusing, a candidate?’ Her savior considered the thought. ‘We shall see how bad you truly wish for that.’ She snapped her fingers and the braziers lit on the wall were extinguished.

‘I am Shoushan.’ She called from the shadows. ‘Do you fear what dwells in the night? Does your heart shiver in terror at the thought of death? Does your mind become your enemy, when faced with a threat that you cannot trace with mortal eyes?’

Voshki felt her heart still within her chest. ‘Of course not.’

Shoushan filled the abyss with echoes of amused laughter. An oppressive silence filled the emptiness it left behind. 

‘Perhaps there may be some potential there. To what degree we shall need to discover. I bid you welcome, Voshki of the Ashen Circle. Never betray hidden knowledge and avoid death in her every guise. Those are the only rules that you should abide by.’

Shoushan snapped her fingers again. Dormant braziers ignited back into life. Voshki searched the corridor and found her waiting by the onyx doors. ‘Come, Voshki, and step into these hallowed halls. We will see if the clandestine arts are meant for you.’ 

~***~

Seven Years Later…

Black Solitude Forest

Old Myria Empire

             'To kill a queen shall be no simple task…'

Forked tongues of bruised light bristled in the bellies of storm clouds. Thunder cracked open the midnight skies and a deluge descended from the heavens. A freezing wind howled out of the Black Solitude Forest to beset Drake's Bridge.

Ceaseless rain flooded the ravines beneath the ancient bridge. A lonesome road wound through the hills over yonder into the moorlands beyond. A solitary tower – more fortress than a token platform to keep a vigil from – guarded the Heartlands of the Old Myrian Empire. 

Constant rain crashed over Voshki and soaked through her black cloak and leather armor. She stood alone on the Drake’s Bridge.

‘Arshavir!’ Voshki challenged. ‘Arshavir, you coward! Come forth and face this challenger!’ 

The reinforced doors were respectfully pushed aside after a moment of silence. She caught glimpses of ancient and green stone behind the great doors. Lit braziers bathed the tower’s interior in fire born light until everything within the tower became obscured. 

Voshki observed a guardian appear into the storm. His calm stride mirrored a Sage’s patient wisdom. He exuded the confidence of a warrior who knew no peer. He closed the entrance behind him with due reverence and locked it under key.  

Brazier vases hidden under the bridge blazed against the storm – belching smoke and fire. In the bright light, the Immortal’s laminar armor gleamed like obsidian. Unsullied chainmail filled each perceivable weak point in his armor. Lavender robes fluttered where the chainmail and laminar ended on his person. 

Voshki met the calm gaze behind the Immortal’s crimson plumed helm. In silence – she pushed a gauntlet through the folds of her cloak. The Crowned Prince – her wicked long spear – was unveiled in the bright light of the fires. 

Arshavir unsheathed his scimitar – a weapon that reflected the light of the fires with a prismatic sheen. He ended his calm stride and charged in answer to Voshki’s challenge. She felt his armored footfalls quake the ancient cobblestones beneath her feet. His impressive speed belied his bulk as he stormed forth against the wind and rain. 

Voshki lunged into the Immortal to draw first blood, her siren’s scream a sharp contrast to Arshavir’s deep shouts. She thrust the Crowned Prince home to punch through and shatter his heart. Each strike in her onslaught was parried without effort on her foe’s prismatic blade. 

Voshki avoided each serpentine strike of Arshavir’s wicked sword. She weaved around the broad warrior, his laminar thick enough that the bone cutting thrust into the small of his back only propelled him forward as he hurtled past her. 

Arshavir pivoted on his foot and caught the Crowned Prince a mere breath from severing his head. He pushed the long spear aside and stepped into Voshki’s guard for the fatal blow. 

Voshki had a preemptive hand on the hilt of a handheld crossbow. She leveled her aim subtly, her weapon hidden under her cloak. She pulled the trigger and heard the bolt loose with a whistle. 

Arshavir cried out – struck in his right eye by the bolt and rocked off his feet. He was flung onto the bridge back-first. A sharp crack punctuated his fall. 

Four nameless warriors clad in black leathers came out of the shadows. Arshavir frantically tried to find his feet as they approached him. A spear thrust into his right thigh pinned him in place. A crossbow bolt to the chest sprawled him back out onto the stone bridge. A wicked blade hacked into the meat and bone of his sword arm. 

The remaining warrior glanced in Voshki’s direction for an affirmation. She extended him a brief nod. He seized the Immortal by the strands of his plumed helm and made a jagged cut across Arshavir’s throat with a poisoned laced dagger. 

‘Well done.’ Voshki acknowledged. ‘Black-Bane Kindred, move out!’

‘Tough bastard…’ Faris kicked the Immortal’s corpse onto its stomach. ‘Pompous fool was miserable by the end of all that.’ 

A young woman of dark chestnut skin and glossy falls of braided obsidian hair appeared from out of the shadows with the rest of the Black Bane Kindred - Voshki’s infamous band of clandestine sell swords. A belt filled with various flasks and crossbow bolts was slung over her left shoulder. In her right hand was a hand-held crossbow. Her left hand cradled the hilt of a wicked dagger enclosed on her hip.

‘Hey.’ Anoush called out to Faris and snapped her fingers. ‘Show some respect to your enemies. It's an ill omen.'

Faris pitched his head back and rattled a mocking laugh. ‘Truthfully, whenever I wish a woman to rebuke me on matters of war, she’d be more than welcome to prove the bite behind her words.’  

‘Faris.’ Voshki spared a brief glance over her shoulder from where she stood by the watchtower’s oaken entrance. ‘Goad Anoush again and I’ll have you tossed over this bridge. I am certain you would appreciate such a merciful death over the one that Old Myrian received. You believe the males under my command would follow you? You’d be gravely mistaken after they realize you’d never be able to pay them a silver coin in return for their loyalty.’ 

Faris spread his arms wide and made a deep bow of surrender. ‘Your command is my oath, Voshki. Anoush understands that I only jest about her abilities. I respect her, yourself commander, and every woman in this unit like they were siblings of my own blood.’ 

‘Enough.' Voshki rolled her eyes. ‘Get over here and breach this watchtower!’ 

‘Commander?’ Faris rushed his fingers through his kempt raven hair and sighed. ‘Arshavir has been this bridge’s sole guardian for the last eleven years… despite his ferocious reputation-” Faris gestured to the maimed corpse splayed out on the bridge’s stone brickwork behind them. ‘He has fallen. Never shall another man of his like return for the rest of our days. Let the watchtower stand here abandoned till it collapses in upon itself.’

Voshki dangled a bloodied key from its iron-linked chain. ‘Always decide with certainty, my Second. All I know in this moment is that Arshavir locked the entrance behind him, so that no soul may enter but he. Something tells me that avoiding this tower would be some nuisance for us in the end. I would rather see what lies before us and ensure our lives still are unspent on the break of another dawn.

‘Kindred of the Black-Bane.’ Voshki addressed her unit - no more than two scores in number. ‘Brethren, you know that I am not one for rousing, heroic speeches. What urgent words could I speak that would hasten all of you to inspiration? 

‘All of you are children of the Southern Wastes, of the Kingdom of Sukhan. Each of you are the hardened elite of a land filled with constant strife and bloodshed. We have commended our souls to Alastrine - Lady of Misery and Sorrow, Goddess of the Underworld. 

‘What is there to fear? An endless fall through the Black Descent? Is such a fate so different from the dark depths of the Royal Den, where all of us eked out a murderous existence?

‘Do as you have always done to persist and survive. Do this and victory shall be ours to reap! Thieve & murder, till the halls of Ember Hearth Palace run red with Old Myrian blood!’

The Black Bane ushered one deafening cheer and approached the oaken entrance of the solitary tower with axes in hand. Voshki removed herself from their path as her most experienced warriors began to cleave into the doors. 

Midnight rapidly approached and the Black-Bane’s work was only beginning tonight. Already a hidden trail of death, cloaked in darkness across half of the Old Myrian Empire was left in the wake of their passing. Of the scores of kin that had fallen behind or separated from the sell sword band, each had claimed their own lives to ensure the concealment of their mission and peers. 

Only cold corpses were left behind as minor pieces of a much grander puzzle. Cold corpses, and the Wailing Widow Banners that billowed over sites of particular significance to the Black Bane’s losses and their overwhelming successes. None would understand the origins of the banners, for they hailed from a far distant land.

Only a handful of the Black Bane had endured to this point, but Voshki was determined to spend their lives stubbornly to ensure their swords reached the Autumn Queen of Old Myria, locked away in her lavish palace in the heart of the northern moorlands. 

Voshki sighed. ‘To kill a Queen shall be no simple task…’
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past : Offering - Revised
Post by: Alienscar on December 1, 2020, 02:56:14 PM
This 'Offering' is much better than the first two and an easier read because it has a more natural flow to it. There are still diction and syntax errors that mar the overall reading experience, but hopefully your editor will help you iron these out.

One thing I want to mention is this:

Voshki fled for her life through the subterranean city of Suannir - the Den of Vipers to the locals. She fled from the higher echelons of the settlement built across the earthen walls of a nigh endless chasm. Her escape hinged on hidden routes through the old strongholds constructed on the chasm floor.

First thing I notice is the incorrect use of the word 'echelon'. The word echelon doesn’t refer to the height of something it refers to ranks within an organisation. That is, 'the upper echelons of management'.

Also I find your 'mindscape' a bit confusing again and I can't quite picture what you are describing. When someone refers to a chasm I picture something like the Grand Canyon, this in turn then makes it difficult to picture a 'settlement built across' a chasm that is also 'subterranean'.
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past : Offering - Revised
Post by: Myen'Tal on December 1, 2020, 03:29:13 PM
Voshki fled for her life through the subterranean city of Suannir - the Den of Vipers to the locals. She fled from the higher echelons of the settlement built across the earthen walls of a nigh endless chasm. Her escape hinged on hidden routes through the old strongholds constructed on the chasm floor.

First thing I notice is the incorrect use of the word 'echelon'. The word echelon doesn’t refer to the height of something it refers to ranks within an organisation. That is, 'the upper echelons of management'.

Also I find your 'mindscape' a bit confusing again and I can't quite picture what you are describing. When someone refers to a chasm I picture something like the Grand Canyon, this in turn then makes it difficult to picture a 'settlement built across' a chasm that is also 'subterranean'.
Thanks for the feedback, Alienscar. Yeah, echelon is not the word I am looking for. Will change that sometime tonight.

As for the description of Suannir itself - here's what I'm trying to convey. Think of it like a basin - except this one is like a massive hole in the earth that is shaped like a natural well. The city itself is built / integrated into the wall of the well and descends all the way to its base.

I admit that I'm having trouble with the description myself. It's a tricky thing (at least for me) to describe...


Hopefully that made since, haha. If you have any advice on the description, I'd be more than happy to hear it.

Thanks.
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past : Offering - Revised
Post by: Alienscar on December 2, 2020, 10:19:48 AM
As for the description of Suannir itself - here's what I'm trying to convey. Think of it like a basin - except this one is like a massive hole in the earth that is shaped like a natural well. The city itself is built / integrated into the wall of the well and descends all the way to its base.

I admit that I'm having trouble with the description myself. It's a tricky thing (at least for me) to describe...

Hopefully that made since, haha. If you have any advice on the description, I'd be more than happy to hear it.

Thanks.

The devil is in the detail as they say. If you are finding it tricky then I guess that is why I am struggling to understand your vision.

A chasm is a deep fissure in the earth's surface, so I had sort of grasped your concept of Suannir, but the overall feel of the place has been lost in the detail I feel.

Quote
She fled from the higher echelons of the settlement built across the earthen walls of a nigh endless chasm. Her escape hinged on hidden routes through the old strongholds constructed on the chasm floor.

The urchin navigated forgotten halls made treacherous by crumbled debris. She charged through every cracked open door into cobweb infested rooms and abandoned dungeons of the Den of Vipers. She tossed old dining tables and leveled decrepit bookcases to stall her pursuers. She leapt through the gaping hole in the dungeon walls back into the twisted maze of the Den.

The first cause of confusion for me is the word 'across'. When you say something has been built across a chasm I envisage a bridge like structure as across means from one side to the other.

Then you use the word earthen to describe the city walls and this confuses my vision of the city because a 'nigh endless chasm' wouldn't be earthen for its entire depth.

Also the strongholds being built on the floor of the chasm reinforces my vision of the city not being subterranean as a chasm floor is the bit between the walls of the chasm.

As an aside I also feel it odd that Voshki is fleeing to the bottom of a chasm for safety. As the bottom of a chasm is enclosed by the walls of the chasm it feels like Voshki is heading into a dead-end. Imagine being at the bottom of the Grand Canyon and hopefully you can see that essentially you would only have two ways to run and you couldn't get out as a chasm is a hole in the ground. Now that you describe your city as a basin it further reinforces the idea that Voshki is going the wrong way for an escape.

My advice would be keep the size of the city realistic. A city the whole depth of a chasm is too big to make sense, so make it smaller and just make it an underground city rather than built into a chasm. Make sure that it is built from something other than earth as a city made of soil wouldn't be very deep underground, and would take a huge amount of shoring material for it to survive any length of time. Volcanic rock is a realistic material for an underground city as it is easy to work. Google Derinkuyu, Turkey to see a good example of an underground city.

Maybe think about having your city built into a mountain, or a cliff instead. Google Longmen Grottoes to see what I mean.
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past : The Lantern's Flame - Scene I - Revised
Post by: Myen'Tal on December 3, 2020, 09:56:12 AM
Thanks for your insight and feedback, Alienscar. I'll definitely start researching the locations you suggested and other examples I can find.

In the meantime, the first scene of chapter II is almost ready for deployment. I'm going to go through it a couple of more times before the official post. Will probably have it up by sometime tonight.


EDIT: Did another pass earlier this afternoon, caught a few things that continued to slip pass me :).

The Lantern’s Flame

Sirius - Golden Sun in the Heavens - had reached a zenith over the Isle of Irothis. A thick mist rolled onto the shore from the Black Sea. An endless cycling of waves came crashing through the thick white mist.

Ara readied himself, his stance poised for combat. His bare feet sifted through granular sands soaked through by the endless tides. He listened to the rhythm of the waves broken on the shoreline.

Golden sunlight gleamed in his eyes, so intense that he needed to rest them behind his own shield. He closed them and listened for his opportunity to strike.

The subtle sound of wet sand crushed underfoot warned Ara of his opponent’s aggression. A wooden sword’s keen cut hurtled through mist and air, close enough that he felt it almost connect upon his skin. He pivoted on his left foot and side-stepped the hacking blow.

Ara forced his eyes open to the brilliance of the midday light; he parried an aggressive counter on his steadfast shield. He lashed out, a practice sword grazing his opponent on the shoulder.

‘Decent, brother!’ A familiar voice roared with laughter. ‘Better than your last strike!'

A shadow fell across his peripheral vision.

Ara’s world became a blur of movement from the tackling charge that followed. A city built in the reaches of mountainous Irothis came briefly into view before his vision shifted skyward. He landed on his back, his eyes settling over the Black Sea.

Ara squeezed his eyes shut against the blinding light of the sun. When he forced them open again, Aslan stood triumphant over him.

His elder brother’s eyes glinted like dark amber, a mischievous spark there. It was akin to standing before a glass mirror. Aslan’s coal black hair - a balance between kempt and unkempt, matched his own.

Aslan loomed over Ara like a lion reared up on its hind legs. He stood poised to strike him down should he try to come back to his feet.

Ara kicked up a thick spray of sand with the rim of his shield, forcing Aslan backward. He leapt out of his makeshift grave of beach sand to strike the mortal blow. A particularly strong wave crashed upon him in that moment, almost planting him back into the earth again.

Ara struggled against the foaming waters threatening to pull him under. He somehow kept his feet as the wave receded back into the sea.

Aslan recovered from his younger brother’s low cunning, already locked in the motion of striking him square in the neck.

Ara slid out of range of the aggressive lunge, his elder brother charging in an all-out assault. Ara parried strike after strike with his shield and denied the other blows on his wooden sword. Aslan retracted his arm, a sudden change in his stance and poise.

Ara pounced in that moment to overwhelm his opponent.

He lunged and thrust the unsharpened edge of his sword toward Aslan’s chest directly where his heart rested. Aslan surprisingly did not shirk from the blow. The moment before the strike hit home, his elder brother parried with such strength that Ara’s practice sword fragmented into pieces. His elder brother’s strength turned Ara’s momentum away from him and into a curling wave.

The wave smacked Ara square in the chest, throwing him off his feet. He was dragged beneath the tide for a moment before resurfacing.

He did not realize his eyes were screwed shut until the waters had completely receded. He opened them to find himself sprawled out on his back and half-buried in sand. Once more, Aslan stood over him, victorious, but with an apologetic smile on his face.

Aslan shrugged, cradling a bruised hand. ‘You just had to leave one opening before you finally struck me down… and of course I must survive to maintain my reputation. Sorry, brother, but I applaud your effort. You came nearer to triumph that time than any other practice bout we’ve had.’

‘amphetamine parrot…’ Ara sighed and chuckled. ‘My triumph stolen by an uncaring wave.’

Aslan chuckled with him. ‘Face it, brother, you defeated yourself. Like you always do when you are facing me. You overthink fighting me too much.’

Ara pushed himself upright, gentle water splashed his ankles. ‘How does a wolf overthink fighting a Lion? You are strong. I’ve never seen any other youth even come near to defeating you.’

Aslan grinned knowingly. ‘If you cannot find a way brother, there may be no one else that ever will. There must be renowned warriors out there on the mainland… if you cannot find weakness in my form, I would wager they could. I need someone I trust to defeat me on occasion, so I can continue to learn and not become complacent. Lest these foreign challengers defeat and perhaps strike me down where I stand.’

Ara shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t want that for you brother, no matter how much I’d like to see you humbled. I shall match your skill one day; I swear on my honor.’

Aslan nodded. ‘And still, you hold greater skill with sword and shield than a mere rival. You are still my chief competitor despite your record. Keep trying, I know you can do it.’

Azat, their father of legend, called out to them for a relevant lesson. He approached his twin sons, his arms wrapped around their shoulders to pull them around him. ‘Ara, my lone wolf. Your elder brother speaks to the truth of the matter.

'Aslan’s strength has always been his martial prowess and unmatched courage. It has always been your strength, Ara, to discern truths from foolish falsehoods. That is equally important in methods of combat, battle, and warfare as much as the skill one wields their weapon of choice. You need only a little more practice to put that to your advantage when you couple both aspects to become a great warrior.’

Ara shook his head. ‘What falsehoods would gain me victory over a lion? It’s an impossible task, father.’

Azat cackled, amused, then shook his head. ‘Ara, a warrior can never better himself and become greater by dodging challenges. You should be honored, my youngest son, for you have the harshest trial of all. Upon a day, I believe that you will exceed even Aslan. You need only awaken that hidden potential, that spark of divinity within you that was granted by your mother…

‘Though Aslan defeats you with impunity, I have only seen you rise, then strike again. You’ve more endurance and perseverance than any youth I have seen. Only Aslan would have more if he did not exert himself to the limits of his ability, mind, and body repeatedly.

‘... but enough of my ramblings. How about one more bout, before we break for a meal?’

An unfamiliar voice called out from farther inland, on the outskirts of the great granite sprawl scattered over the mountains. ‘As good of weather as any for the practice of swords and physical strength. Is it not as any of you would say?’

Azat released his sons and all of them turned to the stranger in their midst. Ara searched the outskirts of Irothis for the voice’s source. His hazel eyes halted upon a slim figure, garbed in warrior robes of obsidian, burgundy, and crimson. The nameless warrior waited patiently with his hands behind his back, half leaning on the pillar of a great arch that led farther into the city. His face, obscured as it was by distance, was hidden underneath the shadow of a white cloak.

Aslan arched his brow. ‘Do you know this one, father?’

Azat shrugged, but his features were locked into a grim expression. ‘Ara… Aslan… return home, back to the manor.’ He commanded. ‘Do not fear, I know this man. An old friend from former days, but I must speak with him alone if you would.’

Aslan clapped Ara hard on the shoulder. ‘Come brother, let father and his acquaintance have their peace… though it will only bring grim news, I’d wager.’

Azat rebuked Aslan without so much as a pointed finger. ‘Stop belly-aching and go home. Grim news come to us all, Aslan. It matters not the time or day, or the frequency in which they occur. One day you shall understand that for once.’

‘Alright, all right!’ Aslan sighed. ‘Ara and I are leaving.’

Ara did not protest but left his father alone on the shores of the Black Sea. The brothers raced back to the manor overlooking the Western Straits from the reaches of the Veiled Mountain.

As home drew near, Ara felt that his father had not heard the last of this strange visit. 

~***~
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past : The Lantern's Flame - Scene II
Post by: Myen'Tal on December 5, 2020, 02:14:16 PM
Azat approached the ancient arch where his unfamiliar acquaintance waited in silence. He spared a subtle glance over his shoulder toward the western horizon. His children had stepped beyond his peripheral vision, their trail shrouded by the Black Sea’s mists.

‘Magar, old friend is that you?’ Azat called from within twenty paces of the arch. He listened for an answer but was greeted only with silence. ‘Hovan? Arpriar?’

The hooded figure removed himself from the cold and uncomfortable stone surface of the arch. Azat searched for any detail beneath the hood but found only slivers of flesh even in the midday light. The hooded figure raised an open palm, his hand leveled with Azat’s chest.

‘Azat…’ The unfamiliar rogue spoke with an incredibly familiar accent. ‘How many moons under Jumanah’s all-seeing eye has it been? We’ve not met in person since the Dominion’s Rise.’

Azat’s mind became ablaze with distant memories. Fateful moments as vivid and tangible as if unfolding before him in the present. He suddenly tasted the tang of sundered metal and spilt blood in the air. Nausea off-footed him, but the sensation quickly faded into nothingness. He combed his memories for a face to match the stranger’s familiar accent and suddenly came to a realization. 

‘Nishan the Scarred.’ Azat felt a knot tighten within his chest. Tensed fingers half-curled around the hilt of his sword. ‘Why didn’t I think of you before?’ Azat spread his left arm in a gesture of welcome. ‘You must forgive this burdened mind. I have put the days of the Carth Republic behind me. Remembrances of those times never rest easily.’

‘It matters little.’ Nishan shrugged. He pointed his chin in acknowledgment. ‘I knew you’d recall my name once I gave you a reminder. Azat Zakarian. Bane of the Children of the Sun. Queller of the Qi Steppes. Commander of the Annahir Immortals – sworn personal bodyguard of the Autumn Queens of Old Myria.’

Nishan inclined his head subtly. A gesture of respect from the Scarred Child. A disrespectful slight for anyone else. ‘You have my congratulations, young brother. You’ve my pride as well. Let no other warrior say that there is any man worthier.’

Azat dismissed him, nonchalant. ‘Queen Hazan has not promoted anyone in these past years. You do yourself a discredit, brother.’

Nishan reached out and embraced his old acquaintance in a bear hug. Azat waited till he broke his grasp on him. He bellowed with low laughter and shrugged. ‘There are only a handful of warriors capable of commanding the Immortals – to be granted strength far above that of an average general. The man destined for such a prize shall have the command of armies placed upon his palm.

‘You’ve no need to indulge an old wolf like me. If I become overlooked for the role of a glorified household pet, then so be it. All of that is of little importance to me. You can keep the honorable and venerable title for yourself.’

Azat forced himself to smile through clenched teeth. ‘Of course not, Scarred Child. You were always meant for the heart of the battle. A force of nature onto yourself. A hammer that strikes the anvil. You only know how to break the enemy. You never understood how to protect others.’

Nishan scoffed vehemently. ‘Is that how you honor an elder brother on your island home?’

Azat disagreed. ‘You’re not my brother. If we have reached the end of our conversation, then say why you came here to Irothis then be on your way.’

Nishan shrugged, glancing about the fabled island city with a single, curious eye. ‘Can one blame a man’s desire to see the greater world? You never shut your mouth about your island home during our wars of old, friend.’ Nishan made an all-inclusive gesture about the surrounding lands. ‘I realized that I had to see it after all of these years.’

Nishan calmly folded his arms. ‘I had to know if your origins were true. That you live like a king while the rest of us sweat and slave away on distant battlefields.’

Azat stepped into Nishan’s guard, but the Scarred Child held his ground. ‘Take the next rat-infested cargo ship back to the mainland. Face the warrior’s death if you’ve become so shamed by your own envy… Queen Hazan exiling you does not mean following me like some pathetic canine.’ 

Nishan’s hand snaked onto the hilt of his sword still enclosed in the scabbard. Azat drew Luminescence - his infamous sword - in a blur of motion that took his opponent by surprise. Smelted and forged in the Shamiya from precious metal known only as Opal Tears – the scimitar shined with a prismatic light. A lingering trail created from shades of rainbow color struck Nishan’s throat hard enough to send blood trickling down his throat.

Azat cautioned. ‘You’ll rue the day, Scarred Child.’

Nishan tensed beneath the weight of Azat’s sword, wincing from the pain of his skin being sliced open around his throat.

The Scarred Child grinned out of defiance. ‘Victorious as always. You have won as you always have, young brother.’

Azat flicked the sword out of Nishan’s neck. The Scarred Child shuddered a painful sigh before he could suppress the sound. Azat pivoted on his heel and marched in the direction of a great manor overlooking the Western Straits and the Isle of Irothis.

Nishan uttered behind his back. ‘You’ve proud sons. They must be the pride of your entire house and that of your life. If I were you, young brother, I would race for home. Go ahead and run for all that you are worth. We shall meet again in the final hour of our reckoning.’

Azat whirled around on his heel. Luminescence was poised to strike Nishan down where he stood. As he turned back to the granite arch, only scarce drops of blood had betrayed Nishan’s presence from mere moments before.
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past : The Lantern's Flame - Scene III
Post by: Myen'Tal on December 7, 2020, 10:35:38 AM
Zakarian Manor - Ara’s home - dominated all Irothis from its mountain eyrie. Ara reached the Mausoleum Gate hidden within the Veiled Mountain’s foundation seconds after Aslan. An alternate route through the Zakarian mausoleum that connected the Black Shorewith the manor grounds. 

Exhausted, he buckled over and gulped down several mouthfuls of air. Aslan clapped him on the shoulder with one hand and then produced a key in the other. His elder brother unclasped the locks on the entrance - one after the other until nothing barred the way.

Aslan addressed his brother after a brief period of controlled inhalation, recovering his breath. ‘Do you remember when Azat brought us to Irothis for the first time? You and I spent our days exploring the Eastern Wing. Years had passed – and you and I became young men before we discovered every room in that area.

‘Did you ever understand the actual size of the world before then? We ventured from the height of the Veiled Mountain’s summit into the buried depths of the family mausoleum. Father guided us before this very gate when he took us to the shoreline for the first time – the Black Sea seemed like an endless plane of existence onto itself.’

Old memories kindled in the fore of Ara’s mind. He chortled aloud. ‘Devils of the same litter we were in those days. Zakarian manor is the crown jewel of all Irothis – placed in the palm of our hand. I have often asked father how he ever managed to claim ownership of it. Think about it. What great feat saw us delivered from the homestead when we were but babes and into this life so many can only dream of?’

Aslan nodded. He leaned heavily into the ornate gate and pushed it aside with some effort. ‘I heard that he laid low an ancient king from the Heartlands some years ago. You remember that priceless spear locked away in his treasury? Zulfiqar claimed that it belonged to one of the Sun-Caller Kings of the Carth Dominion.

‘I researched the histories in the manor library for several hours. Apparently, the death of the Sun-Caller in question had ended a conflict between the Carth Dominion and the Old Myrian Empire some years ago.’

Ara affirmed after some thought. ‘It’s not surprising. The Dominion remains the mortal nemesis of the Autumn Realms of Old Myria. Father has a hundred stories of the Carthites he has slain in battle.’

Aslan laughed behind him. ‘Soon shall come the day that we’ll be on the field by his side. We must be certain that we are prepared for anything their warriors have to offer. You will need to prove you can beat a lion in the heat of battle, brother. Remember Azat’s words and reflect on them when you practice. Soon you’ll surprise us both.’

Sirius – the Solar God – had fallen from his zenith. As the sun began to set in the western skies over Irothis. 

Ara walked into the dark corridors of the mausoleum as his brother secured the door, and he was greeted by the powerful scent of dust and decay that permeated the air.

In the pitch black they moved towards the entrance guided by their childhood memories of the place. They slowly, reverently, made their way past the tombs that held the decaying remnants of the flesh and bone of forgotten ancestors. 

Suddenly, as they neared the statue that honoured the Goddess Jumanah in the centre of the mausoleum, Aslan signalled a halt.

'Brother do you hear that?' he whispered in the dark.

‘Grave robbers?’ Ara soured. ‘How did they get in here?’

Aslan shook his head in outraged disbelief. ‘Azat often says that intruders have their ways in. Come, we’ll scare them off.’

Aslan stormed farther down the corridor’s length. His fingers tensed for the hilt of an invisible blade on his hip. Ara followed hard on his elder brother’s heels.

Aslan’s pace began to lose urgency as they entered within range of the voices. The furious anger in his chest guttered into ashes. When he glanced back to Ara, he did so with a look of much anxiety. Ara urged him onward as the whispers clarified into frightened panic and mournful sobbing.

Someone needed aid and quickly.

Shouts of surprise. Uncertain demands. Anyone in the mausoleum seemed uncertain whether they should be relieved or fleeing out of fright at the sound of the Zakarian brothers’ approach. Ara and Aslan rounded the corner and entered the Tomb of the Forgotten – guarded by Jumanah’s monument.

Ara searched the crowd of three dozen household servants. Priestesses, Counselors, and Attendants clustered within the claustrophobic confines around the base of Jumanah’s monument. Some of them were splattered in coagulated blood. Others cradled light wounds on their limbs. Others still sobbed openly for loved ones that they had already lost.

An elderly voice greeted them before anyone could beg them to either help or flee back the way they had come.

Zulfiqar the Elder stepped forth. Defiant in the face of the catastrophe that had struck Zakarian manor, he bore a great burden on his proud shoulders. When he spoke – it was with the composed words of the Sage.

‘Blessed be the Mother of Destiny.’ Zulfiqar raised his arms and reached out to Jumanah’s monument. ‘Jumanah always preserves what malice would rent and destroy.’ He turned suddenly to the Zakarian brothers. ‘Ara and Aslan – I knew that you’d be safe somehow. Some were worried both of you were slain in the chaos happening on the manor grounds.’

Aslan stormed forward until he came face to face with Zulfiqar. ‘Infernal hell, what did you say was happening? Are we under assault? From whom? Carthites? Qi?’

Zulfiqar recited the story. A disgusted sneer lined his lips as he did so.  ‘Mercenaries from a distant land. Wicked Vipers from the Southern Wastes of Sukhan. An old friend of your father had come to the gate with a unit as her attendants. Once she convinced the guards to open the gates, the mercenaries readied their bows and slew the guards there under a hail of arrows.’

Ara could feel the rage burn hot in Aslan’s chest. ‘Where the hell are the guards? No one has halted the advance of these Sukhan barbarians?’ Are they still above ground defiling the manor!?’

Zulfiqar inclined his head in affirmation. ‘Zakarian Manor holds four hundred guards. Some must still draw breath and fight even as we speak. Krikor has rallied your father’s finest warriors and guards at the mausoleum entrance. I am not certain if you could be of help, young masters. Meet with Krikor and I’m certain he’ll find a purpose for you.’

‘Go.’ Zulfiqar encouraged. ‘I shall tend to all of your faithful servants here.’

Aslan nodded. ‘You have our thanks, Zulfiqar.’ He gestured for Ara to follow. ‘Come, we’ll hasten for the mausoleum entrance and meet with Krikor. Then we’ll see to the eastern wing and rebuff the serpents from Sukhan.’

~***~
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past : Offering - Revised
Post by: Alienscar on December 8, 2020, 07:10:59 PM
Quote
Seven Years Later…Black Solitude Forest-Old Myria Empire

Hopefully your editor will sort out the nuts & bolts' of your writing, so I won't go through each line as I have previously.

There are few things I would like to point out though.

Quote
'To kill a queen shall be no simple task…

This is the wrong use of the word 'shall' and it causes me to hesitate in my reading.

Shall is used to say that something certainly will or must happen, or that you are determined that something will happen.

That is, 'You shall go to the ball, Cinderella.' Your sentence doesn't indicate determination, so the use of shall doesn't work.

Also, as a verb, it is generally used in the first person and preceded by I or we.

You might like to consider 'Killing the Queen is going to be no easy task...'

Quote
In silence – she pushed a gauntlet through the folds of her cloak. The Crowned Prince – her wicked long spear – was unveiled in the bright light of the fires.

I struggle to envisage a spear, especially one described as long, being hidden under a cloak.

Quote
He ended his calm stride and charged in answer to Voshki’s challenge.

I feel that the intensity of the charge has been diluted due to the interceding sentences. That is, the challenge and resulting charge are too divorced from each other.

Quote
Voshki lunged into the Immortal to draw first blood, her siren’s scream a sharp contrast to Arshavir’s sonorous shouts. She thrust the Crowned Prince home to punch through and shatter his heart. Each strike in her onslaught was parried without effort on her foe’s prismatic blade.

Voshki avoided each serpentine strike of Arshavir’s wicked sword. She weaved around the broad warrior, his laminar thick enough that the bone cutting thrust into the small of his back only propelled him forward as he hurtled past her.

Arshavir pivoted on his foot and caught the Crowned Prince a mere breath from severing his head. He pushed the long spear aside and stepped into Voshki’s guard for the fatal blow.

Voshki had a preemptive hand on the hilt of a handheld crossbow. She leveled her aim subtly, her weapon hidden under her cloak. She pulled the trigger and heard the bolt loose with a whistle.

I must admit that I find this fight scene hard to follow. It is difficult to understand how someone holding a sword can allow someone with a long spear to get behind them as the distance between them, due to the spear's length, would make this extremely unlikely.

In one paragraph Voshki has used the spear to nearly decapitate Arshavir, but in the next she is holding a crossbow. A spear being a two handed weapon makes this difficult to believe/understand.

Also did Voshki 'level her aim', or was the weapon hidden? It is hard to understand how she could 'aim' a hidden weapon.

Quote
The Black Bane ushered one deafening cheer and approached the oaken entrance of the solitary tower with axes in hand. Voshki removed herself from their path as her most experienced warriors began to cleave into the doors.

Near the beginning of this scene you wrote, 'He closed the entrance behind him with due reverence and locked it under key'. This makes me wonder why they are having to smash the door down when it would appear they could just take the key from Arshavir.
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past : The Lantern's Flame - Scene III
Post by: Myen'Tal on December 9, 2020, 07:28:35 PM
Quote
Hopefully your editor will sort out the nuts & bolts' of your writing, so I won't go through each line as I have previously.

That is perfectly fine, Alienscar, that is the plan in the long run.

As to your points, I believe I agree with most of them. I'll definitely start working on some changes on that front.

Thanks.
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past : The Lantern's Flame - Scene IV Finale
Post by: Myen'Tal on December 10, 2020, 10:41:14 PM
Ara snapped out of the dream - motionless. He reluctantly opened his amber eyes to anchor himself amidst the gentle dark. He heard distant thunder from the Black Sea's waves break on Irothis’ shores. A night wind streamed through cracked open panes and plunged his chambers into a mind-numbing cold. 

A pillar of eerie moonlight spilled through glass panes overlooking the city of Irothis. Beyond the moonlight, the mountain reaches were scattered with civilization now dormant for the night.

The flames of the hearth were now nothing more than scattered embers. They eventually lost their luster, leaving only darkness in Ara's chambers. The harsh realities of the mundane world settled over him like a cursed veil.

His nightmare began to fade. Yet his memories of murder and bloodshed - vivid and horrifying as the day he had experienced them - remained.

Ara could not bring himself to return to his haunted sleep. He kicked off his satin raven black sheets and pushed himself upright. He felt smothered in the comfortable embrace of his silk clothes, flawless, without the sweat usually produced by his constant nightmares.

Ara searched the cold dark and repressed a shiver. ‘Gods, the chill is enough to freeze a man to death.’

He climbed out of bed and navigated his pristine chambers in the dark by heart. He gently nudged open the door and stepped out into the flickering orange light of braziers lit along the Eastern Wing’s walls.

Ara cast his gaze down the left corridor and flinched at the sight. Hazed outlines were crumpled and scattered across dim walkways of vermillion carpet. Shadows armed with dark blades lingered over the corpses, eager to spill further blood.

Ara blinked - as he always did and dispelled the illusion of his haunted memories. He still repressed the shiver that always crept up his spine when he left his chambers this time of night.

He respectfully placed one foot ahead of the other towards the left corridor. He treaded lightly through a hall of lavish decor - the history of twenty noble families combined into one magnificent work that was Zakarian manor.

He passed by the lengthened shadows of unfamiliar faces - immortalized in the cold beauty of stonework. This corridor was filled with the busts of many beautiful noble women - clothed or not. Elegant murals occupied entire swathes of the granite walls, depicting the sweeping vistas of the Old Myrian Empire or gatherings of the One Hundred Families - the empire’s noble caste - that ruled them.

Family heirlooms were displayed in every corner and crevice, but Ara could not find any of the more interesting displays. The Eastern Wing was absent of any martial histories or heraldry of any of the manor’s once ruling families.

Ara arrived before a series of open arches that let in the autumn wind without challenge. He swiftly moved past them and entered through the veiled arch leading onto the highest balcony in the entire wing.

He pushed through a thin veil of translucent black silk and onto a vast balcony of pale white brickwork. Old colonnades of wreathed marble lined the perimeter of the circular space. An ornate railing reminiscent of leafy branches but fashioned from gold was the only barrier between him and an endless drop down the Veiled Mountain.

Ara cautiously approached the end of the balcony to lean heavily against the rail. Just over the ledge, he watched the moonlit waters of the Black Sea and felt the wind caress his caramel skin.

Azat’s voice called gently from out of the dark corridor behind him. ‘Ara, my lone wolf. Why did I know that you’d be here?’

Ara chuckled softly, though he could not lift the dark look from his features. ‘Because I’m always here during this time of night. I’m surprised you’re suddenly concerned about that.’

Azat marched up to Ara and joined him by the railing. Seven years since the day constantly recycled in Ara’s dreams, Azat seemed slightly greyer. But there was no denying the wisdom in his eyes.

Azat grunted once, then shrugged. ‘How could I forget? You came out to this balcony the day after Nishan betrayed us all. The guards were still collecting all the dead and cleaning the mess… took me several hours to hunt you down too. Which was irritating - may I add?’

Ara sighed. ‘Noted, father.’

Azat continued. ‘You couldn’t stand all of the death inside the eastern wing… so you spent the entire day out here on this balcony to think to yourself. Zulfiqar said you stared out into the Black Sea, absent of thought.

‘It’s been several years, Ara. Everything that happened that day was because I failed you and Aslan. I failed all the honest men and women who call this manor their home… I allowed wolves through the very gates meant to protect them.’

Azat watched the Black Sea precisely where the full moon struck the waves. ‘’What I’m saying is that you shouldn’t bear the burden of something that falls firmly on my shoulders.’

Ara considered his father’s remark and briefly dismissed it with a flick of his wrist. ‘How could you have known what Nishan was planning? Or what he was capable of? It should have been a reunion between brothers… How could you have known Jaleh and he were scheming against you?’

Azat found it within himself to smile at Ara’s interrogating questions. ‘You never asked me why they ever thought scheming was necessary in the first place.’

Ara shrugged, then looked his father in the eye. ‘I already knew the answer… apparently not all Immortals are born or treated as equals. I won’t deny that they had bad cards dealt to them in life.’

Azat shook his head. ‘Does that give them the right to deal their cards onto you or your elder brother? Did that give them the right to thieve and murder through these halls?’

‘Of course not.’ Ara replied, a sudden realization dawned on him. ‘You’ve never spoken much about that day either… or of your past with Nishan or Jaleh. Why do you want to speak about it now?'

Azat tilted his head toward the sky and pondered aloud. ‘Because perhaps now you’re old enough to understand what I’d like to tell you. I could have done so in the previous years… but you were an early youth until now. I wanted you to focus on being a young man. I hoped you would eventually cast aside your woes and be the burning flame that you used to be.

‘I do see you burning brightly too. If I had only known the dreams that would plague you since… I would have done something more drastic. Another failing you can pin on your father.’

Ara disagreed. ‘I’m not a child anymore, Azat. I know you did the best you could, with the circumstances you were given, to do what you thought was best.’

Azat declined to respond, but one glance from Ara into his father’s eyes told him all that he needed - the words were appreciated.

Azat inclined his head as if concentrating on finding the words he needed to say. ‘Queen Hazan sent an envoy to Irothis about a fortnight ago. That envoy came here to the manor to seek me out.’

‘Queen Hazan herself sent for you?’ Ara arched his brow in disbelief. ‘She never answered you after all of these years after - she requested; may I add - that you become the commander of her personal bodyguard. Did she finally decline your decision?’

Azat’s features became as grim as the grave. ‘The opposite, actually. Queen Hazan has finally sent word that she accepts my acceptance of her proposal. I must travel to the capital of Annahir and attend her every need in the matters of personal protection at Ember Hearth Castle.’

Ara took a moment to process exactly what his father had meant. ‘Wait a moment. You must travel all the way to Ember Hearth? How long will she need your presence there?’

‘Ara.’ Azat stated with grim finality. ‘The Autumn Queen of the Old Myrian Empire and the Autumn Realms has requested me to become her chief bodyguard. When I set forth for Annahir… I shall not be returning to Irothis at all. Annahir and Ember Hearth Palace will be my home for the rest of my days.’

Ara considered the information given. ‘Have you spoken to Aslan about this? What about us here and the Zakarian Manor?’

‘Ara…’ Azat clapped his son hard across the shoulder. ‘This manor… this island has been our home for decades. I remember when your mother and I carried you and Aslan here when you were but infants… I considered declining her offer, but after the atrocities Nishan and Jaleh committed here – this could never last forever. 

‘You’re of age now.’ Azat gestured toward the horizon. ‘You and your brother have a destiny beyond these waves, you know? You could travel toward the horizon, wherever you wished - become anything you dreamed of becoming. I have watched you wield the sword since you were an adolescent. Outside of your elder brother - no warrior can wield one as gracefully as you.

‘Aslan and you shall accompany me to Ember Hearth - for a brief period… then you shall declare before the Autumn Queen if you’ll follow me. You will let her know if you are ready to pledge your swords to her cause and serve her in all things. If not, she will respect it and so shall I - then you can go your own way.’

Ara was not certain whether to be furious, saddened, or relieved. He finally spoke after several moments of awkward silence. ‘’Well, it seems the decision is made for us, isn’t it?’

Azat inclined his head in agreement. ‘You haven’t doubted me before, Ara. Trust in the wisdom behind my decision, even if you cannot find reason behind it. I guarantee you shall if you give it some thought. Besides, is this not what you and Aslan dreamed of since you begged me to teach you the way of the sword, when you were but children?

‘You’ll get to meet Queen Hazan herself. You’d be hard pressed to find a more graceful and beautiful woman in all of the world, Ara.’

Ara continued to watch the moonlit waves crash upon invisible beaches. He smirked slightly. ‘I always wanted to see the mainland… and the fabled women I’ve heard so much about through you.’

Azat punched his shoulder lightly. ‘That’s the spirit! Come, try to get some rest between now and sunrise. We shall have much to do in these coming days.’
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past : A Child of Sun & Moon
Post by: Myen'Tal on December 13, 2020, 04:59:02 PM
A Child of Sun & Moon

Kendal knew that he was in a lucid dream - a waking vision that he was unable to cast himself out of. He awoke stranded on a beach that glowed in the moonlight like so much limestone dust.

Sea waves hurled themselves onto the shore - crashing in an endless rain of frothing white mist and clear precipitation. A full moon anchored so close to the earth that it seemed enormous, shined down on an endless bed of sparkling waters. It was like the eye of a deity staring down from the heights of heaven - watching on Kendal.

The sea itself seemed burning with a riot of color. The deeper waters glowed in various shades of sapphire and ultramarine, turquoise, and cerulean. The waves crashed over the shore and broke just shy of Kendal's feet. The waters shifted to every shade and hue within the spectrum of color found in a rainbow.

What was this holy place? Where he could reflect on the beauty of his Goddess in solitude? Where he could feel her constant vigil upon him? Deity and devoted were transfixed by some beautiful emotion they shared - but neither seemed willing to place.

From the night sky - ablaze with the brilliance of countless stars - Kendal could hear her gentle lullaby steal away all that he was.

'You'll always be my beloved. My devoted...

'A Child of sun and moon...

'You are the bridge that arches over the chasms of darkness...

''And the evening star sighted between dusk and night.

'Your devotion is the promise of a loyal oath…

'Languish on these shores for all your nights...

'And await the coming of the dawn...

'Where we shall become one soul...

'Sun and moon...

Kendal heard the intimate words and felt himself slipping free of his dream state. The shores of this Opal and Crystalline Sea began to fade into hues of black - until only the brilliance of the stars and moon became lights in an impregnable dark...


Kendal snapped back into reality and found himself in the comfort of his chambers.  He laid in his bed for a brief period, paralyzed while his mind raced for clarity and an explanation for his dreams. His heart began to hammer in his chest out of a sense of urgency.

Kendal could not necessarily explain his sudden sense of anxiety and imminent danger. Yet he felt something divine had reached out to him in his dreams - and had tried to extend a sending onto him. He realized how mad the notion sounded.

Yet he knew he would never be able to shake the feeling of that moment of divinity. He recalled the intimate lullaby of his dreams, then began to remember the lyrics of several more he had heard in earlier visions.

'Remember the echoes of sanctuary. Rekindle memories of refuge.'

'Cherished devoted…'


Kendal recalled the massacre that had happened not two moons ago. Emissaries from the fabled eastern lands had arrived in Raven’s Croft. A sudden surprise for the western settlement and not the welcomed one Kendal had imagined.

A group of Halish rabble rousers had massacred a group of the Old Myrian Emissaries for some reason or another. It haunted him - the murders of foreign folk that Kendal bore some relation and so - some resemblance to. He had never heard what manner of misunderstanding had taken place that culminated into the massacre.

The consequences became clear in time, however, and now the entire city was on edge. Kendal was caught in the intricate web of unrest woven over Raven’s Croft. He should have listened to Master Vindiaccos and returned to his parent’s homestead far earlier. He could not understand his own fears, but he needed a couple of months away from the Grand Temple of Hanneth.

'A sacrifice of fire and blood I shall accept for you, my beloved.'

Kendal rolled out of bed and began to pace across his chambers - dressing himself in the battle attire of the Raven’s Vale Knights. Soon he was garbed in quilted armor the color of midnight and clasped in reinforced half-plate of sapphire veined steel.  Tucked between them was a vermilion silk robe emblazoned with the likeness of an angelic warrior maiden.

Hanneth - Goddess of Heaven and Fire. Patron Goddess and Protector of the Kingdom of Hallorn.

Kendal approached his mirror in search of imperfections in his wardrobe. He paused - his dark onyx eyes looking over a lithe figure. Born of the Ishalnan Elves of his father Rynath’s blood - he shared their pale complexion - made a light shade of caramel from his mother Ankine’s Old Myrian heritage.

Even to himself there was an otherworldly quality to him - something that transcended human limitations. Elegance and nobility. Strength and agility. Each was a superior gift in his hands compared to any average man or woman because of his Half-Blood descent.

A child of sun and moon.

Kendal hurried about his chambers to pack his most precious belongings. He added them into an indiscreet bag, then glanced about his chambers one last time. He remembered himself and grabbed an elegant long sword - sheathed in the scabbard - from its display case and fixed it to his belt.

He nudged open the door to his chamber and ducked into the quiet hall of his dormitory. He stepped out into the candlelight that smoldered in the nooks of Hanneth’s Temple. His footsteps echoed across the tiles of an orangish- almost metallic stone so polished that his mirror image shone back at him as he walked.

He descended the ornate stairwell leading into the public areas of Hanneth’s Temple. He would come to miss the vaulted ceilings and the way it made him question his pride. He always felt small enough beneath them that his own vanity seemed inconsequential before his Goddess.

Hushed voices echoed throughout hallowed corridors. Kendal paid them no heed and knew no one had a reason to halt him – or so he thought.

He passed by a grand mural of Hanneth and her legion of angelic maidens’ descent from the heavens onto the earth. An end of the mortal races’ reign over Khios and Ios - when Hanneth brought the bounties of heaven onto the world. Other works depicted legions of crusaders charging into the midst of battle. The Heavenly Flame wreathed their weapons and sunlight cascaded from the heights of heaven.

Kendal fell under the shadow of an ancient painting that depicted the Goddess herself.  One could search all their lives for a resemblance in such beauty and never find it in all the world. Celestial flames wreathed her armor - sunlight cascaded all around her like a cloak of radiance.

Kendal remembered his vision from earlier. A woman's intimate words whispered in his ear while he rested by that Opal and Crystalline Sea. He wondered if it truly had been some form of divine sending. Could a goddess have such affection for him? Could he truly call that affection what it felt like to him - love?

It seemed nothing short of madness to accept the vision for reality. Kendal could not deny his heart, however, for something about his vision seemed too lucid. It seemed so tangible that he could almost shut his eyes and relapse back into his dream state. He was certain that when he did, he would return onto that tranquil place. It seemed real enough that Hanneth herself would answer him if he could only speak out.

Kendal could not deny the truth - he was haunted. By whom or what manner of deity or creature - he remained uncertain on the matter. He forced the thoughts out of his mind and continued to descend the maze of the Grand Temple of Hanneth. He pressed onward, farther, and farther into the bellies of cathedrals and lesser shrines.

The orangish stone that created the tiles never changed. Yet the architecture continued to transform around him. He strode past elaborate pulpits with cushioned pews for the nobility to revere Hanneth over the common folk. He hurried through lavish cathedrals of satin vermilion carpet showered with shed rose petals. Altars crafted from gold and trimmed with filigree made from precious stones sat in the heart of those temples. Grand stages for angelic choirs to perform renditions of ancient music separated the priesthood further from the masses.

Kendal often chuckled at such luxurious displays of worship - for all of it meant nothing to him or the Hanneth he had always known in his heart and mind. Hanneth’s Temple and the quarters of the Raven’s Vale Knights seemed two worlds apart despite their proximity within the same infrastructure. Tonight, he held a different opinion and confessed to himself that he would miss the familiar sight of such splendor.

Kendal continued his descent until the corridor narrowed into a single staircase that spiraled down into the dark depths beneath the temple. As he forged ahead, the luxury of light became a rare and finite resource. He rapidly approached the hidden stable that would take him into the streets of Raven’s Croft.

Kendal reached a single heavy oak door that blocked the path to the stables. A point of no return once he crossed through it. Maybe the unrest would never spiral out of control as he feared? Could there be another alternative than fleeing his life as a devoted crusader of Hanneth?

Kendal bit back a sigh of resignation and cast his thoughts of doubt aside. He could not take that chance. He pried open the heavy oak door and stepped through into the dark. The soft neighing of horses gathered in the hidden stable nearby caught his attention. He detected the sound of hushed voices hidden amongst them - and the not-so-subtle notes of drunken laughter from the streets beyond the temple grounds.

Kendal craned his head in the direction of the stables. A woman in similar attire stood vigilant before him. Arms folded even as she leaned heavily on a stone colonnade, the young woman pitched her braid of fiery hair over her shoulder to fixate Kendal with a look of mild surprise.

Kendal followed the dried blood splattered down the length of her leather gauntlets. Her boots were also layered in gore. He instantly realized where she had been the entire day.

The ginger haired Knight of the Raven's Vale cooed at him. Her hand clutched at the hilt of her long sword. ‘Gracefully silent in your daring escape, aren’t we, Kendal? Credit where credit is due, you are the only one capable of sneaking around the patrols I’ve had set in motion for you. Shouldn’t have expected less from a Half-Blood.’

Kendal shook his head and sighed. ‘Faife of Tannenburg. It’s too beautiful a night for the clashing of swords, even if in my defense...

'There should never be a need for our brethren to turn against the masses. Even should they make their point about unwanted foreigners and half-bloods. A higher purpose elevates us above such barbarism.'

‘I’ve always understood that.’ Faife hawked and spat on the ground at her feet. ‘Keeping you safe is my oath, not blind loyalty to ignorance. Vindiaccos mentioned that you were home bound. Keep a low profile, Kendal, you’re too good to get trampled beneath some common boots.’

Kendal inclined his head in gratitude. ‘Your task and sentiment are appreciated. I would much rather stay here in Hanneth’s Temple. But from the look of your blood-soaked armor - I should set off for more peaceful shores. At least you won’t need to crack open anymore skulls on my behalf.’

Faife chuckled. ‘Merely another chore. Get out of here before more zealots show up screaming for murder and blood.' She paused. 'You’ll be missed, Half-Blood. Just answer me one question…’

‘I am guilty.’ Kendal confessed. ‘I’ve committed murder in my own defense. Any Warden would have the right to take me.’

Faife spat on the ground again. ‘I can sympathize… long as Vindiaccos continues to vouch for you, then you struck your foe down with righteous conviction. Your brethren understand and know all too well. Be gone from here, Kendal, before I have to put some Wardens in the cold earth next.’

‘Farewell, then.’  Kendal nodded and made his way over to a familiar stable where his mount waited.  ‘I’m on my way back home to Mist Hollow.’
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past : A Child of Sun & Moon - Scene II
Post by: Myen'Tal on December 15, 2020, 05:22:46 PM
Kendal leaned over the Iridescent Mermaid's bronze railing. Head propped up on an open palm, he watched the pearlescent waters of the Void Sea shift into hues of midnight. Sunlight faded over the evening's course till the skies had bled all vibrancy and color.

Sirius fell beneath the horizon and night descended.

As a crescent moon crested over the Black Sea, Kendal thought it the closed eye of a slumbering god. Memories of his fated birth beneath the Light of the West - Evening Star of the Ishalnan Elves and their Goddess Nihali - resurfaced through the old stories his parents used to whisper to him as a child.

A grand comedy, that his Ishalnan father was born a Prince of the Genesis of Durwaith. Moreover, that his mother was a member of the Old Myrian nobility. He considered Akine’s storied origins and wondered if it was all more truth than fiction. 

Kendal contemplated on his fate and how he could change things. He wondered - what had led him onto this path? What led him away from the safety of certainty? Born beneath the Light of the West, his personality was something decided for him at birth.

He became the scholar in his youth and studied the matters of arcane magic and faith. Solitude and reflection were constant allies. He had little faith in humankind, so placed his trust in the strange and aloof deities of this world.

'Hanneth.' Kendal uttered into the sea breeze. He let the misty spray from waves broken on the hull soak him through. 'Am I still worthy to bear the light of your truth?'

A somber voice answered him. It was the tone of a mentor reminding an apprentice of his worth. 'A foolish question. A band of zealots cornered you on your family homestead and tried their utmost to murder you, absent thought, or remorse. Their thoughts were as impure as their souls, Kendal of Mist Hollow.

'You had every right to cleanse them from her sacred ground. I'm more surprised that you exonerated them by your forgiveness. You offered them pardon through death, because you gave them an excuse to have their bones buried in the temple.'

Kendal frowned at Vindiaccos, who joined him by the rails. 'I never knew a wiseman to speak such cruel words. The words themselves are not wicked and deserved, but what good would it have done to leave their corpses out in the fields? It only would have made matters worse, Vindiaccos.'

'Master Vindiaccos, Kendal.' The elder knight combed scarred fingers through falls of his golden blonde hair. He smiled - though Kendal knew the scar carved over his lips always made the gesture painful. 'Not every righteous course of action is going to make life easier for the righteous themselves. Sometimes tribulations are needed - if anything - I believe your unwillingness to punish those who raised their swords against you a crucial lack of self-faith.'

Kendal shook his head. His laughter was like the toll of a funeral bell. 'Unwillingness to punish. All of their lives are forfeit now - ended on the edge of my sword.'

Vindiaccos clapped his apprentice hard on the shoulder. 'Self-assurance does not have to mean arrogance or misplaced conviction, Kendal. You say you murdered those zealots - I say they forfeited their lives before Hanneth and merely gave themselves onto a true and righteous soul that guided them into her light.'

Vindiaccos glanced up toward the crescent moon. The frail light touched upon his scarred and pale skin until it shone with an otherworldly quality. 'Your self-imposed exile is a difficult decision to swallow already. Don't force me to believe the deaths of your would-be butchers is blood on your hands too.'

Kendal sighed out of resignation. 'It matters little what the correct course of action was. The consequences are still the same and will not change. The entire city of Raven's Croft is hunting for me right about now. All the Kingdom of Hallorn shall spit on my charitable deeds and abhor everything that I have ever taught about Hanneth - even if it was different from the official tenants of our religion.

'I know all of this because you felt like you had to come with me on this voyage overseas from Ios continent to these far-flung realms of Khios. If the situation were any better than you would have convinced me to come back rather than set sail with me. Then once I arrive in Old Myria -'

Vindiaccos smirked out of the corner of his mouth - though for some reason Kendal did not find the gesture mocking but comforting. 'I remember when you were only eighteen years old the night you journeyed from your homestead to the enormous city of Raven's Croft.'

Vindiaccos wagged a finger at Kendal as he continued. 'You were so lost - the Half-Blood with an eastern complexion lost in a western world. Hanneth’s temple was the only location you knew of. When you told the clergy, you wanted to become a disciple - they shunned you because of your unfamiliar heritage. Every priest and priestess avoided you like shamed dogs with their tails tucked between their legs.

'But I remember that day well, Kendal. Though I know you think I have forgotten what made you a special case. You said you wanted to become a Priest of Hanneth... a Goddess of the fire-tempered, hot-headed, and zealous. You did not fit the countenance very well. But that is what I found interesting about you.

'Always reserved. Tempered and measured like a splendid work of steel and artisanship - only forged by the hands of the gods and not of men. Your compassion is difficult for your peers to match. Your rhetoric is as honed as your steel. It is the reason the Raven's Vale has begun to favor you as of late. Until this crisis began out of nowhere.

'You also had promise for mastering the sword. A much rarer opportunity for an old mentor like me to chance upon than you may think. All of that to say, Kendal, is that this new situation you find yourself in is no different.

'You are going to land in Old Myria - about as lost as you were on the day you arrived at the gates of Raven's Croft. You have only one place in mind that you know where you are going. Ember Hearth Palace in the Capital City of Annahir. 

'This Autumn Queen shall smile at you I imagine and bid you welcome. Then she shall find you another mentor - one who will not fail you in your darkest hours. Then you shall learn all over again. About your past. About your new home. About the mysteries of your very future.

'You'll not need an old man like me to teach you anything anymore. You will soon find that you never needed me. You only ever needed Hanneth's light in your eyes and the brilliance of her enlightened truth.

'Perhaps I have taught you the way of the sword, but you can learn that from a hundred men who've survived a hundred battles...'

Kendal inclined his head in agreement. 'Then I'll lose my greatest teacher. I don’t know which is worse... never being able to enter another temple of Hanneth - she is not worshipped in these distant lands. Not being able to speak with you again. Or never being able to return home to my parent’s homestead. Of course, I may never see them again either.'

Vindiaccos sighed. 'You need only the strength to say that you'll return one day. No one shall come running to throw a noose over your neck - so long as you are careful. You shall find your parents again. How you choose to do so lies squarely on your shoulders.

'As for the fact that these realms in the east endure without Hanneth's light... I have heard Khios is a far harsher land than the temperate realms of Ios. Hold onto your faith, Kendal. But swear an oath that you will do all that you can to strike down tyranny - and cut down the wolves at the gates of the innocent. That you will never lose your bond with Hanneth and that you will always fight to correct any injustice.

'I promise you that the fight on Khios shall be a hard one, but you'll be the first disciple of Hanneth to ever step foot on these fabled lands.

'She shall be watching your progress as always - now more than ever. Perhaps, there will be many who would have use of her truths and light in the eastern realms? Maybe you’ll become more influential than you ever imagined? But if you cannot swear before even the Goddess of Heaven... at least swear it to me.'

Kendal considered his mentor, then shifted his gaze back toward the Crescent moon in the night sky. 'On the honor of Mist Hollow and my entire family line... you have my oath, Master Vindiaccos. And I swear that I shall never break it.'

Vindiaccos inclined his head once in acceptance, then whirled on his heel to march back into the vessel’s hold.

Kendal inclined his head with a grateful smile. 'Good night, Vindiaccos. May the fire of Hanneth's truth continue to lend us purpose in these dark times.'
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past : Star Crossed
Post by: Myen'Tal on December 20, 2020, 05:05:40 PM
Decided to share the re-imagining of a chapter that Dread did make some rightful complaints about lol.



~***~

Ara quietly nudged aside the heavy oak door into the abandoned cabin. Warmth from the hearth’s flames breezed through his clothes, shattering the spell woven over him by the autumn cold. He stood for a moment in front of the open door – lost in contemplation on whether he should leave Voshki in solitude for the night.

He stood in a pocket of space caught between two worlds. He felt comfort from the cabin’s warmth in one plane. A wintry night of silent reflection in an empty barn existed in the other.

He searched the cabin from where he stood and found no sign of Voshki.

Ara entered, shutting the door behind him with a stiff shoulder. Had the assassin already fled the moment he had turned from her? A foolish decision to leave her to her own schemes throughout the day. She would be leagues ahead of him in any direction if she had escaped.

Voshki’s voice softened over the crackling of the hearth fire. ‘Are you frightened? You search this cabin as if you’ve lost something.’

Ara realized how exhausted he had become after carrying a young venison on his shoulders from noon to dusk. He could no longer bear the burden of weight on him. He softened the grip of his fingers on the deer’s cringing haunch, then inhaled until his entire frame relaxed.

Ara scoffed. ‘You could have escaped the Autumn Realms after I had left. You would have made it into the Dominion of Carth and no one would have tried to stop you. I’m the last weapon of the Queen that can hold you to justice.’

Ara found Voshki curled into herself in an obscure corner beside the hearth. She softly snickered and mocked him. ‘You’re only another pawn she has thrown to the wolves. She is more naïve than you if she decided to hold me accountable by your effort alone.

‘I could have followed you into the woods whilst you scrounged for supplies with any merchant you could find. I could have cut you down before you had even realized – and have fled while leaving behind no trace of my passing. Your death would have been mercifully brief. An Disciple of the Ashen Circle would have committed the act – absent second thought.

‘Have I become soft, Ara? Old Myria has taught me many things throughout my time here. I’ve collected souls for Alastrine for nigh my entire life in return for her to grant me one of my own. Only for me to come to the realization that perhaps I’ve only cheated myself of so many things…’

Ara smirked, shaking his head in disagreement. ‘You’ve spent too many nights speaking with that Half-Blooded priest. Kendal is someone who speaks of a promised haven in the afterlife – only to succumb to his self-doubt about his own existential fears during the night. He does not understand what haunts him either. He does little to instill any faith from me through his words.’

Ara considered Voshki as she searched his gaze with her own. She cornered him with the look of a dormant predator only beginning to awaken. He could tell that she wanted to argue against his point.

A faint smirk spread on the corner of Voshki’s lips. ‘Azat is a renowned warrior of legend. An enduring survivor of all Khios’ hardships. But something can be said for Kendal’s own faith. I can almost feel his Goddess comfort him whenever he doubts – reminding him of his worth and strength. Hanneth rewards him with an indescribable might gifted when his faith becomes indomitable.

‘There’s something to be said for Ara Zarkarian as well. Kendal and you are of the same mind on more matters than you would believe. You’ve peered into the darkness that lingers within the soul – and the esoteric creatures that feed upon it. You could simply walk away from it all and live a life of comfort in the Halls of Ember Hearth. You’ve chosen to stand against this ancient evil as a mere mortal bereft of the Gods’ light.

‘So, who is more the hero of this legend?’

Ara knelt and laid his venison on the cabin floor with due reverence. ‘Heroes are an illusion woven over the eyes of the weak and innocent. A false hope that there shall always be a better tomorrow. Who have you met on this journey that has committed an act of self-sacrifice for the greater good?

‘In truth, you alone should bear the mantle of that legend. You’ve sacrificed more than anyone I’ve ever seen. Your comrades in the Black Bane Kindred. Your dark origins and haunted past. Your insatiable thirst for retribution. Each is a chain broken to free yourself of a fate worse than death.’

Voshki cracked a faint smirk. ‘Am I a reborn and righteous soul now? Do the Gods instruct me on deliverance? I’d cast myself into the Black Descent and break open the Gates of Her Palace – and let all the kindred there ascend out of that infernal plane. Sometimes I wish that I were so divine – and not the mere hypocrite that I’ve become.’

Ara considered the dead venison sprawled out across the floor and shrugged. He glanced down to his numbed fingers, quivering from the burden they had carried from the Cairn Wood. An aching oozed into the bones beneath his caramel skin, turned ruddy from the effort of carrying his burden.

He pretended not to notice Voshki’s emerald gaze search him. He no longer cared for concealing his physical vulnerabilities – not even his missing arm. He could feel her hawkeyes touch on each weak point on him. A simple game it would be for the assassin to kill him where he knelt beside the hearth fire.

Voshki’s placid demeanor made Ara aware that his concerns were for naught – at least for the night.

Ara realized. ‘Perhaps all of us are of the same mind on that matter – end all of this madness with but a snap of our fingers. Cleanse Khios of the insidious influences that continue to plague her children. A Divine Comedy – if the Gods never returned to this world and granted humanity the strength to blaze against the encroaching dark.’

He took a seat in front of the hearth, distanced from Voshki as he had become used to since their journeys together. ‘Winter shall be ferocious this year. Autumn has not passed, and the northern winds already cut through to the bone. Kendal did forewarn that it would come – so I guess there is that to say for him.

‘Do you think his Goddess loves him?’

Voshki pitched her head back and laughed. ‘Something guides the Half-Blood into destiny… that much I can tell. I do not know why I’m compelled, but my consciousness wants to follow him to the end of his journey. He searches for answers to questions that humankind has long cast into the forbidden pits of ignorance. I wonder if he’ll find even one answer.’

Ara gazed off into the hearth’s flames, concentrated on the embers dying amidst the cold. ‘… Do you care for the priest? I’m surprised - Kendal would never have been my first guess.’

Voshki shrugged. ‘Are you disappointed?’

Ara shrugged, absent of caring. ‘… He may be strange and a foreigner from the western shores, but perhaps you could have chosen much worse. Even I can see he is a… compassionate and kind individual. You could use more of that kind of light in your life.’

An absolute silence descended on their conversation. Ara watched the hearth fire for a moment longer until he realized Voshki had become quiet. He searched for her over his shoulder and found the assassin still curled up beside the hearth.

Voshki searched his eyes, dancing flames reflected in her emerald ones. She made to say something, but a hesitance born of uncertainty caught the words in her throat. Ara did not need to hear her speak the words. He understood each silent syllable she created through the movement of her mouth.

‘Are you disappointed that I chose you?’

Ara pretended to play coy. He gazed back into the leaping flames of the hearth. ‘Did you mean to say something? I cannot interpret silence as you can, Voshki.’

He heard a sigh from the other end of the room. Ara did not turn back to her but continued to watch the flames fan amidst the hearth. A shadow briefly fell over him as Voshki approached and took a seat beside him amidst the fine fur rugs laid around the hearth.

Ara glanced in her direction the moment she curled into him, her silken raven black clothes and dark caramel skin pressed firmly onto his own. She rested her head on the shoulder of his dead arm, her breath breezing past his collar and onto his chest. He realized that she had sat so far from the hearth that she felt cold to the touch.

A dagger beneath his ribs would seal his fate. Ara could not find it in him to care anymore. Voshki lifted her head to look him in the eyes. He became transfixed on the emerald dream that was her stare and found himself lost amid the clouds.

Voshki asked. ‘Don’t have anything to say?’

Ara tried to restrain himself from grinning and managed a faint smile. ‘I’d like to hear what you were going to tell me earlier. I want to hear the words.’

A subtle blush lit Voshki’s cheeks, but her expression remained that of the dormant predator.

She replied, her brow arched. ‘Are you disappointed that I chose you?’

Ara shrugged, a genuine grin shattering his façade of apathy. ‘I remember when you threatened a horrible death upon all my family, when Azat still had you locked away in the Ember Hearth dungeons… even moments before you confessed to thinking of slitting my throat and that I’d never realize. Does that piece of you still linger in the back of your mind?’

Voshki considered her answer. ‘One plunge of the dagger beneath your ribs would seal your fate. So, what do you think?’

Ara laughed. ‘That I could care less about your past – should you wish to cast it into the abyss of your own volition. I’ve come to care for you more than anything in the world. Despite the odds and that you’re clearly a Sukhanite… I must confess that I’ve chosen you too.’

Voshki’s lips creased into a hint of a smile. ‘What happened to your arm? One moment you’re gone for several nights and in the next you come back crippled?’

Ara pondered on his explanation briefly, then shrugged. ‘Someone taught me an important lesson to remember him by. He meant to crush my skull into dust, but my elder brother came to my rescue. A God King shattered my arm in one mighty blow, all the bones there pulverized into splintered fragments. The Healers had no choice but to sever the limb from the rest of me.

‘I had lost consciousness for seven cycles of sun and moon. I’d awaken on occasion – plagued by constant suffering. Every moment of awareness seemed like a constant haze – fragments of a dream that I could barely piece together.’

Ara felt his mood sour and his boundless contentment deflate a little. ‘So, that is the end of that particular tale. Only a man stays – his shield arm severed, and his pride trampled into the earth. His time as a warrior has ended before he could even begin.’

A sharp tremor of agony raced through the shoulder of his missing limb from Voshki resting her head there.

Voshki banished her concealed thoughts behind an uncaring smile – Ara could tell from the hesitant glint in her eye. She replied. ‘What if the Gods have always favored you, Ara? You should count your blessings. Erasyl has endured on Khios for hundreds of centuries – slain many folds more people during that time. You should be dead. I’ve never heard of any mortal ever facing a warrior of such caliber and escape with their life.

‘You could have awoken in the Palace of Misery and Sorrow rather than beside your brother here in Old Myria. A lesser man would have succumbed to their fate and perished from the face of this world – forever.’

Ara sighed. ‘I’ve no more time or reason to spare them anything. I’ve never been one for divine communion with any deity. None of them have spared me much fortune before… Just another cruel twist of fate I am fated to bear for the rest of my days. Their constant demand for sacrifice seems to be their only constant in this world. Of course, it must always be someone of noble intention and innocent of heart that must be laid on that altar.’ 

‘In the end, everyone of us is but sacrificial souls. Nothing other than currency exchanged in the great divide between the Heavens and Underworld. Our souls are collected for the purpose of eternal torment and oblivion. Our souls too are expended for the next coming sunrise.’

Voshki shook her head. ‘I’m not concerned by the Gods’ schemes. I’ve sacrificed enough in their name. I’ve gained enough scars from my devotion to Her.’ She laid a hand on his chest and felt his heartbeat from within. ‘I know how I’d like to spend the brief moments we have on this world… And I know how I’d like to spend tonight. Either of those dreams include you, Ara.’

An intense warmth began to pulse from the core of Ara’s chest where Voshki’s hand rested. She finally blushed in the way he had often dreamed of. She leaned nearer into him. Her stoic nature began to crumble, replaced by a searching desire that she found somewhere within Ara himself.

Voshki lunged into him, lips meshed onto his own and her tongue softly probing his.
Her stoic facade crumbled all at once. Suddenly, the coyness in her eyes had vanished, replaced by a searching longing she had finally found within Ara himself. She lunged into him without warning, her lips meshed onto his own, and her tongue probing his softly.

Ara broke away for only a moment to address her again. ‘I’ve been told that it is a great challenge to love a woman with only one arm.’

Voshki snickered at him, then tackled him onto the pelt-rugs of feline beasts. She held herself over him with a single arm pinned against his chest. Ara noticed, perhaps for the first time, the chiseled and toned physicality of her frame hidden beneath her loose silk wardrobe. He traced briefly over an intricate tapestry of healed scars etched over her limbs – some form of ritual scarification. Her wounds vanished behind the black veil of her clothes.

Faintly, Voshki smirked. ‘Second thoughts, already? It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Some males are intimidated by a jaguar’s old scars.’

Voshki anticipated an interrogation, Ara could tell from the sudden tenseness in her poise and tone. Ara instead folded his arm behind his head and watched her expectantly.

Ara shrugged, grinning wolfish. ‘You shall have to show me. Tell me about your most important ones as you do. All the ones you’ve never shared with anyone else.’

The Black Wolf and the Jaguar fell into a heated embrace. Both fought to establish dominance over the other, vying for control. The sighs and moans of their eternal struggle lasted from the bleak dark of midnight until the break of the rising dawn.

Title: Re: The Embers of the Past : The Lantern's Flame - Scene I - Revised
Post by: Alienscar on December 22, 2020, 06:58:26 AM
Quote from: Myen'Tal
I'd still definitely like feedback on issues that definitely stand out as something that needs to be changed or simply wrong, but the more basic stuff can be saved for an editor.

Here is something that stands out to me.


The Lantern’s Flame

He lunged and thrust the unsharpened edge of his sword toward Aslan’s chest directly where his heart rested. Aslan surprisingly did not shirk from the blow. The moment before the strike hit home, an invisible force seized the practice blade in Ara’s hand and snapped it in twain like a child’s toy.  

Aslan had discarded his own sword to arrest Ara’s winning blow. He had sundered Ara’s practice sword between his fingers. His elder brother’s strength turned Ara’s momentum from him into a curling wave.

When sparring with someone using a sword you would not expect your opponent to grab hold of your sword. By having Aslan 'win' in this manner it gives me the impression that Aslan is untrustworthy. That is, it gives me the impression that Aslan is self centred and would do anything to win even if it disadvantaged those close to him.

Also if Aslan is supposed to be the superior sword fighter why did he have to 'cheat' to win.
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past : Star Crossed
Post by: Myen'Tal on December 22, 2020, 10:29:32 AM
Quote from: Myen'Tal
I'd still definitely like feedback on issues that definitely stand out as something that needs to be changed or simply wrong, but the more basic stuff can be saved for an editor.

Here is something that stands out to me.


The Lantern’s Flame

He lunged and thrust the unsharpened edge of his sword toward Aslan’s chest directly where his heart rested. Aslan surprisingly did not shirk from the blow. The moment before the strike hit home, an invisible force seized the practice blade in Ara’s hand and snapped it in twain like a child’s toy.  

Aslan had discarded his own sword to arrest Ara’s winning blow. He had sundered Ara’s practice sword between his fingers. His elder brother’s strength turned Ara’s momentum from him into a curling wave.

When sparring with someone using a sword you would not expect your opponent to grab hold of your sword. By having Aslan 'win' in this manner it gives me the impression that Aslan is untrustworthy. That is, it gives me the impression that Aslan is self centred and would do anything to win even if it disadvantaged those close to him.

Also if Aslan is supposed to be the superior sword fighter why did he have to 'cheat' to win.


That is a very fair point :). As we both know, sparring is meant to simulate one-on-one combat. In a real combat scenario, while still risky, seizing hold a sword with a protected hand (gauntlets, mittens, etc), it can definitely net you the advantage in that scenario. That being said, you're correct in that in a sparring session, that is likely not considered a fair play.

So I will correct that ;D.
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past : Offering - 3rd Revision - Scene I
Post by: Myen'Tal on December 25, 2020, 02:13:41 AM
Offering – 3rd Revision

   Far beneath the scorched sands of the Southern Wastes – a murmured prayer vanished amid the murky alleys of the Royal Den of Vipers. Voshki absconded in absolute terror through claustrophobic passages and debris strewn roads. She scrambled over toppled pillars and raced onto hidden, off-beaten paths to escape a gruesome death at the hands of the Obsidian Vipers.

   Here and there, a blazing torch would beat back the shadows and unveil the path ahead. She plunged headlong across crumbling underground bridges and into the abandoned ruins of forgotten strongholds.

She traversed shady and forgotten halls – made dangerous by great piles of debris from long ceased sieges. She charged through every cracked open door into cobweb infested rooms and abandoned dungeons. Dusty tables were tossed, and bookcases toppled to stall her pursuers. At the first sight of an escape, she leapt through a gaping hole in the dungeon walls back into the twisted maze of the Den.

Voshki had no choices left. She had not even a lead save only a direction. She had no solace of a safe card to draw from the deck and lay down on the table. She was shunned and denied refuge from the surface world. So, she fled in the only direction available to her to escape the hands of the V-

A half-collapsed door within proximity of her burst open. A lean figure of dark caramel skin appeared - garbed in black leathers and fiery robes emblazoned with gold. Off footed by her own surprise, Voshki slipped and lost her footing amid the scattered debris, tumbling to an abrupt halt.

The Obsidian Viper stormed toward her and reached out the moment he came in arm’s length of Voshki even as she struggled to find her feet. He rattled with dark laughter and caught hold of her by the scuff of her collar.

Voshki twisted in his reckless grip, regaining her footing. She grasped at the hilt of a dagger hidden in her clothes. She lunged into her captor - a glimmer of steel in her hand thrust upward into her assailant’s throat. She buried the dagger to the hilt in the Viper’s neck and twisted for good measure.

As the Obsidian Viper choked to death on blood and steel - Voshki relinquished the dagger and resumed her flight. Several voices ushered into hearing - so near that their breathing echoed through the cavern. The sound of their footfalls in urgent pursuit hastened her to the height of her limits.

Voshki escaped the claustrophobic confines of the abandoned stronghold through the old dungeons. She descended into the caverns underneath even the forgotten ruins buried beneath the Den of Vipers. She reached out with bloodied and grasping fingers for any purchase to find her way forward.

The Vipers screamed blood curdling threats as they gained ground on their quarry. A light flickered in the darkness, so intense that it caught nearby shadows aflame. An invisible force snuffed out the light and left only darkness.

An explosion of flames took her by surprise. Voshki lifted her hands in pitiful defense of being reduced to ashes as the flames washed over her. Tongues of fire lashed about – but did not burn her. Her pursuers screamed – more from actual terror than death.

Voshki did not realize that her eyes were shut until her ears ceased ringing. She peered through the choking smoke wafting from braziers embedded on vine-coated walls of weathered stone. Crystalline waters streamed through ornate drains about overfull. Onyx doors marked with calligraphic characters stood in front of her.

Armored footfalls approached her from behind – hesitant.

‘Encircle her.’ One of the Vipers commanded.  ‘Don’t stand so idly! Do your damn jobs!’

The Obsidian Vipers scurried to obey, but their eyes continued to steal glances around their enigmatic surroundings.

‘Don’t just stare at her, fools!’ He commanded again. ‘Seize her!’

An armored boot kicked Voshki across the temple and onto the stonework. Several more vicious kicks made her double over on her side in pain. Scarred, mutilated hands seized her by the arms and pinned them behind her back. She felt the heated burn of rough rope being pulled tight across her wrists.

A faint voice crept out of the dark behind the syndicate henchmen. ‘What’s happening out here?'

The Viper nearest the source scrambled forward with an open palm raised.

‘Halt!’ He screamed, but Voshki detected a note of terror behind all his bluster. ‘Back the way you came, hag! This doesn’t involve you.’

‘Are you jesting?’ Another Viper questioned his comrade. ‘Skewer her and let us move on.’ He spat in the direction of the mysterious voice.

Their commander began to issue orders. ‘Faris, guard the girl! The rest of you, encircle our hero here and silence her protests.’

The Obsidian Vipers unsheathed their blades – brutal weapons laced in dark crimson venom. They stormed forward and cornered a patch of outlying darkness untouched by torchlight.

‘Offerings for the Lady of Misery and Sorrow.’ The voice proclaimed in low undertones. ‘Join the Black Descent then, cowards.’

‘Enough…’ The grey viper commanding the rabble pointed toward the hazed outline of a woman eclipsed by shadow. ‘Break her limb by limb. Bring me the head when you’re done.'

One rogue swept forward, aiming to cave in the hazed outline’s skull. A brutal hack from his club withered the illusion into shades of wet mist. None of them had noticed their leader's severed head tumble from his shoulders until it smacked the ground with a wet thump.

The remaining vipers regarded the corpse with a begrudged disbelief. A fell chill breezed into them as they readied their weapons for another assault.

Two of the henchmen charged with war cries on their lips. The woman neatly lifted her slender blade and parried a reckless hack of a nicked and tarnished weapon. Her physical form seemed to mix into the shadows as she stepped around the vicious swing of her other attacker.

The spiked club gripped in both hands cleaved harmlessly through insubstantial mist. Instead, the reckless blow caved in the teeth of the Viper who had charged in with him. Knocked out of consciousness, one of his comrades mercifully ushered him from the mortal plane.

‘Thrice-cursed will each of your deaths become.' The woman coalesced between her assailants and answered with an effortless flurry of cuts.

One Viper’s weapon clattered to the ground, an urgent hand over the wound gouged into his heart. The bruiser with the gore-slick club staggered and wheezed out an agonized scream as his torso began to fall apart.

‘Begone from this place.' The woman demanded of the three remaining souls seized by horror. ‘The Black Descent has claimed more than its share.''

The Vipers heard her command and scrambled to obey. The one named Faris considered the adolescent girl in his grasp. He relinquished Voshki deliberately, then vanished into the shadows after his brethren.

‘And what manner of stray has wandered into my domain?’ Her mysterious savior cooed from out of the dark. ‘Another troublesome adolescent fleeing the venomous bite of the viper. The Lady of Misery and Sorrow must watch over you. The sacrifices made here are worthy of her dark blessing.

‘Tell me, who are you?’ A woman garbed in quilted armor the shade of dark storm clouds stepped out of the shadow. Polished steel plates reinforced her armor in the form of gauntlets, greaves, and pauldrons.

Endless falls of raven black hair fell to the small of her back and spilled over her shoulders in a mess of serpentine coils. Four similar scars – a form of ritual scarification – were etched over her left emerald eye. In the dim light, her right eye shone as a dark veined silver.

Voshki hastily slipped from out of her bound restraints. She picked herself off the blood-slick stone and ignored the splattered gore caught in her clothes. She bowed her head out of submission, kneeling among the dead offerings claimed by Alastrine, Goddess of the Underworld. 

‘I am nameless.’ Voshki replied in hushed undertones. ‘I am only a passing shadow. I would join the ranks of the Ashen Circle and learn the ways of its warriors.’

‘Amusing, an aspirant?’ Her savior considered the thought. ‘We shall see how bad you truly wish for that.’ She snapped her fingers and the braziers lit on the wall were extinguished.

‘I am Shoushan.’ She called from the shadows. ‘Do you fear what dwells in the night? Does your heart shiver in terror at the thought of death? Does your mind become your enemy, when faced with a threat that you cannot trace with mortal eyes?’

Voshki felt her heart still within her chest. ‘Of course not.’

Shoushan filled the abyss with echoes of amused laughter. An oppressive silence filled the emptiness it left behind.

‘Perhaps there may be some potential there. To what degree we shall need to discover. I bid you welcome, Voshki of the Ashen Circle. Never betray hidden knowledge and avoid death in her every guise. Those are the only rules that you should abide by.’

Shoushan snapped her fingers again. Dormant braziers ignited back into life. Voshki searched the corridor and found her waiting by the onyx doors. ‘Come, Voshki, and step into these hallowed halls. We will see if the clandestine arts are meant for you.’

~***~

Post Merge: December 25, 2020, 02:15:43 AM
In the future, please use the modify button. Double posting is against the forum rules, and for that reason, the system merged your posts.

'To kill a queen shall be no simple task…'

Forked tongues of bruised light bristled in the bellies of storm clouds. Thunder cracked open the midnight skies and a deluge descended from the heavens. A freezing wind howled out of the Black Solitude Forest to beset Drake's Bridge.

Ceaseless rain flooded the ravines beneath the ancient bridge. A lonesome road wound through the hills over yonder into the moorlands beyond. A solitary tower – more fortress than a token platform to keep a vigil from – guarded the Heartlands of the Old Myrian Empire.

Voshki stood alone on the Drake’s Bridge. Constant rain crashed over her, soaking through her midnight cloak and raven-clad leather armor.

‘Arshavir!’ Voshki challenged. ‘Arshavir, you coward! Come forth and face this challenger!’

A moment of silence endured before a stern force pushed the great oak door aside. She caught glimpses of ancient and green stone inside the tower’s interior. Braziers inside the tower blazed so bright, Voshki could no longer stare through the veil – her vision obscured.

Voshki observed a guardian emerge from the tower and into the storm. His calm stride mirrored a Sage’s patient wisdom. He exuded the confidence of a warrior who knew no peer. He closed the entrance behind him and approached his opponent with due reverence.

Burning vases hidden beneath the bridge blazed against the storm – belching smoke and fire. In the bright light, the Immortal’s laminar armor gleamed like obsidian. Unsullied chainmail filled each perceivable weak point in his armor. Lavender robes fluttered where the chainmail and laminar ended on his person.

Voshki searched the calm gaze behind the Immortal’s crimson plumed helm. She lifted her long spear -The Crowned Prince – and fell into a combat stance.

Arshavir charged and quaked the ancient cobblestones beneath his feet. His speed belied his armored bulk as he stormed forth against the storm.

Voshki screamed like a siren and lunged for the Immortal’s heart. The Crowned Prince thrust for Arshavir’s chest to end the duel outright. She lashed out like a serpent with fangs bitten into a defiant threat.

Arshavir parried each of her strikes without effort. His prismatic blade reflected the light of the storm as if a rainbow’s essence were imprisoned in the artifact.

Arshavir side-stepped another rapid thrust, then ducked beneath a haphazard slash. As he made to come back to his feet, Voshki pounced and jammed the length of her spearhead square into Arshavir’s chest.

The Immortal twisted mere moments before the Crowned Prince could punch straight through his Laminar. He managed to tear himself free of the long spear’s hooked blades and pushed further into Voshki’s guard.

Voshki scrambled back for farther distance from her opponent. Arshavir proved himself a relentless warrior, and swiftly closed the distance between him and his foe. Voshki removed a hand off her spear and clutched a dagger sheathed on her left thigh. She countered so quickly her vision only detected a sliver of silvery light streaking across her vision.

Arshavir had anticipated the strike – her movement so predictable that he had already avoided the cut entirely. He replied with a diagonal uppercut of his elbow that smashed Voshki mere inches shy of her temple. She staggered from the force of the blow but refused to cry out in pain and shock.

Voshki corrected the angle of her head to stare Arshavir in the eyes. The Immortal fluidly reversed his elbow into a savage backhand that brought her down on one knee. Dazed, she bared her teeth and smeared the blood trickling down the corner of her lip on her knuckles.

   Arshavir did not request any final words from her but leveled his prismatic sword with the foundation of her neck. He pulled his sword-arm back for the mortal blow - quick enough that he assumed Voshki would fail to react.

   Voshki pounced into a momentous thrust, her aim focused on the spinal cord housed behind the Immortal’s throat. She blinked in the moment before the Crowned Prince slammed home. An arced spray of arterial blood rained across her vision when her eyes snapped open again.

   Arshavir had artfully escaped death another time. Had she received a mortal wound in turn? No, her body had not ejected this crimson spray. Clarity refocused Voshki’s blurred vision and her keen gaze instantly homed in on the familiar figure of dark caramel skin, clad in raven black leathers – impaled on the Crowned Prince’s bladed end.

   She judged from his glassine gaze off into the distance and his slack expression – that he had already died moments before she had run him through.

   ‘Infernal fires!’ Voshki ripped the Crowned Prince free. She shouted at the four raven-clad figures who had ambushed her opponent at the last moment. ‘Encircle him, fools! Strike in unison! Don’t give him a moment to breathe!’

   Arshavir shouldered one of her warriors flat onto his back. The Immortal trampled over him after his sharp impact on the cobblestones to gain distance. The rogue he had toppled fought through the pain and snared Arshavir with an arm coiled around his right calf.
   
Arshavir chortled pitilessly, and then twisted so violently to face his enemies that even Voshki could hear her comrade’s arm fracture in several places. An agonized scream was drawn out of her wounded kin – in turn silenced with a merciful thrust through the throat. He removed the rogue’s head with a clean exit cut from his blade. 

Thwack.

Voshki had heard the distinct clink of a steel-tipped bolt being nocked on a crossbow moments before her comrades had sped to her rescue. She heard the sharp discharge of the bolt sailing free of its prison in the next moment. Arshavir cried out – struck in his right eye by the bolt.

He was flung onto the bridge back-first. A sharp crack punctuated his fall.

The remaining three raven-clad warriors rushed him from every angle. Arshavir frantically tried to find his feet as they approached. A spear thrust into his right thigh pinned him in place. An armored boot stamped firmly on his chest sprawled him back out onto the stone bridge. A wicked blade hacked into the meat and bone of his sword arm.

One of them glanced in Voshki’s direction for an affirmation. She extended him a brief nod. He seized the Immortal by the strands of his plumed helm and made a jagged cut across Arshavir’s throat with a poisoned laced dagger.

‘Well done.’ Voshki acknowledged, her adrenaline rush beginning to subside. ‘Black-Bane Kindred, move out!’

‘Tough bastard…’ Faris kicked the Immortal’s corpse onto its stomach. ‘Pompous fool was miserable by the end of all that.’

A young woman of dark chestnut skin and glossy falls of braided obsidian hair appeared from out of the shadows with the rest of the Black Bane Kindred - Voshki’s infamous band of clandestine sell swords. A belt filled with various flasks and crossbow bolts was slung over her left shoulder. In her right hand was a hand-held crossbow. Her left hand cradled the hilt of a wicked dagger enclosed on her hip.

‘Hey.’ Anoush called out to Faris and snapped her fingers. ‘Show some respect to your enemies. It's an ill omen.'

Faris pitched his head back and rattled a mocking laugh. ‘Truthfully, whenever I wish a woman to rebuke me on matters of war, she’d be more than welcome to prove the bite behind her words.’ 

‘Faris.’ Voshki spared a brief glance over her shoulder from where she stood by the watchtower’s oaken entrance. ‘Goad Anoush again and I’ll have you tossed over this bridge. I am certain you would appreciate such a merciful death over the one that Old Myrian received. You believe the males under my command would follow you? You’d be gravely mistaken after they realize you’d never be able to pay them a silver coin in return for their loyalty.’

Faris spread his arms wide and made a deep bow of surrender. ‘Your command is my oath, Voshki. Anoush understands that I only jest about her abilities. I respect her, yourself commander, and every woman in this unit like they were siblings of my own blood.’

‘Enough.' Voshki rolled her eyes. ‘Get over here and breach this watchtower! Arshavir locked it behind him somehow. Strange, he carried no key, did he?’

‘Commander?’ Faris rushed his fingers through his kempt raven hair and sighed. ‘Arshavir has been this bridge’s sole guardian for the last eleven years… despite his ferocious reputation-” Faris gestured to the maimed corpse splayed out on the bridge’s stone brickwork behind them. ‘He has fallen. Never shall another man of his like return for the rest of our days. Let the watchtower stand here abandoned till it collapses in upon itself.’

Voshki clucked her tongue and shook her head. ‘Always decide with certainty, my Second. All I know in this moment is that Arshavir locked the entrance behind him, so that no soul may enter but he. Something tells me that avoiding this tower would be some nuisance for us in the end. I would rather see what lies before us and ensure our lives still are unspent on the break of another dawn.

‘Kindred of the Black-Bane.’ Voshki addressed her unit - no more than two scores in number. ‘Brethren, you know that I am not one for rousing, heroic speeches. What urgent words could I speak that would hasten all of you to inspiration?

‘All of you are children of the Southern Wastes, of the Kingdom of Sukhan. Each of you are the hardened elite of a land filled with constant strife and bloodshed. We have commended our souls to Alastrine - Lady of Misery and Sorrow, Goddess of the Underworld.
‘What is there to fear? An endless fall through the Black Descent? Is such a fate so different from the dark depths of the Royal Den, where all of us eked out a murderous existence?

‘Do as you have always done to persist and survive. Do this and victory shall be ours to reap! Thieve & murder, till the halls of Ember Hearth Palace run red with Old Myrian blood!’

The Black Bane ushered one deafening cheer and approached the oaken entrance of the solitary tower with axes in hand. Voshki removed herself from their path as her most experienced warriors began to cleave into the doors.

Midnight rapidly approached and the Black-Bane’s work was only beginning tonight. Already a hidden trail of death, cloaked in darkness across half of the Old Myrian Empire was left in the wake of their passing. Of the scores of kin that had fallen behind or separated from the sell sword band, each had claimed their own lives to ensure the concealment of their mission and peers.

Only cold corpses were left behind as minor pieces of a much grander puzzle. Cold corpses, and the Wailing Widow Banners that billowed over sites of particular significance to the Black Bane’s losses and their overwhelming successes. None would understand the origins of the banners, for they hailed from a far distant land.

Only a handful of the Black Bane had endured to this point, but Voshki was determined to spend their lives stubbornly to ensure their swords reached the Autumn Queen of Old Myria, locked away in her lavish palace in the heart of the northern moorlands.

Voshki sighed. ‘To kill a Queen shall be no simple task…’
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past : Sacrificial Souls - Scene I of Act I Finale
Post by: Myen'Tal on December 28, 2020, 10:26:37 PM
Wrote about 6,000 words over the last week and I'm nearing the 40,000 word, about 2,000 or less away. The First Act Finale is almost complete - and I thought I'd just share a slice of it for you guys.

Thanks for reading :).

A ferocious storm raged over the city of Gor’rum. Dark thunderhead clouds blotted out both moon and stars, lightning bristling across their formation. Ominous thunder cracked open black skies. An endless torrent of rain came crashing down on ruined streets.

Zagir leaned heavily on a half-collapsed wall of an ancient library. Her death mask reflected each lightning strike with a polished silver sheen. Arms folded patiently; she maintained her vigil over Voshki.

Zagir’s voice came distant and faint over the deafening cries of the storm. ‘Are you frightened?’

Surrounded by a plethora of collapsed shelves and ruined texts buried amidst the rubble, Voshki snapped into focus and returned her mentor's studious glare. Zagir seemed the epitome of calm despite the approach of their fateful hour. She searched Zagir’s hidden face for any hint of fear. She found only an uncaring courage that steeled her against even the gods' wrath.

Voshki emulated Zagir’s disciplined calm, and already the facade began to crack on the surface. A creeping sense of uncertainty had stolen her flame of confidence. She replied. ‘Of course not.’

Zagir’s hidden expression bored into the essence of her soul. ‘Don’t be ashamed. No man or woman can escape basic human emotion. You’ll find that uncertainty shall always be a constant companion for those of our profession. Remember Shoushan’s teachings… once you become committed against a target, your muscle memory shall bring back your confidence.’

Voshki blew out a nervous breath into the frozen rain. 'Were you no different before your first kill? It feels like an iron chain is weighing me down. I don't feel prepared for this.'

Zagir snickered underneath her mask. 'You are prepared. Shoushan trained you for years only for this moment. I found myself in similar circumstances and state of mind on my first mission. It is my purpose for this mission to ensure your success. The first kill is always the most difficult - and should you fail, then all the instruction and training granted to you by the Ashen Circle was for nothing.

'Breath in. Rhythmic and deep breaths. Count to whatever number you hold most sacred. No hesitation when the time to strike arrives. Just throw yourself into the moment. Commit and take advantage of the element of surprise. You can only perish should you hesitate.'

Voshki laughed. 'A bold lie in that statement.'

Zagir shared in her laughter and shrugged. 'Should you hesitate, then your death is as good as certain in either case. You might as well play the odds and give it your best shot.'

Voshki made to open her mouth and utter a retort. The words died in her lungs as Zagir became animated, crouching down as distant voices entered within range. Her mentor motioned for her disciple to approach.

Voshki came to crouch beside her comrade behind the library's shattered wall. Zagir cooed in her student's ear as thunder bellowed across the skies.

'Our mark has arrived.' She quipped. 'Your first murder... remember your training and my advice. You must overcome your self-doubt when we strike. Or I shall perish, and you'll suffer the same fate. You and I against the world in this moment... What we achieve with every successful death on our swords and this mortal life shall echo into the eternities that follow. Are you ready?'

Voshki banished her nerves through the rhythmic breathing her mentor suggested. She lifted her head only a sliver to look over the ruined wall and into the labyrinthine streets of Gor'rum. Through the lashing rain and whipping wind, hazed shadows began to form on the limits of her peripheral vision. Her hands unconsciously snaked onto the hilt of either of her wicked daggers even as she continued to watch the road.

An ear-splitting roar of thunder quaked the ruins beneath their feet. A bruised fork of lightning was hurled from the heavens by the Solar God himself. The bolt struck the heart of Gor'rum with such impact that many dilapidated buildings nearby trembled, their rubble shifting ever so subtly.

A bright orange glow swelled in light and intensity nearby, followed by the sound of panicked and urgent voices.

Zagir commanded. 'Now is the time. May your strikes be swift and without mercy. Kill them all!'

Voshki ripped her daggers free of their sheathes and leapt over the ruin with Zagir. A feeling of numbness touched through her armor and skin. She felt her bones rattle from the chill of the rain crashing down on them. In the moment that she darted for the haven of the shadows; a familiar confidence began to reinforce the purpose in her every movement.

'Good luck...' Zagir's voice faded into the distance as she split off in the opposite direction. 'You understand your task. You only need to follow through.'

The hazed shadows in the distance gradually clarified into a small caravan - no more than a dozen warriors on foot. Voshki continued to watch their approach for every significant detail. A sharp contrast to the drab shades Sukhan warriors often favored - these men garbed themselves in suits of chainmail, draped over with silken robes of cream and crimson. Each warrior carried a moderate sized buckler in their off hand, whilst their sword arms lingered on the hilt of their sheathed swords.

She knew them from the lavender bands tied around each of their wrists.

Slave warriors of the Zar'qin Guard - the backbone of the Carth Dominion's fighting legions.

A nobleman trotted at the fore of the formation on horseback. His appearance made him stand out amidst the wide range of conquered nationalities that served in his retinue. Voshki studied him with a curious glint in her eyes.

His skin was a tarnished bronze from a lifetime spent in the arid heartlands of Khios. He was dressed in a suit of polished scaled armor draped over with satin robes of lavender and off-white. A sash the shade of vivid sapphire informed Voshki of the nobleman's standing in his own society.

An Exalted. A commander in the ranks of the Children of the Sun - the dominant ethnicity and highest caste that reigned in the Carth Dominion.

She had found her target.

Voshki reigned in her eagerness. She hunkered down behind a wall encircling the remnants of a destroyed estate. She waited as the sound of armored footfalls came into range. Cruel and loathsome voices shouted to the heavens only to hear each other. She continued to wait until the gentle trotting of the warhorse came within her proximity. Her target had strayed near enough that she heard the horse's barding jingle with each step it took.

An abrupt explosion toppled the remains of the ancient library Zagir and her had sheltered in some scant feet ahead. Alerted to a sudden threat, the Zar'qin Guard unsheathed their swords and stormed forward to shield their lord. Shouts of alarm further reinforced their eagerness for bloodshed. The ruins of the great library came crashing down on the road before them, blocking their passage farther into the heart of Gor'rum.

Her marked target scarcely batted an eyelash at the destruction. 'Steel your hearts, Zar'qin! Children of the Sun never turn their back on a worthy adversary! You shall fight onto death so long as I stand my ground!'

A familiar phrase - more memory than an actual command - pulsed across her mind.

'Grant them the Viper's fangs. Strike!'
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past : Sacrificial Souls - Scene I (Updated Ver.) & PT II
Post by: Myen'Tal on December 30, 2020, 11:27:59 PM
Finished the Finale today! Around 7,000 words in total  :). First Act comes to about 27,500 words. That's where I want to be at the moment, depending on word length. I'm quite happy with the way things have turned out. Didn't share All of Act I with you guys, but I will say that the first three chapters are a BIG part of it.

Thanks for reading!

Voshki surmounted the wall before her with a leap that defied human limitations.

Concealed by the storm's wrath, she darted through frozen rain and howling winds toward an oblivious target. The watchful eyes of the Zar'qin Guard were divided in every direction in search for her. All of them could scarcely find the road in front of them for all the rain and time of night. In the span of several striding footsteps, the Child of the Sun came near enough that she could reach out and embed her daggers straight through him.

Of all things, it was the Carthite's mount that had seen her before anyone else. Frightened by her sudden and foreboding presence, the old warhorse spurred off toward the blockage that sealed off the road ahead. Voshki leapt, daggers raised overhead for a downward thrust, in the same moment the warhorse bolted out of fright.

The Exalted Commander shirked from the sudden revelation of Voshki's presence by his side. He recoiled from her daggers even as his mount bolted and cast him off without a second thought. Her weapons found only storm wracked air as the Carthite collapsed in a heap upon the cobblestones with a sharp crack.

Alerted to her presence - the Zar'qin charged headlong into danger.

Voshki weaved around the first slave warrior to lash out at her. She avoided him and ducked beneath the arced swing of another foe's scimitar. She ducked into the same assailant's guard, her main hand dagger slicing through the chainmail and robes around his midriff. The Zar'qin screamed and staggered back, disemboweled.

Voshki planted one step backwards, twisting to meet the chopping blow of the warrior she had avoided earlier. Both of her daggers parried his attack even as she stepped in and brought her knee up and under his buckler, striking him below the belt. To the slave's credit, he barked out of pain and his skin turned a ruddy color but managed to shove Voshki backward until she hit the roadside back-first.

The Zar'qin that had floored her paused for a moment to recover, but one of his comrades came charging in to run her down. She hurried to find her feet again. She tried to fight through the daze and the storm beating down upon her, but she knew her speed was too slow.

A thin, long shadow hurtled through the air and impaled her aggressor through the gut before he could close the distance between them. The throwing spear snapped in twain on impact. One half clattered to the ground, whilst the other pinned the stricken warrior to the roadside. The slave warrior attempted to remove himself from the rest of the javelin but had become so weak that he merely slid down its length onto the roadside and died without another word.

Zagir came racing out of the shadows with another throwing spear in hand. She hurled another one into the midst of the other nine Zar'qin. She hit her mark - striking another in the small of his back as he turned to aid his Exalted.

Their attention divided between either threat, the Zar'qin naturally divided themselves into two groups. Six warriors diverted their charge to meet Zagir. The other three had chosen to corner Voshki as she found her feet again.

Voshki followed Zagir's example and whirled around on the Zar'qin that had shoved her down. His shield lowered and himself bent over to recover from the blow she had given him, he did not realize she had come back to her feet until it was too late.

She threw the dagger in her off hand and caught her opponent square between his eyes. The warrior spasmed a moment before he toppled over, deceased. With the same hand, she unveiled the handheld crossbow fixed on her belt. Already loaded, she leveled her aim at the nearest Zar'qin rushing toward her. She shifted her sights from him after realizing his shield was raised, toward one of the six warriors closing in on Zagir.

She loosed the bolt loaded in the crossbow and struck one of the oblivious Zar'qin straight through the flank. The bolt buried itself to the end of the shaft. Her victim staggered in mid-run and tripped over himself. He did not stir again after impacting the ground with brutal force.

Voshki caught Zagir in her sights. Her mentor sprinted and rolled beneath the vicious cut of an overzealous opponent. The Zar'qin reacted swiftly and surmounted her with an athletic leap before he could trip over her. She came back onto her feet and rammed the final javelin in her hand through the throat of another foe. She maintained momentum and pushed on the choking corpse in front of her back into his comrades.

Several brutal blows hacked open the corpse to hack Zagir down, but she kept herself pressed behind the bastion provided from his flesh and steel. She finally released the shattered body in her grip. She unsheathed an elegant longsword from its scabbard and cleaved the head of another Zar'qin from his shoulders in the same fluid movement.

Voshki turned back to her combat as blood arced in every direction from the outbreak of violence. She side-stepped the Zar'qin with his shield raised as he attempted to run her down. He lashed out with a swift cut as he pushed past Voshki.

She staggered backward with a sharp cry of pain. She attempted to blink the blood out of her eyes from the grazing cut slicing her from brow to the corner of her lips. Encouraged, the Zar'qin whirled around on his heel for another strike as his other comrade came from the other direction.

'Voshki!' Zagir shouted. Voshki had not seen her approach, but somehow, she had come within reach.

Voshki heard the keen cry of a sword parting through air toward her. She instintively leapt backward, but she knew she would never be able to dodge a blow she could not see.
A splitting of armor and the flesh beneath echoed through the storm. Zagir's voice cried over the frustrated shouts of a Zar'qin deprived of his kill. His cursed tongue was silenced forever after the quiet insertion of a blade impaled clean through armor and flesh.

Granted a moment's reprieve, Voshki swiped a gauntlet across her light wound and managed to clean enough blood from her eyes to see again. Zagir had already removed her longsword from the Zar'qin that had struck out at her, uncaring of the wound carved deep into her shoulder blade and chest. Voshki blinked and that same sword had found a new scabbard within another Zar'qin's left eye.

Voshki mobilized after the last slave warrior, whose sword was raised to split Zagir's skull in twain with one blow. Zagir would never be able to remove herself from his path fast enough. She hurled her last dagger through the wind and rain, the storm altering its trajectory from his right temple and instead stabbing into his hand right behind the knuckles.

The Zar'qin cried out and staggered backward as the knife flew off his bloodied hand. Zagir removed her hands off the long sword still embedded in the fallen slave warrior's eye socket. She pounced upon the shield raised in his defense, bringing it down with her entire weight even as she toppled her foe onto his back. Clutched at an awkward angle, the Zar'qin's scimitar became trapped between his body and shield and cut slightly into his armor.

Voshki snatched up a short-sword sheathed on one of the corpses. She charged in and rammed the blade to the hilt through the side of the Zar'qin's neck. Without remorse, she tore the blade free in a thick spray of blood.

An unnerving quiet settled over the streets of Gor'rum...
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past : The Lantern's Flame - Scene II
Post by: Alienscar on December 31, 2020, 09:39:16 AM
Here's a few thoughts on things that, for me, stand out in Scene II of Lantern’s Flame

Quote from: Myen'Tal
The hooded figure turned on a heel to relieve his back of the cold granite arch.

Turning on your heel is an idiom that means to turn away from someone in a quick or sudden way. It doesn’t describe an actual way of moving.

Quote
Azat searched for any detail beneath the hood but found only slivers of flesh even in the midday light. The hooded figure raised an open palm, his hand leveled with Azat’s chest

Because you have used the expression 'turned on a heel' this scenario is now a bit confused because if the person has turned on their heel they should now be facing the arch and not Azat.

Quote
Azat’s mind became ablaze with distant memories. Fateful moments as vivid and tangible as if unfolding before him in the present. He suddenly tasted the tang of sundered metal and spilt blood in the air. He heard the tortured moans of the defeated crash over him like a discord.

    A moment of nausea off-footed Azat, but the sensation quickly faded. Like the ebbing of the tide, the memories faded back into the vast depths of his soul. 

Other memories resurfaced. Memories of brotherhood and honor bound oaths for Queen and Kingdom. A constant blur of familiar faces flashed behind his eyes. Old friends and kindred from former days. Some he knew still drew breath whilst others had left for far more sacred shores.


Three paragraphs just to describe Azat remembering Nishan is too many. I think you would be better off trying to condense this section as it slows the tempo of the meeting and this scene.

Quote
Azat barked, leaned in nearer to Nishan to emphasize his threat. The Scarred Child held his brother’s ground and furious gaze. ‘Take the next rat-infested cargo ship back to the mainland. Where your kind belongs.’

What did Azat bark? Without any further description you have literally said that Azat made a sound like a dog.

You hold your own ground not someone else's.

I am not sure I understand your use of 'Where your kind belongs'. It reads like you are having Azat insult Nishan, but I don't have any context to understand the insult.

As Nishan presumably came from the mainland Azat is just telling Nishan to go home,so this is mildy rude rather than insulting. As I say, I don't quite get it.

Quote
Nishan cried out from where the prismatic blade struck his throat, hard enough to draw a constant trickle of blood.

Because the word prismatic has more than one meaning I am not sure what you mean by 'prismatic blade'.

Prismatic means of or pertaining to a prism; having the form of a prism; varied in colour. Do you mean the blade has the form of a prism, or do you mean the blade is colourful? If the blade is colourful why is it so colourful that it has the colours of dispersed light?
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past : Sacrificial Souls - Scene I (Updated Ver.) & PT II
Post by: Myen'Tal on December 31, 2020, 10:09:20 AM
Hi Alienscar,

Thanks for the feedback!

I'll get these suggestions added on my to-do list!  :)
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past : A Dominion of the Mind - Scene I
Post by: Myen'Tal on January 4, 2021, 03:01:35 PM

A Dominion of the Mind

Scene I

Far beneath the sands of the Southern Wastes - Shoushan watched the outside world beyond the glassine window of her chambers. She peered through the hidden cavern’s mouth into the scorched dune sea beyond. She would often revisit the sight before examining matters of critical importance - it helped to clear her mind of distractions. As Sirius reached its zenith in the midday sky, she considered the fateful moment that would change the face of Khios - forever.

The door to her chambers slid open with a soft sound. The Grand Master of the Ashen Circle knew that the destined hour had arrived.

She inclined her head out of respect for the pair of royalty that represented all the Carth Dominion's leadership but continued to face her window. 

Shoushan declared in somber undertones. 'Erasyl of Tu'shik. Firstborn of Man. Sun-Caller King of the Children of the Sun. God-King of the Carth Dominion. I hear also that Tabia of the Disciples of Heaven has traveled here by your side. I am honored that both of you made the arduous journey to the Ashen Circle's lair - if only for the chance to speak with me.

'I bid you welcome to my humble abode. I only ask that you accept my apologies for your travels through Suannir - the Royal Den of Vipers. I am certain it was no simple task for a monarch to descend into that lair of filth and villainy. I trust that neither of you came to harm from the city's criminal presence?'

Erasyl answered Shoushan with a patient tone that spoke more of wisdom and reason as opposed to absolute control. Shoushan shifted around to face him for the first time, her endless veil of raven black hair subtly obscuring her features. His placid voice belied his frame - crafted by the eye of the Gods and not of mortal breeding. He was the epitome of masculinity and yet his voice seemed well tempered with age and humility.

Erasyl met Shoushan's appraising eyes and offered her a welcome smile. 'Damnation's lure dwells within these blackened depths... I certainly feel Alastrine's presence -distant in the Royal Den of Vipers - finally approach me now that we meet face-to-face. Children of the Sun have nothing to fear from the Goddess of the Underworld nor her Palace of Miseries and Sorrow... and yet I've come to fear for the tainted souls that dwell in Suannir.

'Tabia and her Disciples of Heaven are cleansing the township in the celestial flames of our god. The underground city is ablaze even as our conclave is set to begin. Warriors of the Zar'qin Guard have set about eradicating the criminal syndicates that plague the souls eking out an existence in these forgotten depths. Suannir shall soon be emptied and forgotten to time.'

Shoushan considered the God-King's revelation and scoffed. 'A shame things have come to such a head in Suannir... be careful that you do not overstep in the presence of Alastrine, Sun-Caller. Immortal or not - you may discover there are fates worse than death when my Goddess becomes wrathful. In either case - you've come all of this way to bring your plea before me... see to it that no other settlement in Sukhan suffers from the Children of the Sun's transgressions - and I may remain willing to hear it.'

Tabia executed an elegant bow and apologized. 'Grand Master Shoushan - the fault lies with me alone. I thought the innocent citizens of Suannir deserved some gesture of kindness for their endless woes. I chose to end their suffering.'

Shoushan craned her in Tabia's direction with a sneer of disgust lining her lips. 'So, you simply ended them all without a second thought?'

The Disciple of Heaven made an uncaring shrug. 'Are your meek and faithful truly destined for greatness in Hell's depths? In exchange for moments of agony, Sirius now bears witness to the light of their immortal souls. He shall call him to his throne of Star-fire and grant them their eternal reward.'

Shoushan arched her brow, uttering a morbid curse under her breath. 'First, you claim responsibility for the eradication of my city... then you have the audacity to challenge the divinity of Alastrine to my face?' She shifted back to Erasyl. 'God-King, silence your whore before I end her myself.'

Tabia emerged out of the dark and into the revealing light of the hearth fire. Despite her immortal years, her body retained the image of a woman who had entered the prime of her life. A golden-yellow cloak fell past her shoulders, resting on the small of her back and kept aloft by her wrists - kept near and around her chest. Beneath her cloak was a robe woven from three layers of vibrant satin fabric - the inner layer crimson, the mid-layer cream, and the exterior layer a lustrous shade of sapphire.

Her deep emerald eyes had a familiar shade and glimmer about them. Shoushan instantly placed the comparison in her memories. She cocked her head slightly at the revelation but remained unspoken on the matter.

Shoushan smirked, and then scoffed at Tabia's meager challenge. 'Should I be impressed that you possess the complexion and attire of a plain woman?'

Tabia lifted her fingers and snapped them once. Shoushan lifted her chin in slight acknowledgment as the Disciple's fingertips began to bubble with liquid fire. She first thought the gesture a simple trick - an illusion. Yet she could tell from the scorched pot marks left burrowed on her smooth granite floor that it was more a trick of the gods than of the mind.'

Tabia scowled at Shoushan. 'One more word and I'll sear the eyes out of your sockets.'

Erasyl rounded Tabia and placed a firm hand on her shoulder. His voice became the aspect of an authoritative father. 'Enough, Tabia. Or would you jeopardize our entire reason for venturing all this way into the Southern Wastes?'

Tabia snapped her fingers again and the bubbling fires dissipated off her fingertips. She bit back a confident smirk. 'We have no need of this craven backstabber, Immortal One. We only need her replacement to swear Sukhan's fealty to the Dominion.'

Erasyl dismissed her as if Tabia had become a nuisance. 'Tabia, do me a favor and take you leave. Wait for this conclave's end outside - by the door.'

Tabia shook her head. 'And leave this Master of Murder alone with you?'

Erasyl became more insistent. 'You have outstayed your welcome in the eyes of our Host. I cannot abide a conclave when tensions and impulsive minds rage like a fanning fire. It would be unwise to force the hand of a Master of Murder in her own home... so take your leave. I shall not ask again, my friend.'

Shoushan smirked intentionally in Tabia's direction, then smiled faintly as the Disciple bit back a snarling retort. She watched Tabia turn on a heel and exit her chambers without another word. Her enchanted door was slammed shut behind the Disciple of Heaven. Shifting her gaze back onto the God-King of the Carth Dominion, Shoushan addressed him with a curt nod of gratitude.

Erasyl executed an apologetic bow - an exceedingly rare gesture to be drawn out of a God-King, Shoushan realized.

She inclined her head in acknowledgement the moment Erasyl straightened to meet her appraising eyes. 'Very well, Erasyl. Your conclave with the Kingdom of Sukhan has begun on unstable cliffs and threatens to plunge straight into the black seas. But they continue to hold together for the moment. Name your request and speak upon your reasoning.'

The God-King gestured for Shoushan to take a seat in her own chair. He graciously seated himself in the same chair that her disciples often claimed whenever they answered her summons. Shoushan bit back an amused grin and humored him. She approached her desk and became seated.

Gesturing toward the enchanted door, Erasyl reversed the conversation's course.

His request seemed more of an indirect demand - one that seemed inevitable in its completion to him. Shoushan found her mood beginning to sour, but she kept her silence and listened.

Erasyl smiled in that patient way that he had. 'You must absolve Tabia or her transgressions. As a Disciple of Heaven - she is used to the Solar God's flames constant cleansing of whatever does not please him. She is a firebrand. Should you be able to look past her zealous nature - then you shall find an alliance that you'll never quite comprehend. You'll claim benefits and rewards in great number from her friendship, but one can never understand the burden and cost of such a pact. Unless Tabia desired that you know.'

Shoushan nodded as she listened to Erasyl's piece of wisdom. 'Are you suggesting that I earn Tabia's trust for further understanding of the Dominion's agenda? Why would you desire an outsider understand anything about your secrets?'

Knowingly, the God-King smiled and held up one finger. 'What is an outsider, Shoushan? Someone born in the bloodline of another people? An aspirant that succeeds in trials to better his understanding and position in a secretive organization? Or an exile that perhaps has already studied each secret of her own culture to better understand their ambitions?'

Shoushan felt her blood run cold and her facade beginning to crack. She understood that one minor fissure in her disguise was enough for Erasyl to see through the illusion.

Shoushan shrugged, then confessed. 'In another life... perhaps some would have known me as a Child of the Sun. I lived as one for an entire generation - I remember that distant life. God-King, you understand what the sensation of absolute power when coupled with self-fulfillment feels like?

'To saunter around an entire harem and beckon with a simple crook of your finger for the night's lover? To never know famine and death even as entire civilizations burn around you? To never experience aging in a mortal lifespan as the generations come and go with the times?

Shoushan flicked her eyes over Erasyl's stoic glare and scoffed. 'Perhaps you do not understand, because you balance yourself between denial and acceptance. Absolute dominion and freedom. Pacifist and warmonger. But you cannot be both of any of these dualities. You're only one man with one mind - and immortality cannot change that.'

Erasyl countered with a countenance of stone - his words weighed with the brutality of experience. 'Shoushan, that is where you are wrong. Do you understand why I asked you any of those questions? Both of us understand that you know the answer to each of them. All of them are burdened with truth... You speak of duality and only being able to select one true path. Who were you in your past life?'

Shoushan became flustered - already begin to see the God-King's point.

Erasyl inclined his head in acknowledgement of her suffering. 'You have not done any worse than any other wayward children of Sirius. I am not your interrogator nor your religious chaplain. I am no bearer of the Gods judgement. Speak to me as one kindred spirit would to another.'

Shoushan winced from her own desire to confess before the God-King. His reaction would speak volumes about his beliefs and intentions.

She replied. 'Honestly? I am no different now than I was back then... Always a true hedonist, but I found myself invested in the art of death and her myriad forms.' A faint smirk creased her lips. 'One of the reasons why I turned my back on my self-righteous kindred. Another reason why I came to Sukhan to find like-minded individuals. Blackguards with blacker hearts. Cruel warriors who know only how to feast on the constant suffering of others. Devout murderers who sacrificed their souls to Alastrine in the hopes that they would slay for the rest of their lives - and relive their lust for violence in the next life as a reward for a brutal death in this mortal one.

Shoushan cocked her head at Erasyl. 'You should never have come to Suannir.' She felt disgust radiate from the God-King of the Carth Dominion. 'And your whore has done enough damage to my city... take all of your slaves with you. Sukhan has no need for the Dominion.'

Shoushan made to stand and depart her own chambers when Erasyl interrupted her.

The God-King commanded. 'Wait.'

Shoushan became frozen with but a word, more from surprise than the weight of his authority.

Erasyl leaned in toward her from the other side of the desk. 'The three questions that I first asked. Please, answer them for me.'

Shoushan scoffed. 'You waste my tim-'

The God-King's patient voice became demanding - promising swift retribution in return for her defiance. Shoushan's smirk widened - a silent challenge for Erasyl to try and strike her down.

Erasyl became unmoving, assessing Shoushan for even the slightest hint of threat. 'You noticed something about Tabia earlier - something you chose to leave unspoken... You know of a woman with the same shade of color in her eyes. You studied her features and recalled someone quite near to your chest...'

Curious, Shoushan lifted her chin to stare Erayl directly in the eye as she replied with another question. '... This woman is your child? The person that I thought similar.... her mother perished in her earlier years. Tabia cannot be her mother. I see no resemblance of her in you either.'

Erasyl shook his head in disagreement. 'Voshki is not my daughter... but she is Tabia's child. How she came to arrive in Suannir is a lengthy story.'

Shoushan shrugged. 'Then she may as well be useless for the purpose you're seeking her for. She is no immortal. She is no descendant of the God-King of the Carth Dominion.'

Erasyl inclined his head in acknowledgement. 'But she is one of the Children of the Sun. She is a Child of the Gods. As both of us remain from birth to this very day.'

Shoushan dismissed him with a crude snort. 'Is Voshki the only reason that you marched through the Southern Wastes to meet with me for?'

Erasyl confessed. 'We shall continue our discussion of Voshki upon another time. To answer your question truthfully, I desired to speak with you about Sukhan's clandestine operations throughout Khios - Old Myria being a significant topic. I do not demand or even ask that you return to the Children of the Sun... Only swear an alliance with the Carth Dominion.

Shoushan muttered a curse beneath her breath. 'Do I have a choice? Or was Suannir only a warning? Are you going to send legions across the Southern Wastes and destroy my entire kingdom?'

Grimacing, the God-King nodded once in answer. 'I cannot leave Sukhan to its own whims and ambitions. Should Old Myria and the Carth Dominion declare war on one another - then your clandestine network could turn the tide of the entire war. I shall not risk the Autumn Queen Hazan offering you a higher price than the Dominion is willing to pay for your loyalty.

'So, instead of bloodshed, enter into the Dominion's coalition. Become a valued ally instead of a hated enemy.'

Shoushan nodded. 'Your coalition. Of course. An alliance of barbaric nations drawn together by the promise of Old Myria's wealth and an endless orgy of violence to drown an empire under. I know well enough that the Half-Giants of Kharan have pledged their axes to your banners. So have the Liche Priestesses of Osphinx.

'You declare that Sukhan has no option but to join the dominion in one sentence. Yet you pleaded for me to even hear you out mere moments before. I see no reason why my kingdom should bend the knee to your empire. You'll have your hands preoccupied in the western lands for generations. Whilst you become embroiled in the next continent spanning war - my own operations could make your war effort quite a hell for the Dominion.'

Amused, Erasyl laughed at Shoushan's naivety. 'If those are your final words... then there is nothing left but to send the Dominion's declaration of war. You shall regret the consequences when Sukhan is eradicated and your people scattered - and you imprisoned beneath the city of Tu'shik.'

Shoushan scoffed. 'We shall see who will emerge victorious... I shall not have you murdered in my own lair. Return to your encampment and muster your forces. Return to the Southern Wastes and assault our strongholds when you are ready... I shall pray for you that our desert lands shall not swallow you whole.' She smirked again. 'Alastrine shall devour your immortal soul in either case…’
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past : The Lantern's Flame - Scene III
Post by: Alienscar on January 5, 2021, 10:40:14 AM
The Lantern’s Flame Scene III

Just a few things that stand out for me in Scene 3. Sorry I am so far behind you with my feedback.

Quote from: Myen'Tal
Zakarian Manor - Ara’s home - dominated all Irothis from its mountain eyrie. Ara had reached the Mausoleum Gate hidden within the Veiled Mountain’s foundation seconds after Aslan had beaten him to it.

This reads like you have blended two different thoughts together, and it doesn't quite work as you are essentially saying the same thing twice. That is, 'seconds after' and 'beaten him to it' are different ways of saying the same thing.

I think either of the below examples might be better.

'Ara reached the Mausoleum Gate that was hidden within the foundations of the Veiled Mountain seconds after Aslan.'

'Ara reached the Mausoleum Gate hidden within the foundations of the Veiled Mountain to find that Aslan had beaten him to it.'

How is the gate hidden?

Quote
Exhausted, he buckled over and gulped down several mouthfuls of air. Aslan clapped him on the shoulder with one hand and then produced a weighty key in the other. His elder brother unclasped the locks on the entrance - one after the other until nothing barred the way.

Why is Aslan carrying a 'weighty' key to what I guess is an unused entrance to the Manor?

I imagine that Aslan and Ara are returning to the Manor after the events of Scene I. That being the case why have they chosen such a treacherous route as the way home?

Quote
Aslan addressed his brother after a brief period of controlled inhalation, recovering his breath.

Aslan recovering his breath has been confused by the previous paragraph and it is difficult to tell if it is Aslan or Ara catching their breath.

Quote
Do you remember when most of this manor was forbidden to us as children, Ara? You and I spent our days exploring the Eastern Wing. Years had passed – and you and I became young men before we discovered every room in that area.

Why was access to their own home forbidden? I would suggest you drop the forbidden part and just explain that the Manor took all of their childhood to fully explore.

Quote
‘Azat extended us permission into the rest of Zarkarian Manor that day. An entire estate built across the reaches of an entire mountain.

I am struggling with the imagery of the Manor. Is this a singular mountain? Mountains by their very definition are massive and I struggle to picture a building being that extensive it can cover 'the reaches of an entire mountain'.

I can picture a building being built on the shoulder of a mountain, or a peak/pinnacle (aka Game of Thrones' Eyrie) but I can't picture these being joined together in any realistic manner.

Quote
Aslan gestured for Ara to follow a narrow trail of white marble stairs chiseled into the footholds of the Veiled Mountain. Ara tilted his head toward the skies to catch a mere glimpse of the staircase. He began his arduous ascension up the hundreds of steps leading into the mausoleum itself. Aslan closed and barred the path behind them, and quickly followed in his steps.


I am finding the imagery of the mountain/Mausoleum entrance hard to understand.

I thought from your description that the mausoleum gate was set into the foundation's of the mountain, but now it appears that the gate just leads to a set of stairs. Considering this is a mountain we are talking about and we are faced with a steep set of stairs on the side of said mountain it is not clear what the gate is meant to be  attached to.

Quote
As the sun began to set in the western skies over Irothis, Aslan produced another key. He unmade the locks that barred the path, then shouldered the oaken entrance aside.

It might just be me, but I do find it strange that Aslan is carrying so many keys, and for such an unused path.

Quote
Ara ducked into the dark corridors of the Zakarian Mausoleum after his elder brother. Fiery sunlight from the western horizon faded till only a slightly lit corridor remained before them. As Aslan closed the way shut behind them, their environment continued to dim until the path forward became barely visible. 

A scent of dust and bones long stripped of flesh permeated the stagnant air. Ara planted one foot after the other with reverence as he passed the unburied remains of unfamiliar ancestors. Some bodies were still dressed in tattered robes once wealthy and beautiful. Others still had their bones encased in suits of tarnished and decaying armor. 

Aslan forged a path through the dark corridors by heart. He navigated through the maze of several tombs occupied by several bloodlines. When they neared the landmark buried at the heart of the mausoleum – a depiction of the Goddess Jumanah, Lady of Portents, Omen, and Heaven – Aslan signaled for Ara to halt.

Aslan whispered hurriedly. ‘Brother, do you hear that?’ 

I think you should drop most of the first paragraph from this section as for me it slows and disrupts the flow and feel of the scene.

Something like this might be better:

Ara walked into the dark corridors of the mausoleum as his brother secured the door, and he was greeted by the powerful scent of dust and decay that permeated the air.

In the pitch black they moved towards the entrance guided by their childhood memories of the place. They slowly, reverently, made their way past the tombs that held the decaying remnants of the flesh and bone of forgotten ancestors.

Suddenly, as they neared the statue that honoured the Goddess Jumanah in the centre of the mausoleum, Aslan signalled a halt.

'Brother do you hear that?' he whispered in the dark.
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past : A Dominion of the Mind - Scene I
Post by: Myen'Tal on January 5, 2021, 12:06:48 PM
Quote
Just a few things that stand out for me in Scene 3. Sorry I am so far behind you with my feedback.

Hi Alienscar! No worries at all. I know you post whenever you can and that's appreciated  :).

I'm going to revisit The Lantern's Flame tonight and start pouring over your feedback to make the changes.

I'm blazing a trail across this manuscript at the moment. Finished the First Act's finale - clocking in at about 7,000 words, some of which I posted.

I've created the first two chapters of Act II - Khios in Embers. A Dominion of the Mind has reached about 4500 words, and am a little over 2000 words into Tranquility of the Soul.. I think practicing the revisions across the vast majority of what I've already written is helping me increase the pace. I've learned a lot of lessons when approaching the newest chapters and I think I'm not making as many of them that usually warranted me completely rewriting everything - which begets yet more mistakes.

Still much to learn and do, but I'm inspired to keep going  :).
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past : A Dominion of the Mind - Scene I
Post by: Dread on January 6, 2021, 04:24:43 PM
Hmm, my earlier response didnt post. Anyway, as much as i enjoy reading your work i have to admit for the first time i kept getting lost. Id have to go back and reread. Ill try to give it another read soon and see if it was just the moment when i was reading. Character development is good as always tho.
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past : A Dominion of the Mind - Scene I
Post by: Myen'Tal on January 6, 2021, 04:41:56 PM
Hmm, my earlier response didnt post. Anyway, as much as i enjoy reading your work i have to admit for the first time i kept getting lost. Id have to go back and reread. Ill try to give it another read soon and see if it was just the moment when i was reading. Character development is good as always tho.

Hi Dread,

Where precisely are you getting lost? Is it more within the scenes themselves or the chronological order in which everything is happening?

If it's the latter that is for a reason.

So everything is kind of a bit out of order depending on where you started reading. Offering is the 1st Chapter - which is from Voshki's perspective. The Lantern's Flame is the 2nd Chapter - which is Ara's perspective. A Child of Sun and Moon is the 3rd Chapter - and is from Kendal's perspective. These are in chronological order, but take place from the perspective of three different characters.

Everything beyond A Child of Sun and Moon are random scenes I've snipped out for advice on. I didn't want to hit everyone with all of the spoilers lol.

If that is not the reason you're getting lost, feel free to explain in more detail. I'd like to understand  :). Also I maybe able to give you some clarity on what I was trying to achieve in areas you are finding fuzzy.

So right now - the order is as thus:

1st Chapter - 9th Page - The latest version of Offering is on the last page.

-2nd Chapterr - Go back to Page 8 - then read The Lantern's Flame

-3rd Chapter - 9th Page - A Child of Sun and Moon

- The rest are all random scenes taken from other chapters.
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past : A Dominion of the Mind - Scene I
Post by: Alienscar on January 6, 2021, 06:22:51 PM
So right now - the order is as thus:

1st Chapter - 9th Page - The latest version of Offering is on the last page.

-2nd Chapterr - Go back to Page 8 - then read The Lantern's Flame

-3rd Chapter - 9th Page - A Child of Sun and Moon

- The rest are all random scenes taken from other chapters.

I think I should point out that this is only the case if everyone's forum profile is the same as yours. For instance, your thread is only four pages long when I look at it and everything you mention above is on page four.
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past : A Dominion of the Mind - Scene I
Post by: Myen'Tal on January 6, 2021, 06:25:33 PM
So right now - the order is as thus:

1st Chapter - 9th Page - The latest version of Offering is on the last page.

-2nd Chapterr - Go back to Page 8 - then read The Lantern's Flame

-3rd Chapter - 9th Page - A Child of Sun and Moon

- The rest are all random scenes taken from other chapters.

I think I should point out that this is only the case if everyone's forum profile is the same as yours. For instance, your thread is only four pages long when I look at it and everything you mention above is on page four.

 :o

I never realized that was the case. How is that determined exactly?
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past : A Dominion of the Mind - Scene I
Post by: Irisado on January 6, 2021, 07:01:40 PM
It depends on how many messages you want to be displayed on each page (check under Profile > Look and Layout t see what I mean).  There is a forum default, but this can, of course, be changed.  This is why it is best to link to individual posts, rather than to use page numbers ;).
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past : A Dominion of the Mind - Scene I
Post by: Myen'Tal on January 6, 2021, 07:21:08 PM
@Dread: First three chapters!

The Embers of the Past : Offering - 3rd Revision - Scene I (http://www.40konline.com/index.php?topic=231429.msg2781641#msg2781641)

The Embers of the Past : The Lantern's Flame - Scene I - Revised (http://www.40konline.com/index.php?topic=231429.msg2781547#msg2781547)
The Embers of the Past : The Lantern's Flame - Scene II (http://www.40konline.com/index.php?topic=231429.msg2781557#msg2781557)
The Embers of the Past : The Lantern's Flame - Scene III (http://www.40konline.com/index.php?topic=231429.msg2781564#msg2781564)
The Embers of the Past : The Lantern's Flame - Scene IV Finale (http://www.40konline.com/index.php?topic=231429.msg2781579#msg2781579)

The Embers of the Past : A Child of Sun & Moon (http://www.40konline.com/index.php?topic=231429.msg2781585#msg2781585)
The Embers of the Past : A Child of Sun & Moon - Scene II (http://www.40konline.com/index.php?topic=231429.msg2781597#msg2781597)

Title: Re: The Embers of the Past : A Dominion of the Mind - Scene I
Post by: Dread on January 7, 2021, 01:34:18 AM
I'll give them a read this weekend 8)
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past : The Lantern's Flame - Scene IV Finale
Post by: Alienscar on January 7, 2021, 11:29:52 AM
Just a few of the stand out features in Lantern Scene 4

Quote
Ara snapped out of the dream - motionless. His amber eyes fluttered open in search of clarity - to anchor himself amidst an impregnable dark. He heard the distant thunder of the Black Sea's waves break on the shores of Irothis. A night wind streamed through cracked open windows and filled the Zakarian Manor with soft lullabies.

 A pillar of eerie moonlight spilled through glassine windows overlooking the city of Irothis. Beyond the moonlight, the mountain reaches were ablaze with civilization now dormant for the night. 

For me the start of this scene is slowed by conflicting imagery. Is it 'impregnably dark', or is the room lit by moonlight? Also 'distant thunder' and 'soft lullabies' clash with each other, as do 'ablaze with civilisation' and 'dormant'.

Something else that confuses the start of this scene is the incorrect use of the words flutter and clarity.

The word flutter means to make a series of quick delicate movements up and down or from side to side, so for me it doesn't represent a manner in which a person would open their eyes. I would suggest writing hesitantly, or maybe reluctantly instead.

Clarity refers to the quality of being clear and easy to understand, see, or hear. It doesn't refer to how clearly you can see. For example, the Lord of the Rings film had a razor-sharp clarity.

One other thing that confuses me when I read this passage is your use of the word glassine. What do you think the word means? It doesn't mean glass like, or even refer to anything made of glass,  so I am left confused as to what you are trying to say.

Quote
Ara realized that he had fallen asleep and dreamt of the fateful hours that had altered his life forever. 

I would suggest that this paragraph is redundant as you have already established that Ara has awoken from a dream at the very start of this scene.

Quote
The warmth of his dream began to fade. Yet the memories of murder and bloodshed - vivid and horrifying as the day he had experienced them - remained. 

For me this paragraph contains conflicting imagery again. The expression 'the warmth of his dream' suggests a pleasant experience, but this conflicts with 'murder and bloodshed'.


Quote
Ara could not bring himself to return to blissful sleep.

Again this seems a bit conflicted as how can Ara be described as returning to blissful sleep when has just woken from a nightmare.

Quote
He climbed out of bed and navigated his pristine chambers in the dark by heart. This time he remembered himself, and gently nudged open the door and stepped out into the flickering orange light of braziers lit along the Eastern Wing’s walls.

In the context of the preceding paragraphs the phrase 'This time he remembered himself' doesn't mean anything and its use leaves me puzzled.

Quote
Ara gracefully swept toward the end of the balcony and leaned heavily on the rail in front of him.

'gracefully swept' seems an odd phrase to use to me. Gracefully means to move in a smooth, relaxed, attractive way, and  'swept' means move swiftly and smoothly. None of this seems apt for a person that is trying to clear his head of a nightmare.

Quote
I considered declining her offer, but after the atrocities Nishan and Jaleh committed here, I always knew that neither you, Aslan, or myself could stay much longer. 

Seven years is a long time, and is too much of a contradiction for the 'not much longer' statement.
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past : A Dominion of the Mind - Scene II
Post by: Myen'Tal on January 7, 2021, 03:02:59 PM
EDIT: Finished implementing all the changes from each of my sources of feedback. Went back to each respective scene in The Lantern Flame and A Child of Sun and Moon and updated each post to the latest version.

Thanks, Alienscar!

Good points again, will definitely make changes to reflect them.


Shoushan watched the evening skies fade into hues of midnight black. An endless ocean of stars glimmered in night's shroud. As wane sunlight died over the Southern Wastes - she felt time's hourglass begin to crack. She imagined the sands spilling through the splintered glass - every grain an event that would determine how the entire continent's fate would unfold. A symbolism of a kind, representing the Khios’ final years becoming finite and gradually spent. 

The Grand Master of the Ashen Circle studied the moonlit dune sea beyond her pane and sighed. She understood what needed to be done - of what Alastrine demanded of her. The Goddess of the Underworld was always a demanding patron - a parasitical force that consumed her own children with frightening gluttony.

Something seemed different about Alastrine’s mood in the last days of Sukhan. Beneath even the hidden lair of the Ashen Circle - Shoushan could feel something pulse from out of hell's gates - the Black Descent. A pulse that made her heart race and her mind think with absolute clarity. She could feel a forbidden strength course throughout her. Time became gradually slower until it seemed the world had grounded to a halt - even as she continued her life as normal. 

Shoushan considered all the dead that languished in the Royal Den of Vipers. She wondered who else could feel Alastrine's beating heart pump infernal blood through their veins. Her burdened mind became alleviated from doubt and distress. Surreal beyond measure - she realized that her emotions were becoming dull – replaced by a dark wrath. Alastrine's divine might channeled through Shoushan like never before- she suddenly knew within her chest that any warrior worthy of her Goddess' dark blessing had felt the same. 

The door to her chambers slid open without warning. Shoushan shut her eyes and waited.

A pair of armored footfalls shuffled into her room - followed by another pair, and then a final pair - Shoushan counted three members of her Inner Circle by their organized steps. She caught their hazed reflections in the dim firelight reflected on her window. Three indistinct figures that seemed made from the essence of shadow.

She turned on a heel to face them, inclining her head out of respect. ‘My Torch Bearers... my conclave with the Carth Dominion has ended. Our only agreement between empire and kingdom is open war. I have declined their proposed alliance. Carth's God-King and his relentless legion of slave warriors are already here in the Southern Wastes. We have little time in our hourglass to act. We shall respond to the Dominion's act of aggression - the Ashen Circle is the defense of all Sukhan - and your Grand Master the Queen of the Southern Wastes.

'Between each of us - sixty thousand await our commands in hidden strongholds scattered across Khios. Jaleh - you shall travel into the heart of Old Zarna and rally our forces there. Karayan - you shall head for the realms of Ak'shan within the heart of the Carth Dominion... Nishan - command our defenses in Sukhan and repulse the Carthite invaders. I may have some guidance on how that goal can be achieved.'

Nishan the Scarred Child emerged into the dim light of the hearth fire. Shoushan gazed upon his grim visage and inclined her head in acknowledgement. 

Nishan did not protest her orders but bent his knee out of fealty. 'Your bidding is my oath.' A vicious grin creased his scarred over lips. 'Between your brain and my brawn, how could we not triumph?'

Shoushan shook her head. 'You shall need to rely on your brawn alone, Scarred Child. I am needed elsewhere.'

Nishan lifted his gaze to look her in the eye. 'Old Myria? Must you leave on the most critical hour of our kingdom’s fate?'

Irritably, Shoushan arched her brow at Nishan. 'Yes. I have my own oaths to fulfill. I must check on an apprentice of mine. You know that I am no commander, Nishan - that is your duty alone. Erasyl shall believe that once he conquers Sukhan - he'll have torn the beating heart from our operations. He seeks to leave our independent rings in disarray - especially when it comes to the Carth Dominion.

‘Tens of thousands of our kindred are scattered across Khios for a myriad of reasons. All we must do is light a beacon for them to rally on. Should our Scarred Child fail and Sukhan crumble into a swift collapse - we shall require a rallying cry. Our hidden bases of operation in Zarna, Ak'shan, and on the fringes of the Southern Wastes shall dispatch messengers to our concealed clandestine rings. These independent circles shall then spread the word across the far corners of their designated regions.'

A dour look flashed across Jaleh's face when she folded her arms out of patience. 'And should Nishan succeed in scattering the Dominion's forces?'

Shoushan nodded. 'We light the beacons in either case. Should Sukhan remain unconquered due to Nishan's unrivaled strategic mind - then our reinforced armies shall have an opportunity to march on many targets considered strategic by the Carth Dominion and the Old Myrian Empire. There lies a chance that Sukhan may be able to alter and change the geopolitical landscape of Khios and carve out many territorial gains of its own.

'Our priority is to undermine our most direct foes - the Dominion. Of course, the quicker tensions flare between Old Myria and the Carth Dominion into open war - the stronger the position Sukhan shall find itself in. Unbeknownst to each of you - these plans have long been set into motion. Should the apprentice that I must visit succeed in her quest to assassinate the Autumn Queen Hazan, then our route to triumphant victory is on the correct path.'

Karayan shook his head. 'As the only one who knew about Voshki's mission aside from Shoushan - I considered it suicide. Voshki's granted mission is an impossible one - she has failed or else we'd have heard something within the last two years.'

Shoushan smirked in Karayan's direction. 'You underestimate her... She is the daughter of a god - as am I. Besides - should she have failed; I know that she at least continues to draw breath. It shall not be the most difficult error to fix - so long as I am the one who goes to correct it... that being said, in the event of my death - Nishan - you'll become the Grand Master of the Ashen Circle.'

Karyan became insistent. 'And should Erasyl happen to pursue you with his agents into Old Myria? And should he discover Voshki by following your lead?'

Shoushan inclined her head in acknowledgement. 'All of that is a certainty. In either case, Erasyl shall find Voshki one way or another. It would only be correct if I came to her protection.'

Jaleh scowled at her. 'A shame that Zagir was never afforded such a shielding love.'

Shoushan clucked her tongue. 'This is different. Zagir is not one of the Children of the Gods. The God-King's claiming of Voshki could be disastrous in this specific instance.'

Karayan interrupted. 'I agree with Jaleh - out of respect and honesty to you, Grand Master. There could be far more of these Children of the Gods scattered across Khios - is each one the God-King finds and claims a disaster on equal proportion with Voshki's importance?'

Shoushan smirked. 'No. Not yet. See to your orders in the meantime. I am headed for Old Myria and shall depart within the next hour. Nishan - what shall you do now that Suannir is nothing more than blackened bone and rubble?'

The Scarred Child rubbed his chin and considered the question. He answered with the certainty of steel. 'I shall depart as well with whatever warriors remain that shall not follow with Jaleh and Karayan. I shall head for the fortress-city of Drummir and muster what forces I can from the region. We'll fortify our positions - see to maintenance for the fortifications that already exist. I am dispatching messengers tonight to all the surrounding cities and villages in the neighboring regions. Should the Carthites unwittingly advance into the nigh-inhospitable dunes of the Southern Wastes - their time here shall be limited.

'Once the frontlines become drawn between Old Myria and the Dominion - I imagine Carth's steady stream of reinforcements into the Southern Wastes shall begin to dwindle. When their armies are expended from their campaign against our lands - our time to counter-strike shall come. We'll scatter what resistance remains into the wastelands - where all of them shall perish. The only caveat is that we must survive until those front lines become drawn.'

Approvingly, Shoushan nodded. 'I have faith in your ability. I understand you would rather have been assigned to Old Myria for unfinished business - but I require your expertise here in Sukhan. Once the war fronts open and you scatter Carth's armies at home - you may yet earn your chance.'

Chortling, Nishan dismissed her with a snort. 'You have little need to bait me with a carrot on a stick. Some consider me a ferocious bear, not some tamed rabbit. I can wait for my retribution -' He reached out and halted Shoushan before she could make to stride past him. 'But I am gladdened that you understand how much I desire a reckoning with the Immortals of Annahir - and Azat.'

Shoushan shrugged. 'I may need a word with the commander of the Annahir Immortals myself. Now step out of my path.'

Nishan blew out a heated breath but did as commanded.

Shoushan tread by her three Bearers of the Ashen Torch and exited her room for the final time. No matter what the future promised to hold in store for anyone - she knew that there would be no return to Suannir or the Ashen Circle's lair for the rest of her days. In either case - it mattered little. She had a war to fight and win.
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past : Progress Update
Post by: Myen'Tal on January 12, 2021, 11:07:29 PM
So progress update on The Embers of The Past -

Reached 50,000 words last Sunday!!

I also revisited a pretty light outline and mapped out where the rest of the story would go overall.

I've finished the Chapter Names and have put statuses on the Chapters that are either complete or being worked on.

For anyone curious - here is the status page I made for myself to keep up with progress:

(https://i.ibb.co/bFgZNt3/Capture.jpg)

The goal is complete the other 50,000 the week before June 7, 2020 - which is the appointment for my manuscript critique by my editor.

Hard to believe that I started this 3.0 build in November... already came a long way!

Title: Re: The Embers of the Past : A Child of Sun & Moon
Post by: Alienscar on January 13, 2021, 08:49:43 AM
Looks like you are making good progress. Here is a bit of feedback for Sun & Moon

A Child of Sun & Moon

Quote
Kendal knew that he was in a lucid dream - a waking vision that he was unable to cast himself out of. He awoke stranded on a beach that glowed in the moonlight like so much limestone dust.


Cast means to throw something, so in the context of your paragraph is the wrong word.

Whilst you have stated that Kendal knows he is asleep I still find it confusing that the next sentence says that he awoke. As it is clearly established later in the scene that Kendal wakes from a dream, I think you should remove this paragraph and start the scene with the waves coming ashore.

 
Quote
Sea waves hurled themselves onto the shore - crashing in an endless rain of frothing white mist and clear precipitation. A full moon anchored so close to the earth that it seemed enormous, shined down on an endless bed of sparkling waters. It was like the eye of a deity staring down from the heights of heaven - watching on Kendal.

 
This paragraph is made difficult to read due to some of the words used. The word ‘sea’ is an unnecessary embellishment. Precipitation refers to rain not drops of sea water. I also find ‘waves hurling themselves’ and ‘an endless bed of sparkling waters’ to be at odds with each other. This is because I find the first expression to sound turbulent, but I find the second quite serene.

The ‘on’ in ‘watching on Kendal’ is not required
 
Quote
The sea itself seemed burning with a riot of color. The deeper waters glowed in various shades of sapphire and ultramarine, turquoise, and cerulean. The waves crashed over the shore and broke just shy of Kendal's feet. The waters shifted to every shade and hue within the spectrum of color found in a rainbow.


A second paragraph to describe the sea is too much especially as much of it has a circuitous nature. That is, the ‘riot of colour’ reads similar to ‘the waters shifted to every shade’. Also, the ‘waves crashed’ is too similar to ‘the waves hurled themselves. I think you would be better off combining the first two paragraphs to make the start of this scene a quicker experience.

 
Quote
What was this holy place? Where he could reflect on the beauty of his Goddess in solitude? Where he could feel her constant vigil upon him? Deity and devoted were transfixed by some beautiful emotion they shared - but neither seemed willing to place.

 
You have just described a beach with waves and a brightly coloured sea, so the reference to a ‘holy place’ is confusing as it doesn’t match your description. Additionally, the ‘transfixed by some beautiful emotion’ line doesn’t seem connected to what you have previously written either.

I would suggest something similar to this (note that this is just a suggestion and not complete):

Kendal stared at the scene before him in awe. A moon so large that it seemed to fill the sky was shining as brilliantly as a diamond. Where the moonlight hit the ocean, it was ablaze in a kaleidoscope of colour. Shades of sapphire and ultramarine, turquoise, and cerulean flashed and danced in the depths.

As he continued to stare at the magical scene in front of him a voice filled the air, the sound of which filled him with longing.

Quote
From the night sky - ablaze with the brilliance of countless stars - Kendal could hear her gentle lullaby steal away all that he was.
 
'You'll always be my beloved. My devoted...
 
'A Child of sun and moon...
 
'You are the bridge that arches over the chasms of darkness...
 
''And the evening star sighted between dusk and night.
 
'Your devotion is the promise of a loyal oath…
 
'Languish on these shores for all your nights...
 
'And await the coming of the dawn...
 
'Where we shall become one soul...
 
'Sun and moon...
 
Kendal heard the intimate words and felt himself slipping free of his dream state. The shores of this Opal and Crystalline Sea began to fade into hues of black - until only the brilliance of the stars and moon became lights in an impregnable dark...


Listened to rather than heard would be a better word.

Intimate means personal and private and I don’t find much in the ‘lullaby’ that gives the impression of intimacy.

For me the last part of the sentence ‘until the brilliance of the stars and moon became lights’ doesn’t make any sense. This is because it seems to be saying the light of the stars became lights in the dark. I think it would be better if you stopped at the previous sentence that ends in 'black’
 
Quote
Kendal snapped back into reality and found himself in the comfort of his chambers.  He laid in his bed for a brief period, paralyzed while his mind raced for clarity and an explanation for his dreams. His heart began to hammer in his chest out of a sense of urgency.


The first sentence of this paragraph doesn’t gel with the overall feel of what has gone before. That is, ‘he found himself’ lends an air of confusion to the sentence, but everything before this is quite serene. It is plain that Kendal went to sleep in his own bed and he also knew that he was dreaming, so in context it shouldn’t surprise him that he is still in bed when he wakes up.

‘He laid’ should be ‘He lay’

For me everything after paralysed mildly clashes with what has gone before.

‘’holy place’, ‘reflect on the beauty’, ‘solitude’, ‘some beautiful emotion’, ‘gentle lullaby’, ‘languish’ and ‘intimate words’; none of this portrays urgency or imminent danger.
 
 
Quote
Kendal hurried about his chambers to pack his most precious belongings. He added them into an indiscreet bag, then glanced about his chambers one last time. He remembered himself and grabbed an elegant long sword - sheathed in the scabbard - from its display case and fixed it to his belt.


Indiscreet bag! Indiscreet means not careful in saying or doing things that should be kept secret. Did you mean nondescript? In the context of this paragraph the words ‘he remembered himself’ do not mean anything and causes confusion because of this.

 
Quote
Kendal could not deny the truth - he was haunted.
 

From a reader’s perspective one short dream does not represent a haunting, so Kendal’s 'truth' doesn’t make sense.

 
Quote
The orangish stone that created the tiles never changed.


Created is the wrong word. Tiles are made from stone not created by stone. That is, I think ‘The orangish stone of the tiled floor did not change...’ would work better.

Actually, I think it would probably be best if you dropped this first sentence as I would suggest that the repeated mention of the orangish stone is not required.


Quote
Kendal reached a single heavy oak door that blocked the path to the stables. A point of no return once he crossed through it. Maybe the unrest would never spiral out of control as he feared? Could there be another alternative than fleeing his life as a devoted crusader of Hanneth?


Sorry Myen’Tal I am confused again. If he is fleeing his life why has he dressed himself in the uniform of a Vale Knight? Wouldn’t it make more sense for him to dress in ‘civvies’

Also, I am confused by the ‘unrest’ you mention. It isn’t clear to me how being attacked by Hallish mercenaries has led to unrest in the town.
 
 
Quote
Faife chuckled. ‘Merely another chore. Get out of here before more zealots show up screaming for murder and blood.' She paused. 'You’ll be missed, Half-Blood. Just answer me one question…’
 
‘I am guilty.’ Kendal confessed. ‘I’ve committed murder in my own defense. Any Warden would have the right to take me.’


To be honest Myen'Tal I do not understand this response. That is, from everything that has gone before I do not see the reason for the question or understand why Kendal has a need to feel guilty.

Question for you Myen’Tal. What do you think the aim of this scene is and do you think you have achieved that aim? Of the 54 paragraphs that make up this scene nineteen of them describe Kendal leaving his room and walking to the stable. I think that that number of paragraphs is too many and muddies the focus of the scene.

One other issue I have with this scene is that its structure/content is too similar to scene 4 of Lantern. A man wakes from a dream, remembers a recent slaughter whilst going for a walk and talks to someone before they depart their home. It all gives a sense of déjà vu.
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past : Progress Update
Post by: Myen'Tal on January 13, 2021, 09:53:02 AM
Hi Alienscar!

Quote
I won't disagree that the scene needs work and perhaps an overhaul - but I did want to address some of your concerns.

This paragraph is made difficult to read due to some of the words used. The word ‘sea’ is an unnecessary embellishment. Precipitation refers to rain not drops of sea water. I also find ‘waves hurling themselves’ and ‘an endless bed of sparkling waters’ to be at odds with each other. This is because I find the first expression to sound turbulent, but I find the second quite serene.

The ‘on’ in ‘watching on Kendal’ is not required

Yeah I have a tendency to do this and don't know why it seems to so natural to me as to not stand out. It was actually worse before someone pointed out several other words ;D.

Quote
You have just described a beach with waves and a brightly coloured sea, so the reference to a ‘holy place’ is confusing as it doesn’t match your description. Additionally, the ‘transfixed by some beautiful emotion’ line doesn’t seem connected to what you have previously written either.

I would suggest something similar to this (note that this is just a suggestion and not complete):

Kendal stared at the scene before him in awe. A moon so large that it seemed to fill the sky was shining as brilliantly as a diamond. Where the moonlight hit the ocean, it was ablaze in a kaleidoscope of colour. Shades of sapphire and ultramarine, turquoise, and cerulean flashed and danced in the depths.

As he continued to stare at the magical scene in front of him a voice filled the air, the sound of which filled him with longing.

I like your suggestion and will definitely keep it in mind once I start making changes.

I think it's a matter of perspective on whether a place is holy to that specific individual. Kendal is fully aware in his dreamscape - and is in a place that simply does not exist in the physical world. The Sea itself is unnatural and the sands of the shore glow in the moonlight like a luminous limestone. Plus, there's a Goddess whispering to him too  ;), so I think Kendal would think it a spiritual place.

Sometimes holiness is found within nature itself - doesn't always require a temple or shrine to make it obvious.

Quote
Sorry Myen’Tal I am confused again. If he is fleeing his life why has he dressed himself in the uniform of a Vale Knight? Wouldn’t it make more sense for him to dress in ‘civvies’

Also, I am confused by the ‘unrest’ you mention. It isn’t clear to me how being attacked by Hallish mercenaries has led to unrest in the town.

I think it's a personal choice - Kendal could defend himself when attacked or try to avoid combat in the way you mentioned - but then he loses something quite precious to him. I'll give a good think on that topic.

I meant to say that it was Halish rabble rousers that assaulted the Old Myrian delegation - not mercenaries - I may have absent-mindedly just wrote that instead. Kendal also wasn't aware of how or why the event happened.


Quote
Question for you Myen’Tal. What do you think the aim of this scene is and do you think you have achieved that aim? Of the 54 paragraphs that make up this scene nineteen of them describe Kendal leaving his room and walking to the stable. I think that that number of paragraphs is too many and muddies the focus of the scene.

Sorry that you had such difficulties with this one. Sometimes the vision doesn't translate so well into writing  :P. I agree it does need work. I'll have to think on how to make this scene more impactful and story driven.


Quote
One other issue I have with this scene is that its structure/content is too similar to scene 4 of Lantern. A man wakes from a dream, remembers a recent slaughter whilst going for a walk and talks to someone before they depart their home. It all gives a sense of déjà vu.

This is actually fully intentional, but I am now aware that perhaps I should aim for something a bit different.

Thanks for the feedback, you've given me a lot to think about  :). I'm going to go ahead and place this chapter under construction. I see there are some issues that do need to be addressed.
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past : Progress Update
Post by: Alienscar on January 13, 2021, 03:47:03 PM


Quote from: Alienscar
Sorry Myen’Tal I am confused again. If he is fleeing his life why has he dressed himself in the uniform of a Vale Knight? Wouldn’t it make more sense for him to dress in ‘civvies’

I think it's a personal choice - Kendal could defend himself when attacked or try to avoid combat in the way you mentioned - but then he loses something quite precious to him. I'll give a good think on that topic.

So I am confused again. If the life of being a Vale Knight is so precious to him why is he giving it up so easily?

I would also think that he could still defend himself without having to wear a uniform that represents a life he is trying to leave behind.

Just wondering did you mean to write fleeing for his life rather than fleeing his life?


Quote from: Alienscar
Also, I am confused by the ‘unrest’ you mention. It isn’t clear to me how being attacked by Hallish mercenaries has led to unrest in the town.

I meant to say that it was Halish rabble rousers that assaulted the Old Myrian delegation - not mercenaries - I may have absent-mindedly just wrote that instead. Kendal also wasn't aware of how or why the event happened.

That's my fault Myen'Tal you did call them rabble-rousers, but I called them mercenaries in my response. I did this because your description of emissaries attacking the Myrian's sounds military in nature rather than the work of rabble-rousers. This is because rabble-rouser means a clever speaker who can persuade a group of people to behave violently or aggressively, often for the speaker's own political advantage.
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past : Progress Update
Post by: Myen'Tal on January 13, 2021, 04:56:44 PM


Quote from: Alienscar
Sorry Myen’Tal I am confused again. If he is fleeing his life why has he dressed himself in the uniform of a Vale Knight? Wouldn’t it make more sense for him to dress in ‘civvies’

I think it's a personal choice - Kendal could defend himself when attacked or try to avoid combat in the way you mentioned - but then he loses something quite precious to him. I'll give a good think on that topic.

So I am confused again. If the life of being a Vale Knight is so precious to him why is he giving it up so easily?

I would also think that he could still defend himself without having to wear a uniform that represents a life he is trying to leave behind.

Just wondering did you mean to write fleeing for his life rather than fleeing his life?


Quote from: Alienscar
Also, I am confused by the ‘unrest’ you mention. It isn’t clear to me how being attacked by Hallish mercenaries has led to unrest in the town.

I meant to say that it was Halish rabble rousers that assaulted the Old Myrian delegation - not mercenaries - I may have absent-mindedly just wrote that instead. Kendal also wasn't aware of how or why the event happened.

That's my fault Myen'Tal you did call them rabble-rousers, but I called them mercenaries in my response. I did this because your description of emissaries attacking the Myrian's sounds military in nature rather than the work of rabble-rousers. This is because rabble-rouser means a clever speaker who can persuade a group of people to behave violently or aggressively, often for the speaker's own political advantage.

After some thinking I am seeing what you're saying. There just isn't enough reason to justify why Kendal is being forced into this massive change in his life. I actually have brewed up a good number of ideas on how to rectify this issue and the rest of the chapter going forward.

It's going to change a lot narrative wise, but that'll probably be for the best. It'll still into a similar path for Kendal's narrative arc.

Thanks for explanation of rabble-rousers, will keep that in mind.

EDIT: Alienscar, you've awoken a beast of a chapter!  ;D ;D ;D
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past : A Crimson Blizzard - Latest Revision 1/22 - Scene I
Post by: Myen'Tal on January 14, 2021, 10:56:28 PM
So a few things to mention:

This chapter is about 75% completed and is definitely going to clock past 6,000 words, it's my second longest chapter, but I think I've done a good job pumping it full of narrative. This is the beginning of Kendal's story, and since he begins in the Western Hemisphere - I decided to go back to my original idea to focus on the events that beset Kindle in his homestead.

- While I thought up some really cool alternate ideas for Kendal in the meantime - I also decided that his original chapter didn't seem to mesh with the overall story that well - not in narrative and not in atmosphere as well. 

- I decided on an origin narrative that is a bit grittier and morbid for Kendal. He is still the same - but I've given him more of an edge rather being a devoted priest. I had to give him a splash of Crusader ;). 
 
- I also thought on your opinion, Alienscar, on the place in Kendal's dream. While I was initially happy with it, your opinion does get me thinking that it maybe a little too generic to shine as something special. I've decided that I'm going to try to make something more unique and memorable when I do the revision of that scene.

~******~

Kendal Qallin watched drifting curtains of heavy snow bury what remained of the Dawn Fields. A frozen wind came slicing through his Dusk Wolf cloak and black quilted armor. His breaths were frosted around his mouth and an aching cold oozed into to the marrow of his bones. 

An endless snowfall continued unabated as it had for several months in the Kingdom of Hallorn. 

Qenroth, his storm grey stallion waded through the deep snow that buried the once resplendent farmlands of the Dawn Fields. Longingly, he tried to remember the same stretch of golden wheat from the days of his childhood. He searched for the isolated farmsteads and burgeoning villages that once populated this region. 

Scattered debris were all that remained of the homesteads - charred to ash from the destructive fires of war. The once prosperous villagers were nothing more than skeletal remains, corpses picked clean of flesh hung high from their shade trees. Unburied remains of countless others lay buried amid the ruin.

Kendal shivered underneath his armor, biting back an embittered anguish. He glanced over his shoulder to share a concerned look with his mentor Vindiaccos. Melancholy burdened his words. 'The Dawn Fields... I remember coming here often as a child. Before I came to Raven’s Croft – these villages and my home in the Deep Woods of the Mist Hollow were all that I knew.'

Vindiaccos of the Raven Vale Knights steered his mount to Kendal's side. 'Don't surrender to despair, my apprentice. Your parents may yet live. Of the Dawn Fields, nothing remains. You should be cautious, however, that the Mist Hollow has likely devolved into a battlefield. Your home remains secluded in the heart of the Deep Wood. Your manor may have avoided the destruction thus far.'

Kendal shook his head. He felt fear beginning to weigh heavy on his heart. 'Do you think our enemies would hesitate to enter the Deep Woods? The Lani Elves have thrived in such secluded regions for centuries upon centuries.' He smiled briefly out of disbelief. His misty breath streamed from frosted lips, the smile fading. 'I had always thought them a benign race... it is difficult to witness the carnage left in their wake. What could have roused them into such a frenzy, I wonder?'

Vindiaccos chose not to answer. The elder warrior placed a firm gauntlet on Kendal's shoulder and shook it gently. 'Do you want me to come with you? You’ve one hundred of my finest veterans behind us at your beck and call.' 

He gestured toward the deafening disturbance of armor jostling and war dirges sung through the howling winds. Kendal spared a glance over his shoulder to see a lengthened column of raven clad knights mounted on horseback forging a trail through the endless white fields. A score of banners woven from grey, black, and silver thread marked the elite cavalcade - heraldry of the Raven perched upon a chalice fluttering in the breeze. 

Kendal considered the mighty host, then glanced back at Vindiaccos. He answered him with a grim shake of his head. 

'No.' The apprentice youth solemnly declared. 'I'll be fine. Our brethren are needed to protect the villages of Mist Hollow – any that still endure. You’ll only slow me down. Should I encounter any Lani warbands, I shall come galloping for you. Once I find my parents and get them to safety, I'll come find you again.' 

Vindiaccos narrowed his eyes as if he wanted to protest further. He kept his silence. His concerned frown brightened, his countenance taking on his famous cheerful flare. He reached out and punched his apprentice in the shoulder. 'Your father shall come to like Raven's Croft - city of night. Tell your mother Akine that she shall adore the grand halls of Hanneth's Temple... You told me that she is a woman of the faith.' 

Kendal felt a reminiscent smile overcome him for the briefest moment before concern began to weary him again. 'My mother is my inspiration. Everything that I've sacrificed in this life to become a Crusader of Hanneth - it was for her. She believes I have a gift for sharing Hanneth's teachings to everyone.'

Vindiaccos nodded, understanding. 'And what about your father? Does he not approve of Heaven's Light? Stoic Rynath, I used to call him. Always unbending like finely honed steel. Always patient in the face of every challenge - no matter the severity... I could imagine why he would not accept one of mankind's deities, but that aside - show him what you've learned under my guidance, should push comes to shove.' 

Kendal nodded, then spurred Qenroth in the direction of the Deep Woods and home. Over the course of years, the woodlands of Mist Hollow had conquered much of the fertile fields by neglect alone. What thrived here had become burgeoning and overgrown outskirts. 

Qenroth trotted farther into the woods until the gloom between the black earth and the forest canopy began to envelope him. 

Vindiaccos' voice called out from behind him, proud and encouraging. He shouted. 'We shall meet again underneath this bleak daylight. Let the Heavenly Flame continue to blaze in your chest and warm you against the onslaught of winter! We shall meet again my apprentice!' 

Gradually, the twisting roots of the Deep Wood’s foundations twisted up the heights of steep hills and weathered cliff faces. Mist Hollow seemed to grow and abound around him with life, teetering higher and higher until the snow laden canopy blotted out the wane light of the sun. Qenroth forded half-frozen creeks and placid streams, trotting over wooden bridges into the thick of nature's labyrinth. 

Peering through the endless drifting white veil, Kendal searched for any signs of the Lani. From the heart of the forest, the howling of wolves echoed out of the shadows. Here and there, slender shapes darted through the woodland brush nearby. Kendal easily discerned them as quiet creatures from the way they kept their distance. He remained on guard for any wolves on the hunt. 

Kendal continued his search - and noticed a hazy shape coalescing through the mist and snow on the road. He craned his head in either direction to adjust himself to his surroundings. He tasted the familiar scent of charred wood and ash on his tongue. He listened to the wailing wind but heard nothing beyond the natural forest life. As Qenroth trotted along the main road, Kendal’s onyx eyes picked out the tell-tale signs of a travelers’ caravan - ambushed, the wagons scorched into ruin and a score of bodies scattered about the site of the massacre. 

Kendal reigned Qenroth to a sudden halt at the edge of the skirmish’s perimeter. A sudden sense of fear quickened his heart - the Lani Elves had not withdrawn after their slaughter of the Dawn Fields. They were still on the rampage and continuing to plunge farther into the Deep Wood. 

A subtle crack - like the snapping of a tiny twig shattered the uneasy tranquility of the forest. 

Kendal made no sign of acknowledging the sound and slipped out of his saddle. His leather boots vanished amid the deep white earth. He searched the immediate area for any signs of life. After a brief assessment of his surroundings, he waded through the deep snow and approached the decimated caravan. 

He stumbled first upon the corpse of a young woman - no more than twenty summers of age. Beneath the layers of animal hides was a silk dress of burgundy and off-white. Kendal knelt next to her and realized she had survived for some time from the slender arrows embedded in her torso. A gruesome and agonizing death, but Kendal knew that she had succumbed to the blizzard's merciful sleep inducing cold. She was frozen stiff. Coagulated blood frosted over had once trickled from her lips and continued to build up behind the teeth. 

Kendal grimaced as he gazed upon the distressing sight, transfixed. He whispered to the deceased woman. 'Hanneth's light reveal the hidden paths for you...' He picked himself up and continued to search through the caravan. 

The supply wagons were ransacked by whoever had slaughtered their owners and guardians. Scattered across the main road were shattered chests, broken open by force both natural and applied. All manner of currencies were spilled out across the blood-stained snow. What Kendal had noticed was the lack of essential supplies needed to survive a journey. 

The only mark of the Lani left at the site of the ambush was a forest floor riddled with a hail of spent arrows. Of course, they had left behind their victims as well to freeze amidst the Black Blizzard. Several minutes of thorough searching left Kendal with precious little. He stood over the carcass of a workhorse slain under a barrage of feathered and steel-tipped shafts and shook his head in resignation. 

As the mist of his own breath evaporated into the snow-wracked air, he noticed another subtle breaking of twigs from behind him. The sound came more forceful this time, followed by the indistinct noise of another footfall pushing something forward into a bounding rush. 

Kendal surrendered to instinct. Whirling around on one heel with a hand on the hilt of his sheathed sword, he came face to face with a dark and hazy shape rapidly darting toward him through the endless veil of snow. 

He unsheathed his long sword with a shrill cry - practically ripping it out of the scabbard to parry the pouncing strike of the dim figure's long spear. Their weapons collided in a shower of sparks that stung Kendal's frosted features. The blurred outline hurtled past him; such was the speed of his charge. 

The living shadow clarified into a slender form - all lithe muscle and grey skin darker than the brooding skies over the Mist Hollow. Lustrous raven hair flowed around her, caught in the wind like graceful eels surging through gentle waters. She was clad in dull grey leathers to match her skin and the fresh pelts of slain foxes and wolves. 

She looked up and regarded Kendal with ocean blue eyes that sparkled like the waters of the deep sea. Her scarred lips were pale and full as she pursed them into a confident smile. The only flaw on her perfect features was a nasty crimson wound carved from her forehead down to the bottom of her jaw. He was convinced that if the blood had not coagulated and frosted over, her skull would be visible beneath the deep cut. 

Kendal felt himself unconsciously lift his hands in a non-hostile action, but suddenly took in the sight of the massacre around them. He noticed the way her leather boot was planted so triumphantly over one of the bodies. He noticed too, the brief assessment of her eyes over Kendal and the contentment in her sigh. 

He blinked and the Lani blitzed forth through snow and charred rubble as if they were not even obstacles. Kendal felt his instinct guide him and he flowed into the natural swing that parried the long spear yet again. Undeterred, the Lani weaved around his counterstroke, a diagonal cut that would cleave her chest open. She pivoted on her left foot and pushed off it, her elbow crashing into Kendal's temple, throwing him off balance. 

Kendal shouted in frustration and pain from her careless cut across his cheekbone. From the way she intentionally grazed him, he knew she liked to toy with her prey. 

The lioness pounced again, her long spear retracted for a thrust through the meat and bone of his thigh right above the knee. Kendal widened his stance so that the spear passed between his legs. He threw an armored fist toward the elf's tantalizing face, but she only laughed and slunk beyond his immediate reach. 

Kendal back-pedaled as the Lani came forth for another bout. 

He reversed his retreat into a cautious engagement. He cut low with his blade toward the flank of her right calf, but found his probing strike countered. She fluidly followed into an uppercut, then a forward thrust as Kendal deflected the earlier strike. Kendal swatted the strike from out of his path, then followed into a flurry of cutting blows. 

The Lioness danced around each of his attacks as if they were that of a child's. Whenever Kendal drew back to recover his stamina, she countered with an assault of her own - likewise deflected. The combat endured as such for minutes on end, each passing second already like the dwindling sands of an hourglass.

It was a sword dance - an experience that Kendal had never known before. Though he struggled for his life - there was something intimate and alluring in reading his opponent's moves and playful manner - as she too read into his own struggle to keep up with her. 

Kendal could not tell if he was doomed or if she was simply too hesitant to try and land the mortal blow. 

Seeing an advantage, Kendal suddenly feinted to his left, then came down with a chopping blow to bring the Lioness to heel. 

The Lani elf halted his movement in mid-execution with an elbow pinned against the pit of his supporting arm - risen for the killing strike. Kendal cursed - realizing that he had left an opening that would see him dead. The elf lunged into him... and meshed her pale lips onto his frosted ones. She gently shut her eyes for the briefest moment, then pulled away. 

Too stunned, Kendal allowed her to slip out of his guard and vanish amidst the endless white veil - laughing at him all the while. He watched her fade into the hanging mist, his mind only beginning to register that the threat to his life had ended for the time being.

Kendal sneered in disgust, more at his own weakness than anything else. 

He considered his enigmatic attacker and sighed out of disbelief. 'Who was that?'
~***~
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past : A Child of Sun and Moon - 2nd Revision - Scene I
Post by: Alienscar on January 15, 2021, 04:24:11 AM
Quote

- I also thought on your opinion, Alienscar, on the place in Kendal's dream. While I was initially happy with it, your opinion does get me thinking that it maybe a little too generic to shine as something special. I've decided that I'm going to try to make something more unique and memorable when I do the revision of that scene.

Thinking about it some more I think the reason Kendal's beach scene didn't work for me was because of Lantern Scene 1. Kendal's beach comes so soon after the beach that Ara and Aslan sparred on that it is hard to separate them in my mind.

Also amongst other things holy means; specially recognized as or declared sacred by religious use or authority; consecrated; dedicated or devoted to the service of God, the church, or religion; a place of worship; sacred place. For me a beach doesn't fulfil any of these descriptions.

I am not sure if it would work, but if Kendal can commune with God's maybe it would be easier if he just heard voices in his sleep rather than being transported to some hard to describe special place.
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past : A Crimson Blizzard - 3rd Revision 1/22 - Scene II
Post by: Myen'Tal on January 15, 2021, 01:59:19 PM
Quote
I am not sure if it would work, but if Kendal can commune with God's maybe it would be easier if he just heard voices in his sleep rather than being transported to some hard to describe special place.

Yeah I've thought about it some more too and realized that this particular thread in Kendal's narrative may not truly be that necessary - or can be altered into something more interesting, as you mentioned.

I am removing that scene from this chapter and not re-writing it. Right now the entire chapter is about at 75% completion.

~********************~

​ Qenroth galloped out of the Deep Wood into the outskirts of the Qallin manor grounds. A miasma of snow kicked up from the stallion's hooves obscured Kendal's coming through the white veil. As mount and rider darted across the snow buried field, urgent shouts in an unfamiliar tongue pursued him out of the thinning woods.   

 He spurred Qenroth onward, reaching full tilt.   

Kendal could find no elven raiders visible in plain sight. An arrow whistled overhead, carried off by the winter wind. Another arrow came mere inches shy of puncturing him beneath his ribs. Creeping shadows hidden in the woods flanked him with a constant hail of arrows, but the miasma of grounded snow kicked up from Qenroth's hooves distracted their aim.   

Kendal and his mount cleared the low wall built on the perimeter of the outlying farmlands. Slender grey figures laid waste to the armed guards and farmhands standing their ground in the barren fields. Fires raged amid isolated sheds and animal barns scattered over the manor grounds. Herds of frightened horses scattered from the infernos into the thick of the Deep Woods.   

Kendal readied his sword and slew one of the Lani guerilla fighters as the Raven Knight passed him by. His home finally began to manifest through the thick veil of snow. Half of Qallin Manor blazed against the dreary midday light. A thick smog billowed through the crumbling remains as the flames grew hungrier.

Qenroth galloped through the broken inner gate of the Manor and up the cobbled path towards the door. As Kendal got close to the house, he reined Qenroth to a halt and vaulted off his horse to challenge the six warriors blocking his route. As he ran through the blood-soaked slush of the path towards the warriors, he quickly sized them up. They all had grey skin and they all wore leather armor covered in the pelts of various animals. 

The Lani gathered in opposition did not blockade the patio as he anticipated, but instead withdrew through the manor doors into the burning building. Kendal readied his blade and chased after them as they vanished behind the choking smog, one after the other. 

Kendal approached the smoke belching entrance of the manor, recoiling from an intense heat emanated from the burning house. He lifted the sleeve of his quilted armor to shield himself from the acrid smoke warding him away.   

He stopped himself from plunging headlong into the ruins, taking a moment to compose himself and regain some semblance of concentration. He readied his sword out in front of him and quietly entered the burning manor. What little sunlight that graced the world outside dwindled in the dim and smoke shrouded corridors of the Qallin estate.   

Kendal came into the main hall that he had always known. Silently, he pressed through the scattered debris of ruined decorations, shattered chandeliers, and busted frames. Any memory of his childhood, he intentionally blocked out of his mind. He kept his sword poised to strike, his eyes peeled, and his ears listening for even the slightest disturbance.   

Kendal approached the entrance of an inconspicuous room, sliding his back against the wall and slinking forward. His onyx gaze studied the shut door of the adjacent room across the hall. A sudden crackle of splintering wood followed by the collapse of a single piece of timber behind him seized his attention.

The Lani elf hidden on the other side of the wall burst through the open room, spear angled perfectly to stab Kendal through the throat. Kendal parried the strike swiftly even as another grey raider came charging from the adjacent room. He reacted swiftly, pulling himself away from his nearest assailant and deflecting a quick slash for his eyes from his other opponent.

Kendal distanced himself from either foe, weaving his sword in constant parrying motions against their offensive onslaught. Gradually forced back toward the main hall entrance, one of the elves suddenly overextended himself. Kendal disabused the raider of any notion of triumph. He answered his zealous foe with a brutal riposte, cleaving open the tribal elf’s chest underneath all the leather armor and furs that shielded him. 

Screaming from the stinging pain, the elven bandit fell to his knees between Kendal and his spear-wielding comrade. The spear bandit did not hesitate, but gracefully weaved over his dying comrade’s back the moment he had sagged onto his hands.

Goaded by impatience, Kendal aggressively pushed into his foe’s guard. The dancing spear elf managed to weave around his first strikes without effort. The Tribal bandit followed fluidly into a thrust meant to ram straight through Kendal’s gut. 

The young apprentice lashed his blade out in a blur of movement, severing the head of the spear quicker than either of them could track. Kendal followed hard on his opponent’s heels, the guerilla fighter scrambling back for distance. He blinked in the moment he lunged forward and loomed over the dancing spear warrior when he opened his eyes again.

His long sword became a blur in his hands, becoming such a hateful force that it parted through the grey elf’s neck without effort. Surprised by his own strength, Kendal cried out as the head flew off the bandit’s shoulders. The corpse staggered at first, then slumped against the wall till it smacked the floor with a loud thud.   

A shriek of agony cut through the sound of burning wood and rampaging destruction toward the corridor's end. Kendal hurried through the corridor, his pace quickening with the hammering in his chest. As he began to sprint through the narrow stretch of hall, he heard the graceful clashing of swords echo amidst the burning fires.   

A voice in an unfamiliar language called out as a female of the Lani warband ducked back into the hall. From her unprepared stance and utter look of horror as Kendal came bearing down on her, she had expected her two brethren instead of him.   

Her hands immediately went for the sheathed daggers dangling from her hips. Kendal slammed an armored fist against her temple with enough force to lay her out on the floor. Disoriented, she still managed to scramble back from him on trembling limbs. The thought of the blood that stained her hands came across his mind for the briefest moment. 

Kendal pushed the thought aside – it would be just to end the bandit there and then. Instead, as the elven female raised a dagger in her defense, Kendal rushed past her toward the source of clashing steel. 

By the time Kendal had rushed through the rest of the main hall and turned the corner– a lull had descended upon the Grand Foyer.

Rynath Qallin stood with the proud bearing of a centuries old Ishalnan elf. Even amidst the cloying smoke, his pallid skin shimmered with sweat and reflected the dancing light of the flames. He was garbed in nothing more than a fine satin black robe pulled over his silken clothes. He wielded a slender sword in one hand and nothing in the other. Despite their superior numbers, a pair bandit elf lay dead at his feet.   

The four remaining survivors had managed to surround him, one of them having slipped behind Rynath to hold Akine, his wife and Kendal's mother, by spear point. 

Akine kept an air of poise and grace that outmatched even that of the desperate raiders that cornered her and his father. In her amber eyes, Kendal could find no fear. Her caramel skin was unblemished from burns or weapon cuts - the Lani had not bothered to lay a finger on her – not while Rynath defended her. A cloak of the winter shades was layered over a dress comprised of several thin robes of pallid silk.   

His mother's composure seemed at odds with the brutal reality besetting the Qallin family - until she noticed Kendal out of the corner of her eye. She reached out with one hand toward him and made to shout a warning at him. It was an unreasonable action for the Lani holding her hostage. He retracted his spear arm for a thrust through Akine's torso in the moment that Rynath gracefully turned to strike the offender dead.   

Both struck at once - their weapons a blur of steel that had no chance of countering the other. Akine staggered onto her knees, a spear head rammed through her gut. Her offender had perished from a cleaved skull before she could hit the base of the stairwell.   

The remaining elves swept toward Rynath the moment he made to defend his family. Kendal mobilized and threw his sword overhead and straight through the throat of a foe who had finally noticed his silent entry. His two comrades hesitated in their charge briefly, taken unawares.   

Rynath weaved between them with a grace and speed that even they lacked. His sword left its mark on their flesh in the form of fatal wounds as he passed them by. Before he had even come to a stop, his foes slumped onto the Grand Foyer's marble floor, dying rapidly.   

His father did not even pause to take a breath or process what had happened. He followed into the exit of his combat stance with a sharp turn, rushing to Akine's side. Kendal searched the foyer for anymore enemies and determined that no one else would be mad enough to enter this blazing house of ruin. 

He reclaimed his sword and joined his father by the stairwell.   

Rynath cradled Akine in his arms and propped her up even as she whispered her final words in his ears. Kendal knelt to better hear her, but all that he had gleaned from their brief conversation was the comforting look his mother gave him a final time. Kendal made to open his mouth in the same moment her strength fled.   

She had perished before he could say anything.   

Rynath looked to Kendal with that stoic gaze he always had about him. He wondered if anything could ever break that stony visage of his.   

His father spoke hurriedly. 'Come, Kendal. This manor will collapse over us at any given moment.'   

Kendal attempted to process everything that had just happened and failed. 'Wait a moment...'   

His father cut through the fog of grief plaguing his son's mind. 'Kendal, there's no time. We cannot avenge Akine if neither of us escape from this place. I've lost your mother, but our time is waning, and I refuse to let you perish due to your distracted thoughts. Ready your sword, there shall be a fight when we make our escape. Is Qenroth with you?'   

Kendal blew out a heated breath but repressed his desire to protest Rynath's disconnected demeanor. He wanted to say so many things in that moment but knew that his father was ultimately right. There was no time for anything but escaping their farmstead and the Mist Hollow with their lives.'   

Kendal shook his head, his mind clearing. 'When I arrived here, there were scores in the field. They were murdering everyone.'   

Rynath sighed. 'I asked if Qenroth was with you, not about the odds.'   

Kendal shot him an irritable look. 'Of course, no other steed could arrive here so fast.'   

Rynath smiled faintly, about as pleased an expression as anyone was likely to get out of him. 'A faithful steed unto the end. Good, we should find our friend before these barbarians put him in the frozen earth.' He searched Kendal's eyes for weakness and grunted in surprise. 'You've changed. Never have I noticed such steel in your eyes... or so much darkness. Perhaps your mentor has taught you something about life after all.'   

Kendal frowned, his impatience growing. 'Are we going or not?'   

Rynath's gaze did not waver. 'That depends... are you ready? Blood shall be spilled, and I am determined it will not be any more of ours.'   

Kendal returned his father's expectant gaze and nodded. 'I know some years have passed... I'll show you that Hanneth carries some steel of her own and that her faithful can put it to good use.'   

Rynath's smirk became a neutral mask, but he nodded. 'We shall see. I am expecting to be impressed. The killing does not cease until we've left this place behind us.'   

Kendal inclined his head in agreement. 

Kendal bolted after his father, who bounded forth with an effortless speed. They rushed through the entrance of the Grand Foyer and out into the burning winter landscape of a battlefield covered in blood and snow. The Lani slaughtering in the outlying fields were not where Kendal had left them upon his arrival. Scattered still, the grey elves were naturally congregating toward the main attraction - Kendal's half-collapsed homestead.   

Nearly anyone who had survived the carnage thus far were being trapped and killed off, one after the other. Those of the raiders who had nothing left to kill for sport, had gathered outside the Grand Foyer, some feet away from the base of the entrance stairs. Kendal counted about a dozen warriors dressed in battered leathers and sporting vicious scars across their bodies. By the way they readied their weapons in a collective manner, they had been expecting someone to come fleeing into them.   

Kendal cursed, shaking his head. 'This is suicide.' 

Rynath nodded in agreement, he cast a knowing look at his son. 'Should we have no choice, then we'll die with dignity.'   

Kendal swept his gaze across the fields as the last remaining innocents who protected the Qallin manor were put to the sword. As more bands of Lani began to congregate to their location, only then did their numbers become apparent. He took in the sight of a few hundred of the druidic elves amassing before him and his father. 

Kendal glanced toward his father. 'Why are there so many gathered here? This farmstead is no different than anywhere else. It's almost as if they made coming here a priority.'   

Rynath made to answer his question but was interrupted by a face familiar to Kendal.   

The Lioness he had encountered at the ambushed caravan pushed her way to the fore of the crowd. She spoke fluently in Halish.   

She looked to Rynath. 'Go ahead. Lay your weapons down. It should be an obvious sight that you stand no chance of beating our numbers.'   

Rynath shook his head. 'You've spared no one else. You do not even know me. Why ask us to lay down our arms after butchering this manor here so treacherously?' 

The Lioness smiled in that sly, playful way that she had. 'I know your son well enough by now. The dance of our blades is a memory made to last into the years. He is a handsome man. He would do well as my slave. To warm my bed while I'm away and warm it hotter still when I return.'   

Grim laughter rippled through the warband's dense formation.   

Rynath sighed. 'Over my corpse, would you take him. Let us not mince words. Your head or mine - claimed in personal combat.'   

The Lioness' smile withered. 'I've no need to prove myself to a dead father. I've killed enough of those already.' She announced. 'But I am being remiss. You should at least know my name. I am Ishali Winterwood of the Black Wolves. Remember that and speak it to the gods your soul is promised to.’ 

Ishali considered them both and waved in dismissal. 'Lay down your arms and you both survive. Or fight and you'll die - at least one of you.' She smiled at Kendal with lustful eyes. 'Either way makes no difference, but it's my last generous offer. The next one shall be far more taxing on your bodily health, old elf.'   

Kendal interrupted Rynath with a quick rebuke. 'Do your worst but know that you'll be broken on the rack in time. The Kingdom of Hallorn will seek retribution and far sooner than you realize.'   

Ishali shrugged. 'They are welcome to come into these woods and find nothing to mark our passing. By the time we've departed, nothing of our presence shall remain here. There is little point in playing hard to get. You'll regret your defiance momentarily when I have your father hacked apart before your eyes.'   

Ishali sighed, then gestured with a cock of her head. 'Kill him. Leave his son alive.'   

A horn sounded out of the dreary mist and snow in the moment that Kendal and his father readied their swords together. A sonorous blast that struck surprise and fear in the hearts of the Black Wolves. Urgent shouts rippled through the ranks and Ishali's orders were lost as the Lani reorganized into some semblance of formation.   

A deafening barrage of war cries swept out of the Mist Hollow, betraying the ranks of the Raven Vale Knights before they charged out of the Deep Wood's gloom and into the white fields on the manor's outskirts. The thunder of one hundred barded horses bred for war quaked the earth beneath Kendal's feet even from this distance. To him, they seemed like a thick tide of the night sweeping through the veil of heavy snow. Only the gleam of their billowing banners and steel in the wane sunlight betrayed anything more of the mounts and their riders.   

Rynath looked to Ishali, who continued to watch Kendal and him with the eyes of a hawk even as her ranks scrambled to meet the charge. She shrugged once out of resignation, muttered a few words to her nearby retinue - then swiftly made for the nearest of the Lani's commandeered horses. She promptly fled from the ensuing battle before it had begun.   

Rynath looked to Kendal and grinned even as Ishali's subordinates began to close in around them. 'Tell your mentor he has my praise. He is sharper than his brief years show.' He pointed toward the sight of Vindiaccos leading the fore of the Raven Vale's charge.   

A flame of pride fanned in Kendal's chest as his brethren crashed into the Lani with crushing force. Scores of Black Wolves simply vanished beneath the hooves of their fearless steeds, trampled into the crimson earth, and adding to its dark hue.   

Lani spears flashed through the veil of snow as the cavalry came on. Several knights were unseated by well-timed thrust or their mounts forced to a screeching halt, their riders trapped beneath a flurry of spears and impaled onto death. Unerring arrow fire from the Black Wolf Sentinels brought low several more, but the Raven Knights had slain so many on the end of their lances that the Lani formation simply broke apart even as the cavalry began to scatter amidst the melee.   

The Qallin farmstead echoed to the sounds of a collapsing manor and of open war, the struggle degenerating into a brutal battle for survival.   

Rynath seized Kendal's attention with a flick of his wrist. A severed head toppled off the shoulders of a Lani who had closed in for the kill.   

Gleaming sword in hand, Kendal joined the battle alongside his father. Afternoon began to fade into hues of the evening dusk by the time the skirmish waned, and peace began to descend on the ravaged lands of the Mist Hollow…
 
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past : A Child of Sun and Moon - 2nd Edition - Scene II
Post by: Alienscar on January 15, 2021, 03:19:41 PM

I am removing that scene from this chapter and not re-writing it. Right now the entire chapter is about at 75% completion.

Just for the sake of clarity does all of this mean that the scene with Kendal on the Iridescent Mermaid is now redundant?
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past : A Child of Sun and Moon - 2nd Edition - Scene II
Post by: Myen'Tal on January 15, 2021, 06:39:58 PM

I am removing that scene from this chapter and not re-writing it. Right now the entire chapter is about at 75% completion.

Just for the sake of clarity does all of this mean that the scene with Kendal on the Iridescent Mermaid is now redundant?

Sorry for the delayed response.

Yes, sir.
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past : A Child of Sun and Moon - 2nd Edition - Scene II
Post by: Alienscar on January 15, 2021, 06:56:18 PM
That has saved me some work then as I was just compiling some feedback for it. :)
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past : Content Outline Update
Post by: Myen'Tal on January 20, 2021, 10:56:48 PM
Updated Chapter Progress:

First Act is officially done. Removed two entire chapters and replaced them with three new ones.

Inserted a lot of padding to make the transition between scenes I've created non-chronologically become more seamless between each other overall.

So far there's been a 20,000 word addition to all the content - a lot of it dedicated to padding out existing content and creating complementary new content.

Have reached about 53,000 words. And now, I am set to move forward and finish the Second Act.

(https://i.ibb.co/fFRxMvT/Capture.jpg)
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past : A Crimson Blizzard - 2nd Revision - Scene I
Post by: Alienscar on January 22, 2021, 08:12:17 AM
So far there's been a 20,000 word addition to all the content - a lot of it dedicated to padding out existing content and creating complementary new content.

Have reached about 53,000 words. And now, I am set to move forward and finish the Second Act.

Good luck to you, it seems like you have a lot to do between now and June.

A Crimson Blizzard Scene 1, Second Revision

As I am that far behind you with my feedback I thought I would ignore the older stuff and have a go at the most current.

Here is a bit of feedback for Scene 1 of Blizzard.

Quote
Kendal Qallin watched drifting curtains of heavy snow bury what remained of the Dawn Glades. A fell wind sliced into him through his Dusk Wolf cloak and raven black quilted armor. His breaths became frosted around his mouth and an aching cold oozed into to the marrow of his bones.

The Black Blizzard raged on unabated as it had for several months in the Kingdom of Hallorn.

Qenroth, his onyx stallion waded through the deep snow that buried the once resplendent farmlands of the Dawn Glades. Longingly, he tried to remember the same stretch of golden wheat from the days of his childhood. He searched for the isolated farmsteads and burgeoning villages that once populated this region.

Kendal spied only an earth turned black where the snow fell lightly upon it. Scattered debris were all that remained of the homesteads - charred to ash from the destructive fires of war. The prosperous villages were nothing more than skeletal remains, corpses picked clean of flesh hung high from their shade trees. Unburied remains of countless others lay buried amid the ruin.

Kendal shivered underneath his armor, biting back an embittered anguish threatening to send into a rage. He glanced over his shoulder to share a concerned look with his mentor Vindiaccos. Melancholy burdened his words. 'The Deep Woods of Mist Hollow. Home, sweet home.'

Vindiaccos of the Raven Vale Knights steered his mount to Kendal's side. 'Don't surrender to despair, my apprentice. Your parents may yet live... Mist Hollow has devolved into a battlefield, but your home remains secluded in the heart of the Deep Wood.'


I am sorry to say that I am finding this scene difficult to picture/follow.

I can't grasp the timeline of the events because of some of the information provided.

A glade by definition is a clearing in a forest, but your clearing must be massive because you are describing both farmsteads and villages (plural) being in this glade.

The Black Blizzard has been 'raging' for months, but the snow falling 'lightly' on the remains of scorched earth is too much of a contradiction for me and further confuses the timeline in my head.

Is Kendal supposed to have come across the razed villages immediately after they have been attacked? If so why didn't he see the smoke from the burning of so many villages as he approached? If it isn’t immediately after then a blizzard that has been raging for months should have covered everything in snow before he got there.


Quote
A fell wind sliced into him through his Dusk Wolf cloak and raven black quilted armor.


There is a 'fell' wind and a blizzard blowing! That doesn't make sense to me. As the word blizzard refers to a severe snowstorm with high winds it doesn’t make sense to refer to a separate 'fell' wind.

Quote
Qenroth, his onyx stallion waded through the deep snow that buried the once resplendent farmlands of the Dawn Glades.

The word onyx describes a stone and not a colour so this has left your stallion looking a bit weird in my mind. Onyx is a banded stone that can be had in a variety of colours. The common version is black with white parallel bands, so in my head your stallion has the look of a zebra.


Quote
Kendal spied only an earth turned black where the snow fell lightly upon it. Scattered debris were all that remained of the homesteads - charred to ash from the destructive fires of war. The prosperous villages were nothing more than skeletal remains, corpses picked clean of flesh hung high from their shade trees. Unburied remains of countless others lay buried amid the ruin.


I am confused by this paragraph because I can't make my mind up if you are reffering to a derelict village, or the corpse of a person. It starts off referring to a prosperous village, but then refers to corpses being picked clean in trees. Perhaps you meant to write prosperous villagers.

This also ties in with my timeline issue as if corpses have had time to be picked clean then the blizzard should have covered everything in snow before Kendal arrived.


Quote
Kendal shivered underneath his armor, biting back an embittered anguish threatening to send into a rage. He glanced over his shoulder to share a concerned look with his mentor Vindiaccos. Melancholy burdened his words. 'The Deep Woods of Mist Hollow. Home, sweet home.'


I thought we where at a place called Dawn Glade, so it is not clear to me why he is concerned for the Deep Wood. Also I would have thought that Mist Hollow was his home rather than the Deep Wood. The home, sweet home line lends an air of sarcasm to the last sentence, but being based at Dawn Glade means it doesn’t work. That is, you seem to be having Kendal say 'look at the mess I have come home to', but it doesn't quite work beause they are at Dawn Glade.


Quote
Vindiaccos of the Raven Vale Knights steered his mount to Kendal's side. 'Don't surrender to despair, my apprentice. Your parents may yet live... Mist Hollow has devolved into a battlefield, but your home remains secluded in the heart of the Deep Wood.'


Again it seems a bit confusing to be speaking about Mist Hollow when they are in Dawn Glade.

Quote
Kendal shook his head. He felt an unfamiliar distress weigh heavily on his chest.


Feeling an unfamiliar distress means that he is used to feeling a different kind of distress. I think 'He felt fear beginning to weigh heavy on his heart.' might be better.


Quote
Vindiaccos chose not to answer. The elder warrior placed a firm gauntlet on Kendal's shoulder and shook it gently. 'Are you sure you don't want me to come with you? You’ve one hundred of my finest veterans behind us at your beck and call.'


The 'Are you sure you don't...' question seems to come from nowhere. That is, based on the previous paragraphs there is nothing that warrants this question.

Quote
He gestured toward the deafening disturbance of armor jostling and war dirges sung through the howling winds. Kendal spared a glance over his shoulder to see a lengthened column of raven clad knights mounted on horseback forging a trail through the endless white fields. A hundred banners woven from grey, black, and silver thread marked the elite cavalcade - heraldry of the Raven perched upon a chalice fluttering in the breeze.


One hundred veterans and one hundred banners! Why would all of them be carrying a banner?

'Fluttering in the breeze' is at odds with the blizzard and 'howling winds'. This is because fluttering and breeze sound gentle, but blizzard and howling winds sound the opposite.
 

Quote
'No.' The apprentice youth solemnly declared. 'I'll be fine. The surrounding villages need you far more than I do. Once I find my parents and get them to safety, I'll come find you again.'

I am not sure about this as I am not sure I know what is going on. Are they in the middle of a warzone? Is there a battle going on?  Is there a large band of Lani going around burning villages to the ground? If any of these are the case then I can see no good reason for Kendal to wander off on his own.
 

Quote
Kendal nodded, then spurred Qenroth in the direction of the forests sprawled over the hills beyond the Dawn Glades. Over the course of years, the woodlands of Mist Hollow had conquered much of the fertile fields by neglect alone. What thrived here had become burgeoning and overgrown outskirts.


Being in a glade means they are surrounded by the forest, so heading off in the direction of the forest doesn't really portray anything. I think it would be better to say, Kendal nodded and spurred Qenroth in the direction of Deep Wood and home.


Quote
Qenroth trotted farther into the woods until the gloom between the black earth and the forest canopy began to envelope him.

 
The scene starts off with the  mention of a blizzard that has been raging for months, but overall the whole scene doesn't seem to acknowledge this. The scene is quite mellow in tone and very chatty in nature which doesn't portray that the events are occurring within a raging blizzard. For me this is exemplified by Qenroth trotting into the woods, as after a snowstorm has been raging for months a gentle trot through feet of snow doesn’t add up.


Quote
Kendal peeled his eyes and watched through the endless drifting white veil for any signs of the Lani Elves rampaging through the Mist Hollow.


Peeling your eyes is very different to keeping your eyes peeled.

Keeping your eyes peeled is a well known idiom that means to watch carefully for someone/something. Peeling your eyes means something very painful instead. As keep your eyes peeled already means to carefully look out for something there is no need to have Kendal watch as well (watched is the wrong word by the way). That is, 'Peering through the drifting white veil Kendal searched for any sign of the Lani' might be better I think.


Quote
Kendal continued his search - and noticed a hazy shape coalescing through the mist and snow on the road. He craned his head in either direction to adjust himself to his surroundings.


Either direction does not make sense and should be 'in all directions'.

Either is a complicated word to explain, but simply put it refers to the choice of two options. For example, 'there is a goal at either end of a football pitch'.
 

Quote
As Qenroth trotted along the main road, his onyx eyes picked out the tell-tale signs of a travelers’ caravan - ambushed, the wagons scorched into ruin and a score of bodies scattered about the site of the massacre.

This reads as if Qenroth, the horse, has spotted the caravan.
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past : Content Outline Update
Post by: Myen'Tal on January 22, 2021, 09:13:58 AM
Hi Alienscar,

I actually have an updated version of this scene - I must have forgotten to update this particular post.

I'll go ahead and comb this scene and see I can make changes to reflect your feedback if I haven't already.

Should have the changes made within an hour or so.

Thanks for your efforts!

EDIT:

- Changes made! Updated the same posts to reflect the edits made across both scenes of A Crimson Blizzard.

- Decided to change the 'Black Blizzard' into a normal winter storm, still made changes where it didn't make since to have the snow falling lightly on the ground.

- Changed the Dawn Glades to the Dawn Fields.
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past : Content Outline Update
Post by: Alienscar on January 22, 2021, 11:01:59 AM
Decided to change the 'Black Blizzard' into a normal winter storm, still made changes where it didn't make since to have the snow falling lightly on the ground.

Hey Myen'Tal, it wasn't just the blizzard that was causing me issues, it is the fact that snow has been falling for months. That amount of snow would cover everything pretty quickly. For instance a place called Woody Point in Newfoundland records an average 21 feet of snow in 89 days. Even in the UK, which isn't particularly snowy, 55 days of continuous snow (back in 1946/47) resulted in a level depth of 5 feet and drifts of 16 feet. Also I am left confused as to why the bodies in the village aren't buried beneath the snow because I can't make out the timeline between the villages being burnt to the ground and when Kendal arrives. Because corpses have had time to be picked clean it makes sense to me that due to the constant snowfall everything on the ground should be covered in deep snow.
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past : Content Outline Update
Post by: Myen'Tal on January 22, 2021, 11:05:43 AM
Decided to change the 'Black Blizzard' into a normal winter storm, still made changes where it didn't make since to have the snow falling lightly on the ground.

Hey Myen'Tal, it wasn't just the blizzard that was causing me issues, it is the fact that snow has been falling for months. That amount of snow would cover everything pretty quickly. For instance a place called Woody Point in Newfoundland records an average 21 feet of snow in 89 days. Even in the UK, which isn't particularly snowy, 55 days of continuous snow (back in 1946/47) resulted in a level depth of 5 feet and drifts of 16 feet. Also I am left confused as to why the bodies in the village aren't buried beneath the snow because I can't make out the timeline between the villages being burnt to the ground and when Kendal arrives. Because corpses have had time to be picked clean it makes sense to me that due to the constant snowfall everything on the ground should be covered in deep snow.

Understood, I think I just need to change that one sentence to not give that impression.
Title: The Embers of the Past : Oath of the Betrayer - Scene I - 1/28 Update
Post by: Myen'Tal on January 27, 2021, 09:42:58 PM
So, decided to share some stuff closer to the mid-section of Act II. Obviously, I don't want to spoil this entire chapter - as there is a lot happening within it. But, I wanted to share something that wouldn't really be too spoiling. So, here you go  :).

This scene - which I guess all the scenes I post here are as well - is definitely still in the beta phase. Once I complete the chapter - I'll be going back over this particular scene and making adjustments. There was some things I like about it, and in hindsight, some things I do not.

Oath of the Betrayer

A thousand warriors scrambled on the outskirts of the Khalnar township, beyond the crumbling fortifications defending her citizens from the constant threat of the Dominion's invasion. Laborers quickly erected wooden pallisades along the banks of the Alabaster, reinforced by countless wooden bucklers banded around the barricades. 

From several weeks of constant toil, the manmade hills of compacted dirt created a natural high ground for the Dusk Sentinels to aim their arrows. In turn, the false hills were fortified by a vast trench and wooden pallisades positioned just behind it. Any Carthite would have to wade through the entirety of the Ardent Vigil's infantry line and surmount the trench after managing to bash the pallisades down. 

Aslan considered the defense over all, and knew that they were more than nothing, but less than ideal. 

He watched the infantry begin to break into their respective bands, spacing themselves in multiple layers of an interlocking defense. 

The last light of the evening dusk vanished amid the night. Aslan knew that his father had splintered his army wisely to oversee to the entirety of the Crescent Valley's defense. The Old Myrians could only wait to see what approached from the horizon.

A wailing horn sounded from somewhere in a night absent of guiding stars. An anxious breath became caught in Aslan's lungs, deafening silence falling over the Old Myrian defenses arrayed on Khalnar’s riverside outskirts. He gazed across the Alabaster, shrouded behind a dark veil lingering over all of Khios. 

Against the encroaching shadow, only Khalnar and all the Crescent Valley continued to blaze against the night. 

His father's voice shattered the bewitching stillness fallen over his forces. 'Does the sound of Carthite horns frighten you!? Does the threat of invasion against your families in their own homes make your blood run cold, warriors of the Autumn Realms!? It should! For when the last time those horns sounded on the banks of the Alabaster - the whole river flowed a dark crimson with all the blood spilled from ceaseless battle! 

'Remember the oaths you swore before the Autumn Queen herself! Remember the courage of your ancestors, who have laid the Dominion and their God King's ambition quite low in wars long forgotten! We are the first into the fray against the Dominion - this is our chance! 

'Tell this God King that he is no divine god - he is no master of Old Myria! Annahir and the Autumn Realms, forever!'

Echoes of Azat's war cries rippled across the formations until the same words echoed far into the abyssal dark. The Immortals of Annahir were the first to draw their swords, raising them high so that they glinted in the firelight. Every man and woman who served in either the Ardent Vigil or the Dusk Sentinels repeated the gesture until one thousand swords glimmered like an endless tide of light. 

Aslan spied small groupings of warriors scattered amongst the ranks raising the half-and-half raven black and amber banners of the Old Myrian heraldry across the defenses. He looked on into the shadowy depths of the Alabaster, a fierce pride stoked within his chest. 

The wailing horn sounded once again but could not quell the defiance of the Dominion's foes so easily a second time. Another shrill cry echoed after the first lengthened note, followed by two more, then several others until it seemed that scores of horns were guiding something massive toward the Old Myrian side of the Alabaster. 

Aslan blew out an anxious breath and looked to his father. 'You should not have left Ara behind. He would have loved to be here, standing beside us.' 

Azat disagreed with a grim shake of his head. 'I won't risk both of my sons in the same battle. You're ready, Aslan, and that alone is why you're here. Ara is not - not yet. I am uncertain if he'll ever be.' 

Aslan cuffed his hands and waited patiently by his father's side, his stance as regal as that of the Immortals. 'A conversation for another time, father. Tonight, I am here to slay as many Carthites as I possibly can.'

'Good.' Aslan nodded. He studied Aslan acutely, his smile flashing when his eldest son took notice. 'You do not know how long I've waited for this moment. That we draw our swords and stand shoulder-to-shoulder together. No matter what happens, know that you have my pride now and forever, my Lion.' 

Aslan nodded, not quite able to conceal his enthusiasm. 

Azat lifted his chin to point toward the first lights drifting through the crushing black shrouding the Alabaster River. He placed a firm grip on Aslan's shoulder and shook it once. 'The Dominion has arrived on Old Myrian soil. Let us see the armies that they believe worthy of her total conquest.' 

Gargantuan sea-faring vessels, from lowly Quinqueremes to the grand Polyremes - of which the slave warriors of the Zar'qin guard arrayed themselves on their decks in numbers anywhere between one hundred and a few thousand. Elaborate standards of crimson and gold framing the image of the Solar God seated on a throne of fire - a spear of radiant light gripped in his sword arm – waved in the cool breeze. Countless thousands of oars cycled in and out of the dark waters, synchronous with the chanting dirge that the slave legions of Carth had taken up to quell the flames of the Old Myrian spirits. 

As the Dominion's armada gradually emerged out of the night - Aslan swept his gaze across the overwhelming display of marshal might. Hundreds of ships ranging across the full spectrum of shape and scale were slowly drifting into plain sight. 

Aslan beheld the divine might of the Carth Dominion and sneered out of disgust. 

Azat shattered his reverie, his tone calmer than the waters of the Alabaster itself. 'How far do you think those first outlying ships are? The ones nearest the riverbanks and our defenses?'

Aslan arched his brow. 'I'm not certain, they certainly seem close enough for an archer...' Realization dawned on him. 

Azat grinned, wolfish. He lifted his voice so that it bellowed over the Dominion's dirge and Old Myria's defiant cries. 'Hovan, my faithful second in command!'

A warrior with a single scar running down the length of his face emerged from out of the formations of Dusk Sentinel Archers. 'Lord Zakarian, your command is my will! Give me an order and I'll see it done!' 

Azat gestured toward the first wave of oncoming vessels. 'Give them a warning volley! Tell them to turn tail and flee back to the Dominion!' 

Hovan slammed a mailed fist against his laminar armor. He turned back to the formations, shouting orders that were in turn shouted down the chain of command.'

Moments later, the four hundred men and women of the Dusk Sentinels lifted their bows - each arrow pulled taut on their strings alight with a burning flame. 

Aslan shrugged, watching the volley loosed into the first outlying Carthite vessels. The volley fell shy of each ship by only a few feet, hundreds of dispensed arrows snuffing themselves out amidst the Alabaster's cold waters. 

He looked to Azat. 'I don't understand, that would never deter a force this size from crossing the river.' 

Azat mirrored his uncaring shrug. 'It is merely a courtesy - a warning of the doom that they're approaching.' 

Azat relayed another set of orders to his Second. 'Hovan! Give them a more dire warning! Do not spare the ammunition of any of Khalnar's fortifications. The bombardment does not cease until this battle is lost or won. From sunrise to sunset, choke the Alabaster with their ruin!' 

Aslan listened intently to the commands being relayed throughout the defenses arrayed along the riverbank. He did not discern much, but one line echoed above the rest. 

Hovan's own words stirred his brethren to eager action. 'Sentinels of Dusk, loose at will! Unleash the fusillade!'

The ballista and scorpion turrets arrayed along Khalnar's riverside defenses unleashed their wrath. Aslan heard the whistling of their punishing salvos, their dispensed ammunition near impossible to glean across the night sky. The Dusk Sentinels commenced their never-ending volley, loosing hail after flaming hail of arrows toward the dim light of the moon. The trebuchets were the final distanced response to the Carthite invaders, their ammunition taking on the form of great oil filled canisters rather than massive boulders. 

The Dominion's first wave of hulking vessels stood little chance. Oversized bolts punctured gaping wounds in the hulls of every ship, ending the lives of scores of oarsmen. A rapid hail of scorpion bolts peppered the Zar'qin aboard their decks and though Aslan could not witness their deaths for himself, the wailing chorus of their final cries was enough to satisfy him. An endless rain of flaming arrows further thinned out the ranks of the first warriors attempting to ford the river. As flames began to take hold across each sea-faring vessel, the Old Myrians took up a great cheer as several minor fires blossomed into all-consuming infernos from the impact of soaring oil canisters. 

Azat commanded suddenly over the resounding cheers. 'Lock shields and raise them! Use whatever defense you can - remain standing in the face of whatever wrath!' 

Aslan heard the whistling of a coming rain of arrows before they descended upon the Old Myrians. The warriors of the Ardent Vigil heard the dreadful sound as well, lifting their shields in loose synchronicity. Here and there among the ranks, warriors fell in heaps, feathered shafts embedded through their armor and deep into flesh. 

Azat steadied Aslan with a firm hand on the broad of his back, though his elder son knew that he did not need it. 

His father looked to Aslan and spoke over the cries of the horribly wounded and dying. 'Aslan, when the foe eventually fords the Alabaster and storm our defenses - I want you to hold back - until you find an enemy worthy of you. I want you to find one of the Children of the Sun - be they Exalted, Champion, or unit leader... strike them down and let Carth tremble before the might of the Lion.' 

Aslan vigorously nodded. 'I shall do as you command, Lord Zakarian. I shall strike down their greatest leader in Hazan's name.' 

Azat inclined his head in appreciation. 'You're a great warrior... I would see you become legend before long. So, we wait for the enemy to land and the real combat shall be had. Be patient and not overbold, your time shall come and soon.' 

Aslan folded his arms out of patience, watching endless arrow hails exchanged between either armies. 

His time as a Lion of War had come. 
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past : A Crimson Blizzard - 3rd Revision 1/22 - Scene II
Post by: Alienscar on January 28, 2021, 11:03:22 AM
A Crimson Blizzard Scene II - 3rd Revision

Slowly catching you up here's a few thoughts on Scene 2 of Blizzard.

Quote
Qenroth galloped out of the Deep Wood into the outskirts of the Qallin manor grounds. A miasma of snow kicked up from the stallion's hooves obscured Kendal's coming through the white veil. As mount and rider darted across the snow buried field, urgent shouts in an unfamiliar tongue pursued him out of the thinning woods.   

He spurred Qenroth onward, reaching full tilt.   

Kendal kept his eyes peeled for shadows in the forest, but he could find nothing visible in plain sight.

Nothing visible/in plain sight are just two ways of saying the same thing so this sentence is a bit difficult to read. 'He could find nothing visible', or 'he could find nothing in plain sight' would suffice.

Quote
An arrow whistled overhead before he realized the peril he had flown into.

He was galloping at full tilt and being chased, so this line makes no sense as he was plainly already in peril.

Quote
Another arrow flew by him, mere inches shy of finding his flank. Several more flew from separate directions along his flanks, but the miasma of grounded snow kicked up from Qenroth's hooves distracted their aim.

I find this description very confusing as the word flank refers to the area of the body between the ribs and the hips of an animal or a person. The word 'flanks' makes me think you are trying to say that the arrows flew by either side of him, but the way you have used 'flanks' means this isn't what is portrayed.

I think that something like this might be better (like this, but not this as it is a poor example to be honest):

Kendal galloped out of the Deep Woods, and he spurred Qenroth to go faster as he entered the clear grounds of Qallin Manor. Urgent shouts in an unfamiliar tongue pursued him and a hail of arrows flanked him as he fled.


Quote
Kendal and his mount cleared the low wall built on the perimeter of the outlying farmlands. Realization came swiftly as slender grey figures laid waste to the armed guards and farmhands standing their ground on barren tilled soil.

Realisation of what? Why would they be tilling the fields when there is snow on the ground?

Quote
Raging fires fanned amid isolated sheds and animal barns scattered over the manor grounds.

I could be wrong but it looks like you have misused the common idiom 'fan the flames' here and you have been left with a confused sentence instead. Fan the flames is an idiom that means to cause an emotion such as anger or hatred to become stronger it doesn't mean to literally fan the flames of a fire. You can fan the flames of a fire, but you do this to make  a fire burn hotter. If this is what  you were trying to imply then fanned is the wrong tense.
 
Quote
Kendal sheared the hands from one of the Lani guerilla fighters as the Raven Knight passed him by.

It is difficult to imagine how someone riding by quickly on horseback could shear both hands from a person.

Quote
The manor guard rescued was left to his fate as he pressed into the heart of the manor.

I would suggest that this sentence is not required as it doesn't really add much to the overall narrative of the scene.

Quote
Through the endless veil of snow, his home finally began to manifest into his peripheral vision.

Why his peripheral vision? As he seems to be racing straight to his home it isn't clear why he is now seeing it out of the corner of his eyes.

Quote
His heart skipped a beat, watching on as half of the manor blazed against the dreary midday light. A thick smog of smoke billowed through every crevice and crumbling hole where the fire grew hungrier, rampaging through what little remained of the structure's left wing.

Qenroth galloped through the manor's toppled inner gate and up the narrow cobblestone path leading up to the veranda. Six lithe figures of grey skin and leather armor bedecked in the pelts of beasts both docile and ferocious gathered there.

YMMV but I find this a bit 'wordy' and, as bedecked means decorated, a bit confused. I think that 'swathed in animal pelts' would suffice.

Quote
Kendal willed Qenroth to rapidly slow his pace and slipped off his mount before he could come to a natural stop.

This is a bit odd as I can't imagine anyone that wants a horse to stop would do it by thinking (willing)  about it strongly.

Quote
He landed amidst the blood-streaked snow, the cobblestone path showing through where too many footsteps had turned the white earth into slush covered grey stone.

Is the path covered in blood streaked snow, or is it covered in slush?

Quote
Qenroth galloped through the manor's toppled inner gate and up the narrow cobblestone path leading up to the veranda. Six lithe figures of grey skin and leather armor bedecked in the pelts of beasts both docile and ferocious gathered there. Kendal willed Qenroth to rapidly slow his pace and slipped off his mount before he could come to a natural stop. He landed amidst the blood-streaked snow, the cobblestone path showing through where too many footsteps had turned the white earth into slush covered grey stone.

For me there is a bit of a staccato nature to this paragraph as one thought doesn't flow to the next in a smooth manner. I would suggest something like this:

Qenroth galloped through the broken inner gate of the Manor and up the cobbled path towards the door. As Kendal got close to the house he reined Qenroth to a halt and vaulted off his horse to challenge the six warriors blocking his route. As he ran through the blood soaked slush of the path towards the warriors he quickly sized them up (took their measure; evaluated them; not sure about this really). They all had grey skin and they all wore leather armour covered in the pelts of various animals...

Quote
The Lani gathered in opposition did not blockade the patio as he anticipated, but instead withdrew through the manor doors into the burning building. Sword in hand, Kendal cautiously approached them even as they disappeared into the smoke and smog, one after the other. By the time he climbed the several stairs and came onto the veranda proper, the Lani had vanished from sight.

The first sentence states that the Lani withdrew through the doors of the Manor, so it is too late for Kendal to approach them in the second sentence as they have already gone.

They 'withdrew', 'they disappeared' and they 'vanished' are just different ways of saying the same thing, so this paragraph is a bit confusing to read.

Quote
Kendal approached the smoke belching entrance of the manor and shirked from the touch of an intense heat. He lifted the sleeve of his quilted armor to shield himself from the acrid smoke warding him away.

He stopped himself from plunging headlong into the ruins, taking a moment to compose himself and regain some semblance of concentration. He readied his sword out in front of him, inhaled deeply, and quietly entered the burning manor.

Shirked is used incorrectly as it means to avoid work, duties, or responsibilities, especially if they are difficult or unpleasant. I think ' flinched' would be better.

After all the talk of billowing and belching smog, and acrid smoke it seems odd to then have your character inhale deeply.

Quote
What little sunlight that graced the world outside dwindled in the dim and smoke shrouded corridors of the Qallin estate. Kendal found himself in the main hall that he had always known - a lengthy stretch of cedar floor that passed room after room.

Find yourself/oneself is an idiom that means to discover, recognise, or realise one's location, thoughts, or sentiments. As Kendal is entering his own home he would already know what to expect, so Kendal shouldn't be described as feeling a sense of discovery, or sudden recognition. Furthermore it is confusing to say that he found himself in the main hall when the preceding sentence already states that he is in a smokey corridor.

Also a hall can't pass anything as it can't move. That is, passed is a verb and therefore conveys action.

Quote
Silently, he pressed through the scattered debris of ruined decorations, shattered chandeliers, and busted frames. Any memory of his childhood, he intentionally blocked out of his mind. He kept his sword poised to strike, his eyes peeled, and his ears listening for even the slightest disturbance.   

Kendal approached the entrance of one of the farmhand quarters.

Historically it is highly unlikely that the Lord of the manor had quarters for his farmhands in his manor.

Quote
He slid his back against the wall and slunk forward until he had about rounded the corner. His onyx gaze studied the shut door of the adjacent room across the hall. A sudden crackle of splintering wood followed by the collapse of a single piece of timber behind him seized his attention for briefest instance.

Why would the sound only seize his attention briefly! Surely due to his circumstances the noise should have gained his full attention and caused him to turn around so as to investigate the noise.

Quote
The Lani elf hidden on the other side of the wall burst through the open room, spear angled perfectly to stab Kendal through the throat. Kendal parried the strike swiftly even as another grey elf kicked through the adjacent door.

To be honest I can see no good reason for the elf to have to kick the door down. It would be far more expedient for the elf just to open the door. Also, as there are six of them why are they not attacking Kendal all at once?

Quote
He reacted swiftly, pulling himself away from his nearest assailant and deflecting a quick slash for his eyes from his other opponent. He lashed out with the end of his pommel into the chest of the elf in the farmhand room, pushing him back.

The elf from the farmhands room was armed with a spear. In a corridor situation it makes no sense for a spear wielder to get that close to a swordsman that he can be hit with the swords pommel.

Quote
Kendal leveled his blade with the chest of the Lani he struck with the pommel, then thrust into the foe that had cut him.

If his sword was pointing at the 'pommel' elf it is difficult to understand how he then thrust his sword into the other elf. 
 
Quote
Already overextended, the Lani he had cornered found no room to flee, the room from whence he had come too awkward an angle to slip away into.

I am finding this difficult to follow as at this point I can't tell which elf you are reffering to. Kendal has just thrust his sword into one of the elf's so this can't be the one that is cornered. It is also difficult to understand why you have described one of the Lani as being overextended.

Quote
The long sword parted leather and the flesh beneath, slammed through the Lani's chest with enough force to pin the elf against the wall.

The slammed part of this sentence isn't linked to anything as the sentence hasn't been constructed correctly.

I think something like this might be better: The longsword slammed into the Lani's chest parting leather and flesh as it passed through the elf...

Personally though I think that slammed is an inappropriate word to describe a swords cut.

I also think that the overextended sentence has disturbed the fight scene too much. That is, the moment from the sword thrust to the strike is too long because of the intermediate sentence.

Quote
Too shocked to cry out from the pain, Kendal did not wait to watch the blood erupt from out of the elf's mouth.

This reads as if Kendal was too shocked and not the elf.

Quote
He ripped the blade free and swung as if he had fought the lioness he had encountered earlier.

By saying 'as if he had fought' you are saying he didn't fight the lioness. I think you meant to write, he swung as he had when fighting the lioness earlier.' I would suggest you should drop this part of the sentence as swinging a sword is just swinging a sword. Also by mentioning the lioness you bring in thoughts of the 'sword dance' to this fight.
 
Quote
Surprised by his own strength, Kendal shirked from the sight of the Lani's head rolling cleanly off the shoulders of his body.

Shirked is the wrong word as it means to avoid work, duties, or responsibilities, especially if they are difficult or unpleasant.

Quote
He had no time to digest the grizzly scene he had created.

I am not sure what you are trying to achieve with this sentence. Are you trying to imply that Kendal hasn't killed anyone before? Also I think you previously tried to imply that Kendal avoided looking at the beheaded Lani, so it doesn’t make sense to now say he hasn't got time to digest the scene.
 
Quote
An unfamiliar language suddenly called as another Lani woman ducked back into the hall.

This is the first mention of a female Lani in this scene, so to refer to her as another is confusing.

A language can't call out to anyone. It would be better to write, a voice in an unfamiliar language called out.

Quote
An inkling in his mind warned him of striking her down without warning. It would have been just. It would have been retribution. Yet Kendal decided on a whim that the blow was too dishonorable and would break his knightly vows. He slammed an armored fist against her temple with enough force to lay her out on the floor, removing her as an immediate threat, but withheld the brunt of his strength so that she would have strength enough to escape.

How is this honourable! Leaving someone unconscious on the floor of a collapsing building that is full of smoke is surely a death sentence.

The word withheld has confused the last part of this paragraph. As brunt means the worst part or chief impact of a specified action by withholding his strength there can be no 'brunt' in the first place.

Quote
He rushed past her sprawled out form before she could even think to lift a sword in her defense.


She has just been layed out on the floor, so it is too late to mention her lifting a sword in defense.

Quote
The sounds of combat rang out ever clearer as Kendal came into the grand foyer before the main stairwell.   
 
Rynath Qallin stood with the proud bearing of a centuries old Ishalnan elf. Even amidst the cloying smoke, his pallid skin shimmered with sweat and reflected the dancing light of fanning flames. He was garbed in nothing more than a fine satin black robe pulled over his silken clothes. He wielded a slender sword in one hand and nothing in his off hand.

The word fanning has been used incorrectly again.

I am not sure about this, but in creative writing the term offhand only refers to a remark or comment that is made without previous thought or preparation. As far as I am aware the use of the word for anything other than its dictionary definition is the case only in gaming and possibly shooting forums.
 
Quote
Despite their superior numbers, four Lani elves lay dead at his feet.   

The four remaining survivors had managed to surround him, one of them having slipped behind Rynath to hold Akine, his wife and Kendal's mother, by spear point. The opposing forces appeared to have come to a stalemate.

Immediately before this Kendal heard the sounds of combat just before he entered the room. As soon as he enters the room everyone is standing still. Are we supposed to think that Rynath killed the four Lani in the time it took Kendal to walk through a door?

Quote
Akine kept an air of poise and grace that outmatched even that of the desperate Lani warriors that had cornered her.

You have previously said that one Lani was holding Akine at spear point, now it appears that there is more than one, so the scene becones a bit muddied in its description.

Quote
She reached out with one hand toward him and made to shout a warning at him. It was an unreasonable action for the Lani holding her hostage. He retracted his spear arm for a thrust through Akine's torso in the moment that Rynath gracefully turned on a heel to strike the offender dead in one blow.

Just before you have stated that the Lani did not dare to lay a finger on Akine, so it seems odd to have her killed in such an offhand manner.

As I have explained before turn on a heel is an idiom that means to turn and walk away rapidly. It doesn't describe an actual way of moving.
 
Quote
The remaining elves swept toward Rynath the moment he turned his back on them.

He was surrounded, so saying he turned his back on them doesn’t really add up. That is, being surrounded means he can only ever face one of his attackers.

Quote
Kendal mobilized, sword thrown overhead and straight through the throat of a foe who had finally noticed his silent entry. His two comrades hesitated in their charge briefly, taken unawares.   

Rynath weaved between them with a grace and speed that even they lacked. His sword left its mark on their flesh in the form of fatal wounds as he passed them by. Before he had even come to a stop, his foes slumped onto the Grand Foyer's marble floor, dying rapidly.


How is Kendal still holding his sword when he has just thrown it at one of the attackers.

Quote
The Ishalnan did not even pause to take a breath or process what had happened.

This is odd phrasing I feel. Substitute the word Ishalnan with the word American and hopefully you will see why.
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past : Oath of the Betrayer - Scene I - 1/28 Update
Post by: Alienscar on January 28, 2021, 11:11:23 AM
My feedback wouldn’t fit in one post, so here is the remainder:

Quote
He reclaimed his sword and joined his father by the stairwell.

So he had thrown it away then!

Quote
Kendal knelt to better hear her, but all that he had gleamed from their brief conversation was the comforting look his mother gave him a final time.

Gleamed means to shine brightly, so I think you meant to write gleaned.

Quote
Kendal made to open his mouth in the same moment her strength fled, and her eyes lulled.

Lulled is the wrong word. It has a couple of meanings, but none of them refers to closing your eyes as you die. It means to calm or send someone to sleep, typically with soothing sounds or movements; make someone feel deceptively secure or confident.

Quote
Kendal attempted to process everything that had just happened on a whim and failed. 'Wait a moment...' 

The word whim refers to a sudden wish or idea and not something that 'happened'

Quote
His father cut through the fog of uncertain grief plaguing his son's mind.

Why would Kendal's grief be described as uncertain? Uncertain means not knowing what to do or believe, or not able to decide about something. Surely Kendal would have no second thoughts about grieving for his mother!   

Quote
Rynath smirked, about as pleased an expression as anyone was likely to get out of him. 'A faithful steed unto the end.

I would suggest that smirked isn't the correct word for this situation as smirked means, smile in an irritatingly smug, conceited, or silly way.

Quote
They rushed through the entrance of the Grand Foyer and out into the burning winter landscape of a battlefield where only one army had fought.

I am not entirely sure what you mean by 'where only one army had fought' At face value if only one army fought then they must have been fighting themselves.

Quote
The Lioness he had encountered at the ambushed caravan pushed her way to the fore of the crowd. She spoke in the fluent tongue of the Halish folk.

This is the wrong use of the word fluent, as fluent means able to express oneself easily and articulately. It would be better to write, She spoke fluently in Halish.
 
Quote
Rynath looked to Ishali, who continued to watch Kendal and him with the peeled eyes of a hawk even as her ranks scrambled to meet the charge.

As explained previously this is an incorrect use of the idiom keep your eyes peeled.
Title: Re: The Embers of All That Remain : Oath of the Betrayer - Scene I - 1/28 Update
Post by: Myen'Tal on January 28, 2021, 12:01:09 PM
Oooh, lots of feedback to get into. Will definitely look into this list, Alienscar. Thanks!
Title: Re: The Embers of All That Remain: Oath of the Betrayer - Scene I - 1/28 Update
Post by: Myen'Tal on January 30, 2021, 12:33:01 AM
Oooh, lots of feedback to get into. Will definitely look into this list, Alienscar. Thanks!

Changes reflecting latest feedback for A Crimson Blizzard - Scene II is finished. I've replaced the scene - so the latest version is still in that previous post where the original text was kept.
Title: Re: The Embers of All That Remain: Oath of the Betrayer - Scene I - Revision 3.0
Post by: Myen'Tal on January 30, 2021, 01:47:40 PM
Dusk’s crimson light vanished amid night’s spreading darkness. After crossing through the mountain pass of Reaper’s Lantern, the Old Myrian armies splintered throughout the mountain valley at Lord Zakarian’s command. No point of entry on the western banks of the Alabaster remained unfortified against the encroaching threat of the Dominion. 

Wooden palisades guarded the Alabaster’s riverbanks across the entire Crescent Valley. Behind the barricades, man-made hills of compacted dirt created a high ground for the Dusk Sentinels to better defend the Old Myrian lines. A single trench encircled the entire defensive position used by the Old Myrian forces.   

Any Carthite would need to surmount the trench, then break through the palisades to meet the defenders of the Ardent Vigil. If the Dominion’s legions could endure such a grueling trial, their forces would face Khalnar’s fortifications – the Dusk Sentinels already withdrawn and redeployed to reinforce the township’s garrison before it would come to that. 

Aslan stood by his father’s side to oversee Khalnar township’s defense. He considered the defense overall, and knew that they were more than nothing, but less than ideal. 

He watched the infantry begin to break into their respective bands, spacing themselves in multiple layers of an interlocking defense. 

A wailing horn sounded from somewhere in a night absent of guiding stars. An anxious breath became caught in Aslan's lungs, deafening silence falling over the Old Myrian defenses arrayed on Khalnar’s riverside outskirts. He gazed across the Alabaster, shrouded behind a dark veil lingering over all of Khios. 

Against the encroaching shadow, only Khalnar and all the Crescent Valley continued to blaze against the night. 

His father's voice shattered the bewitching stillness fallen over his forces. 'Does the sound of Carthite horns frighten you!? Does the threat of invasion against your families in their own homes make your blood run cold, warriors of the Autumn Realms!? It should! For when the last time those horns sounded on the banks of the Alabaster - the whole river flowed a dark crimson with all the blood spilled from ceaseless battle! 

'Remember the oaths you swore before the Autumn Queen herself! Remember the courage of your ancestors, who have laid the Dominion and their God King's ambition quite low in wars long forgotten! We are the first into the fray against the Dominion - this is our chance! 

'Tell this God King that he is no divine god - he is no master of Old Myria! Annahir and the Autumn Realms, forever!'

Echoes of Azat's war cry rippled across the formations until the same words echoed far into the abyssal dark. The Immortals of Annahir were the first to draw their swords, raising them high so that they glinted in the firelight. Every man and woman who served in either the Ardent Vigil or the Dusk Sentinels repeated the gesture until one thousand swords glimmered like an endless tide of light. 

Aslan spied small groupings of warriors scattered amongst the ranks raising the half-and-half raven black and amber banners of the Old Myrian heraldry across the defenses. He looked on into the shadowy depths of the Alabaster, a fierce pride stoked within his chest. 

The wailing horn sounded once again but could not quell the defiance of the Dominion's foes so easily a second time. Another shrill cry echoed after the first lengthened note, followed by two more, then several others until it seemed that scores of horns were guiding something massive toward the Old Myrian side of the Alabaster. 

Aslan blew out an anxious breath and looked to his father. 'You should not have left Ara behind. He would have loved to be here, standing beside us.' 

Azat disagreed with a grim shake of his head. 'I won't risk both of my sons in the same battle. You're ready, Aslan, and that alone is why you're here. Ara is not - not yet. I am uncertain if he'll ever be.' 

Aslan cuffed his hands and waited patiently by his father's side, his stance as regal as that of the Immortals. 'A conversation for another time, father. Tonight, I am here to slay as many Carthites as I possibly can.'

'Good.'Azat nodded. He studied Aslan acutely, his smile flashing when his eldest son took notice. 'You do not know how long I've waited for this moment. That we draw our swords and stand shoulder-to-shoulder. No matter what happens, know that you have my pride now and forever, my Lion.' 

Aslan nodded, not quite able to conceal his enthusiasm. 

Azat lifted his chin to point toward the first lights drifting through the crushing black shrouding the Alabaster River. He placed a firm grip on Aslan's shoulder and shook it once. 'The Dominion has arrived on Old Myrian soil. Let us see the armies that they believe worthy of her total conquest.' 

Gargantuan sea-faring vessels, from lowly Quinqueremes to the grand Polyremes - of which the slave warriors of the Zar'qin guard arrayed themselves on their decks in numbers anywhere between one hundred and a few thousand. Elaborate standards of crimson and gold framing the image of the Solar God seated on a throne of fire - a spear of radiant light gripped in his sword arm – waved in the cool breeze. Countless thousands of oars cycled in and out of the dark waters, synchronous with the chanting dirge that the slave legions of Carth had taken up to quell the flames of the Old Myrian spirits. 

As the Dominion's armada gradually emerged out of the night - Aslan swept his gaze across the assembly of sheer marshal strength. Hundreds of ships ranging across the full spectrum of shape and scale were slowly drifting into plain sight. 

Aslan beheld the divine might of the Carth Dominion and sneered out of disgust. 

Azat shattered his reverie, his tone calmer than the waters of the Alabaster itself. 'How far do you think those first outlying ships are? The ones nearest the riverbanks and our defenses?'

Aslan arched his brow. 'I'm not certain, they certainly seem close enough for an archer...' Realization dawned on him. 

Azat grinned, wolfish. He lifted his voice so that it bellowed over the Dominion's dirge and Old Myria's defiant cries. 'Hovan, my faithful second in command!'

A warrior with a single scar running down the length of his face emerged from out of the lines of Dusk Sentinels. 'Lord Zakarian, your command is my will! Give me an order and I'll see it done!' 

Azat gestured toward the first wave of oncoming vessels. 'Give them a warning volley! Tell them to turn tail and flee back to the Dominion!' 

Hovan slammed a mailed fist against his laminar armor. He turned back to the formations, relaying Lord Zakarian’s orders through the chain of command.

Moments later, the four hundred men and women of the Dusk Sentinels lifted their bows - each arrow pulled taut on their strings alight with a burning flame. 

Aslan shrugged, watching the volley loosed into the first outlying Carthite vessels. The volley fell shy of each ship by only a few feet, hundreds of dispensed arrows snuffing themselves out amidst the Alabaster's cold waters. 

He looked to Azat. 'I don't understand. That would never deter a force this size from crossing the river.' 

Azat mirrored his uncaring shrug. 'It is merely a courtesy - a warning of the doom that they're approaching.' 

Azat relayed another set of orders to his Second. 'Hovan! Give them a more dire warning! Do not spare the ammunition of any of Khalnar's fortifications. The bombardment does not cease until this battle is lost or won. From sunrise to sunset, choke the Alabaster with their ruin!' 

Aslan listened intently to the commands being relayed throughout the defenses arrayed along the riverbank. He did not discern much, but one line echoed above the rest. 

Hovan's own words stirred his brethren to eager action. 'Sentinels of Dusk, loose at will! Unleash the fusillade!'

The ballista and scorpion turrets arrayed along Khalnar's riverside defenses unleashed their wrath. Aslan heard the whistling of their punishing salvos, their dispensed ammunition near impossible to glean across the night sky. The Dusk Sentinels commenced their never-ending volley, loosing hail after flaming hail of arrows toward the dim light of the moon. The trebuchets were the final distanced response to the Carthite invaders, their ammunition taking on the form of great oil filled canisters rather than massive boulders. 

The Dominion's first wave of hulking vessels stood little chance. Oversized bolts punctured gaping wounds in the hulls of every ship, ending the lives of scores of oarsmen. A rapid hail of scorpion bolts peppered the Zar'qin aboard their decks and though Aslan could not witness their deaths for himself, the wailing chorus of their final cries was enough to satisfy him. 

An endless rain of flaming arrows further thinned out the ranks of the first warriors attempting to ford the river. As flames began to take hold across each sea-faring vessel, the Old Myrians took up a great cheer as several minor fires blossomed into all-consuming infernos from the impact of oil spilled amid the hungry flames. 

Azat commanded suddenly over the resounding cheers. 'Lock shields and raise them! Use whatever defense you can - remain standing in the face of whatever wrath!' 

Aslan heard the whistling of a coming rain of arrows before they descended upon the Old Myrians. The warriors of the Ardent Vigil heard the dreadful sound as well, lifting their shields in loose synchronicity. Here and there among the ranks, warriors fell in heaps, feathered shafts embedded through their armor and deep into flesh. 

Azat steadied Aslan with a firm hand on the broad of his back, though his elder son knew that he did not need it. 

His father looked to Aslan and spoke over the cries of the horribly wounded and dying. 'Aslan, when the foe eventually fords the Alabaster and storm our defenses - I want you to hold back - until you find an enemy worthy of you. I want you to find one of the Children of the Sun - be they Exalted, Champion, or unit leader... strike them down and let Carth tremble before the might of the Lion.' 

Aslan vigorously nodded. 'I shall do as you command, Lord Zakarian. I shall strike down their greatest leader in Hazan's name.' 

Azat inclined his head in appreciation. 'You're a great warrior... I would see you become legend before long. So, we wait for the enemy to land and the real combat shall be had. Be patient and not overbold, your time shall come and soon.' 

Aslan folded his arms out of patience, watching endless arrow hails exchanged between either army. 

His time as a Lion of War had come. 
Title: Re: The Embers of The Past: A Dominion of the Mind - Revision 2.0 - Scene I
Post by: Myen'Tal on February 5, 2021, 12:21:55 AM
Oath of the Betrayer scene is updated again to revision 3.0 - took a little while to get it to where I want it lol. The new version is in the previous post.

Also, in this scene, I do understand there is some repetition in the name of the characters being used in particular. I did a quick run through and lessened the problem, but I will need to go back and do some variation after I complete the manuscript.

Without further ado:

A Dominion of the Mind – Scene I

The scorched dunes of the Southern Wastes stretched across the horizon like an ocean of sand frozen in time. T As a miserable summer heat came bearing down from the heights of heaven, Sirius scoured the dune sea until it simmered in a haze. In the arid wastes, there existed no comfort of civilization in the distance. No oases dotted the landscape for the doomed to find another day’s deliverance.   

The Kingdom of Sukhan was never a haven for either the adventurer or the legions of the Carth Dominion. Or - Nishan mused in silence, perhaps nothing of the sort existed to the untrained eye. 

The Scarred One intentionally distanced himself from the fawning women of the Dominion’s Zar – their slave caste. They fanned an empty palanquin cloaked in the shade of a pavilion in preparation for his coming. All the while the summer heat mercilessly beat down on him. He could have accepted the offered palanquin for some relief from the Southern Wastes, but he would always refuse the Dominion's hospitality. He endured his suffering and sweltered beneath the light of the midday sun unattended. 

He stared out across the dunes on the horizon, reminiscent. He finally glanced over his shoulder at the leader of all the Carth Dominion. 'You remember, don't you, God King? Of all who have forgotten the terrible collapse of the Carth Republic - you remember those times quite well, correct?'

Nishan stood in the presence of a Carthite King. A Sun-Caller from the ancient city of Tu'shik - named after the grand canals that had transformed the arid heartland into a paradise. As all the Children of the Sun were, this supposed King was of tarnished skin the shade of bronze. His hair was but a single braid running along the scalp of his skull, raven black and lustrous, decorated with a snake's tail of emeralds, opals, and onyx. His eyes were the deep amber found beneath the waves of a sparkling coast. 

He could not help but notice this Carthite’s sheer physicality. Heavily toned muscle burst from every inch of him, crafted by the eyes of the Gods, perhaps - and not of mortal breeding. A flowing brilliant white robe cloaked him from the waist down to the ankles of his bare feet. From the waist up was a billowing shirt parted down the centerline of his body - as brilliant a white as the rest of his clothes. 

Erasyl of Tu'shik. Firstborn of Mankind. Sun-Caller King of the Children of the Sun. God King of the Carth Dominion. 

Erasyl folded his arms out of patience, lifting his chin in acknowledgement. 'A hero you were in those days, Nishan. You rightly deserved your title as the Republic's greatest champion - and the Scarred Child of Ak'shan. You were unyielding in those days, my old nemesis, and stirred an entire civilization to defiance.'

Memories of the glorious past came rushing back to the Scarred One. He flicked his eyes close with a pang of regret. 'Have you heard the saying that what we do in this life shall echo into eternity?' He waited for Erasyl to affirm him. ‘Do you ever realize that saying only ever applies to the victor? I was the Republic's champion in those days, that is true. I defied the Dominion's will for nigh a decade, bringing ruin to countless of your armies. I laid waste to the city of Sh'myr and burned Ak'shan to the ground to reclaim it all for the beginning of a new era.

'The Republic's rebirth was to be the end of the Children of the Sun. A time of peace for all the liberated nations under your yoke of oppression. Do you understand how much history and culture we lost within that time span? Ancient cities - built from the hands of countless generations were razed to the ground over the course of years and not the centuries needed to see them rebuilt. All our wonders, some of our brightest civilizations in the Republic, our government, and our way of life... annihilated by one man's ambition.'

The Scarred One recalled those times and cackled with embittered laughter. 'I guess it matters little what some do in this life. I struggled against what seemed like destiny itself. After all, I was the republic’s final hope before the end. Nowadays, everyone has forgotten the fate of countless thousands. All the warriors of Carth – true loyalists - died alone and forgotten with their families - buried in the ashes of time.'

His laughter faded, replaced with a dour scowl. 'What a comedy life can be, should the Gods hate mortal men so much. You not only had to humiliate your kindred nations – but stole from out of the hands of all who thrived in those once fairest lands. Contol was never enough, you wanted only absolute power.’

Erasyl considered Nishan's musings even as the Scarred Child turned to face the God King. Nishan saw nothing more than a man, who had chosen to suffer in the desert heat like he did. 

Nishan did little to conceal his seething hatred. 'Do you think your actions empathetic? You eke out your life for but a moment to speak with me, then you'll return to Tu'shik and live like the divine king you are.'

The God King countered with a measured voice, burdened with centuries of wisdom and the experience of countless lifetimes. 

The God King smiled at Nishan. 'You always knew that you'd become an unsung hero. There is little point in fussing about the sacrifices made. You stood for your beliefs and all the civilizations within the heartland in that fateful war. Humans may forget - they always do, such is their failing. However, destiny shall always remember the sacrifices of those who embrace it of their own volition. That alone is no easy task. I would have you recall, Nishan, that destiny is a tool of the gods. They alone are all that need remember the souls of all who perished in that terrible conflict. 

'The dead shall always have their deeds sung in the echoes between space and time, where they celebrate and war on still into the eternities with the Gods themselves.' 

Nishan cackled softly with laughter, skeptical. ‘An old war hound like me can care no longer for living forever – glorious or inhumane. One life of hellish misery in an exchange for another one that'll last forever. The only difference is that I’ll not feel a thing anymore as those celestial battles continue rage ever onward.' 

He turned back toward the horizon. He waited for the God King to come stand beside him. 'What do you desire in this life, Scarred Pme? All that you aspired to in the past has turned to ash. So, what drives you now? Why continue living when you are bereft of all that is good in this world? You are tired, exhausted from the battlefield. So why continue to wade through them with the strength of your younger self?'

Nishan considered the God King's question and shrugged. He answered after a brief pause. 'An old wolf like me cannot die for simply nothing. I am uncertain how to answer your question, Sun-Caller... maybe it's vengeance.' 

Erasyl cocked his head, amused. 'Against me, perhaps?'

The Scarred One thought briefly about lying in the God King's face, but one glance into Erasyl's amber eyes made him understand that the God King knew far more about Nishan than perhaps even himself. 

Nishan smirked, the faint gesture quickly breaking into a relieving smile. 'Yes, against you. I swore eternal war on you the day you betrayed the Republic. An eternal war has no end until a victor is established. I can see with this one good eye of mine, that you and I are still breathing.' 

Erasyl nodded, taken back slightly, but pleasantly surprised. 'I can appreciate the candor. Don't you have other arch-betrayers who should pay with their lives?'

Nishan shook his head. 'A quarrel between brothers is only that. Perhaps I made a grave mistake against Azat Zakarian - and I know he would strike me down onsite. In the end, however, I am glad that he continues to live with those bratty sons of his.' He looked Erasyl directly in the eye and held his gaze. 'I'm certain I'll redeem myself somehow and return into his good graces. Yet for now, I am content with doing what I can here in Sukhan - to see your agenda undermined.' 

Erasyl chuckled, amused. 'Are you curious how events here in the Southern Wastes shall play out? I shall indulge you and explain:

'I shall venture to the city of Suannir - the Den of Vipers - and attend our conclave with your enigmatic master - Shoushan, was it? I shall make my demands on behalf of the Carth Dominion - she will reject them and any potential alliance with the Dominion. I shall return to this very encampment behind us and will dispatch a messenger to deliver a declaration of open war and the Dominion's terms - my terms to this Master of Assassins. 

'Shoushan will need a champion to lead Sukhan's defenses, for I'm certain she will have other elements of her clandestine operations to tend to. She will likely grant command of her armies here in Sukhan to you. Then, Scarred Child of Ak'shan - you shall make the decision that you'll make. The fate of Sukhan shall be decided upon any choice you're given.'

Nishan held Erasyl's boring stare through his soul. 'I shall make the right decision with pride. If all that you said is truth, then I look forward to crossing our blades on the battlefield again.'

Erasyl nodded. 'Fine. Go ahead and pull down an entire kingdom in the flames of your rebellion. You have already brought the greatest republic known to man onto its knees with your failures. It was a simple task to cleave the head from the beast - and eradicate every Heavenly Sage that dared to raise their finger against me. The Children of Sun could never live under such weakness. We were always meant to rule, to blaze on this world with an eternal flame. Not to fade into the night as nothing more than embers of our forgotten pasts.' 

Nishan did not bat an eyelash at the God King's verbal onslaught. 'Upon a day, the brothers that I still have in this world and I shall stand shoulder-to-shoulder against the implacable wrath of your slave legions. I shall leave this world laughing when I bury my sword in your chest. If I achieve this - I shall gladly depart this world absent a care... and all of Khios shall celebrate your ignoble passing. All the meek and innocent shall know that it was the Scarred Child who delivered them from out of the hands of tyranny. 

'And all of those souls of the Carth Republic that continue their eternal war amidst the heavens - shall laugh at your death and chant my name till the end of days.' 

Erasyl nodded, accepting the challenge. 'You should take your leave, why you have the chance. I am an honorable king; I shall not have you struck down here of all places. Yet my patience has its limits... just know that I'm also looking forward to the day we cross blades on the battlefield.' 

Nishan deigned not to respond but marched off into the dunes beyond the heat haze. To Erasyl - he looked as if he were walking into death itself - but Nishan knew the hidden nooks of Sukhan that he'd never understand in another lifetime. 

He departed that loathsome encampment - and as he left that shade within the pavilion and the comfortable palanquin behind - he wished for some graceful wind to come bearing down on him. 
Title: Re: The Embers of The Past: A Dominion of the Mind - Revision 2.0 - Scene I
Post by: Alienscar on February 8, 2021, 08:14:49 AM
Oath of the Betrayer Scene I, Revision 3.0

Here is a bit of feedback for Betrayer Scene I

Quote
Dusk’s crimson light vanished amid night’s spreading darkness. After crossing through the mountain pass of Reaper’s Lantern, the Old Myrian armies splintered throughout the mountain valley at Lord Zakarian’s command. No point of entry on the western banks of the Alabaster remained unfortified against the encroaching threat of the Dominion.

The second sentence of this paragraph does not follow on from the first sentence in any way, and as such it breaks the flow of the whole paragraph. To be honest I find each of the three sentences of this paragraph too seperate from each other and they don't really tell me a coherent message. You could easily drop one or more of these sentences and the scene's narrative would not change.

Splintered is the wrong word as it means; to break into small parts/groups with divergent views.

Quote
Wooden palisades guarded the Alabaster’s riverbanks across the entire Crescent Valley.

This is difficult to imagine. A valley is a low stretch of land between hills/mountains, especially one that has a river flowing through it. As such I picture something very long, and it is therefore difficult to imagine the whole length of a river being guarded by wooden pallisades as you have described.

Quote
Behind the barricades, man-made hills of compacted dirt created a high ground for the Dusk Sentinels to better defend the Old Myrian lines. A single trench encircled the entire defensive position used by the Old Myrian forces.   

Any Carthite would need to surmount the trench, then break through the palisades to meet the defenders of the Ardent Vigil.

If the trench is in front of the pallisades and the pallisades follow the riverbanks then it is hard to understand how the trench can encircle the defensive positions.

Quote
If the Dominion’s legions could endure such a grueling trial, their forces would face Khalnar’s fortifications – the Dusk Sentinels already withdrawn and redeployed to reinforce the township’s garrison before it would come to that.

As it has now become plain that they are defending one township the very first paragraph of this scene is not really required as it just dilutes the content too much. Why mention the rest of the valley when you are just in one place?


Quote
'Tell this God King that he is no divine god - he is no master of Old Myria! Annahir and the Autumn Realms, forever!'

Tell this God-king that he is no divine god forever.

Tell this god-king he is no master of Old Myria forever.
 
Neither of these make any sense to me.

Quote
Aslan cuffed his hands and waited patiently by his father's side, his stance as regal as that of the Immortals. 'A conversation for another time, father. Tonight, I am here to slay as many Carthites as I possibly can.'

Cuffed is the wrong word and I think you meant cupped. Among other things cuffed means to hit someone.


Quote
Gargantuan sea-faring vessels, from lowly Quinqueremes to the grand Polyremes - of which the slave warriors of the Zar'qin guard arrayed themselves on their decks in numbers anywhere between one hundred and a few thousand.

A few thousand! This is hard to realistically envision to be honest. The HMS Victoria was the largest wooden ship in the world at one point and only had a complement of 1000.


Quote
Azat shattered his reverie, his tone calmer than the waters of the Alabaster itself. 'How far do you think those first outlying ships are? The ones nearest the riverbanks and our defenses?'

Aslan arched his brow. 'I'm not certain, they certainly seem close enough for an archer...' Realization dawned on him.

Being close enough for an archer would put them within 400-600 yards. This is too close to fit with your description of the area.

Quote
Azat grinned, wolfish. He lifted his voice so that it bellowed over the Dominion's dirge and Old Myria's defiant cries. 'Hovan, my faithful second in command!'

There is really no need for the 'my faithful second in comand' bit.

Quote
A warrior with a single scar running down the length of his face emerged from out of the lines of Dusk Sentinels. 'Lord Zakarian, your command is my will! Give me an order and I'll see it done!'

Similar to the above I would say there is no need for the your command is my will line. They are about to be attacked, so I would suggest that your words should be less flowery and provide a sense of urgency.

Your wish is my command, or your will is my command would be better. Writing it the way you have doesn't quite make sense. He is essentially saying your command is something he wants to happen.

Quote
He looked to Azat. 'I don't understand. That would never deter a force this size from crossing the river.'

Crossing the river would imply moving from one side of the  river to the other. That is not what seems to happening here, so, for me, this sentence confuses the  focus of the scene as a whole.

Quote
Azat relayed another set of orders to his Second. 'Hovan! Give them a more dire warning! Do not spare the ammunition of any of Khalnar's fortifications. The bombardment does not cease until this battle is lost or won. From sunrise to sunset, choke the Alabaster with their ruin!'

The whole 'do you think the ships are in arrow range' now seems totally redundant. Why waste arrows when he could fire the artillery? Missing with the arrows is not much of a warning.

Quote
Aslan listened intently to the commands being relayed throughout the defenses arrayed along the riverbank. He did not discern much, but one line echoed above the rest.

I think these sentences could easily be removed. I say this because I do not understand what it is you are trying to achieve with them.

Quote
The ballista and scorpion turrets arrayed along Khalnar's riverside defenses unleashed their wrath. Aslan heard the whistling of their punishing salvos, their dispensed ammunition near impossible to glean across the night sky.

Dispensed means to give or deal out; distribute. I think the word released would be better.

Quote
The trebuchets were the final distanced response to the Carthite invaders, their ammunition taking on the form of great oil filled canisters rather than massive boulders.

I think I have mentioned before that you sometimes let modern day thinking into your writing, and I would say that your use of oil here is another example of that. Back in medieval times oil was animal or plant based, and these wouldn't burn as readily as you are describing. There was something called Greek fire which would burn on water and was incredibly difficult to put out. When you write oil filled canisters I can't help but think that you are referring to crude oil which didn't exist back then.

Quote
An endless rain of flaming arrows further thinned out the ranks of the first warriors attempting to ford the river.

I find that this sentence muddies your mindscape a bit for me. One the one hand you have gargantuan ships floating in the river, but on the other hand you are now describing the river as being shallow enough for people to wade across it.
   
Quote
Azat commanded suddenly over the resounding cheers. 'Lock shields and raise them! Use whatever defense you can - remain standing in the face of whatever wrath!'

Wrath means extreme anger, so your sentence reads as an incomplete thought. That is, your sentence essentially says 'remain standing in the face of whatever anger!' As you can see this doesn't quite work.

Quote
Aslan heard the whistling of a coming rain of arrows before they descended upon the Old Myrians.

More of a technicality than an issue with your writing, but arrows do not whistle.

Quote
His father looked to Aslan and spoke over the cries of the horribly wounded and dying. 'Aslan, when the foe eventually fords the Alabaster and storm our defenses - I want you to hold back - until you find an enemy worthy of you. I want you to find one of the Children of the Sun - be they Exalted, Champion, or unit leader... strike them down and let Carth tremble before the might of the Lion.'

I don't know if this is just me, but this little chat seems horribly out of place compared to the line about the cries of the horibly wounded and dying. For me the tone of the speech does not match the tone of the surrounding action.

Also Aslan’s acceptance that their defences are going to be stormed seems at odds with his previous, 'Give them a warning volley! Tell them to turn tail and flee back to the Dominion!'

I personally find that it means the tone of the scene as a whole is too variable.

Additionally this little speech from Azat seems largely contradictory to the previous, 'Tonight, I am here to slay as many Carthites as I possibly can.' and Azat’s, 'That we draw our swords and stand shoulder-to-shoulder.'
Title: Re: The Embers of The Past: A Dominion of the Mind - Revision 2.0 - Scene I
Post by: Myen'Tal on February 8, 2021, 10:05:50 AM
Hi Alienscar,

Quote
A few thousand! This is hard to realistically envision to be honest. The HMS Victoria was the largest wooden ship in the world at one point and only had a complement of 1000.

Actually, if you google http://www.hellenicaworld.com's (http://www.hellenicaworld.com's)  Giant Hellenistic warships with more than 7000 crew members, it's not unrealistic at all. There were actual historical ships used throughout the classical era that supported thousands of warriors in addition to sailors.

Quote
Tell this God-king that he is no divine god forever.

Tell this god-king he is no master of Old Myria forever.

Neither of these make any sense to me.

I'm not certain why you added forever onto these two sentences. Forever is only on the end of the third sentence, Annahir and the Autumn Realms, forever!

Quote
Crossing the river would imply moving from one side of the  river to the other. That is not what seems to happening here, so, for me, this sentence confuses the  focus of the scene as a whole.

Will probably have to change the nature of the geography depicted in this scene - maybe position around the Black Sea instead. I think that would make the Dominion's approach a bit more realistic?

Quote
I don't know if this is just me, but this little chat seems horribly out of place compared to the line about the cries of the horibly wounded and dying. For me the tone of the speech does not match the tone of the surrounding action.

Also Aslan’s acceptance that their defences are going to be stormed seems at odds with his previous, 'Give them a warning volley! Tell them to turn tail and flee back to the Dominion!'

I personally find that it means the tone of the scene as a whole is too variable.

Additionally this little speech from Azat seems largely contradictory to the previous, 'Tonight, I am here to slay as many Carthites as I possibly can.' and Azat’s, 'That we draw our swords and stand shoulder-to-shoulder.'

Some of the dialogue you've pointed out isn't Azat speaking, but Aslan. Both of them are going to have differing perspectives on how they're viewing the battle. Especially Aslan, who currently lacks a lot of experience his father does.

Quote
I don't know if this is just me, but this little chat seems horribly out of place compared to the line about the cries of the horibly wounded and dying. For me the tone of the speech does not match the tone of the surrounding action.

So, Azat should be teaching Aslan nothing? Azat is in command of the forces here, I think remaining stoic and calm whilst the battle rages on is not out completely out of the realm of realism. Neither do I think that Azat commanding Aslan to find an enemy leader to take out is outside of that realm either.

Thanks for the feedback.  :)
Title: Re: The Embers of The Past: A Dominion of the Mind - Revision 2.0 - Scene I
Post by: Alienscar on February 8, 2021, 05:24:12 PM
Hi Alienscar,

Quote
A few thousand! This is hard to realistically envision to be honest. The HMS Victoria was the largest wooden ship in the world at one point and only had a complement of 1000.

Actually, if you google http://www.hellenicaworld.com's (http://www.hellenicaworld.com's)  Giant Hellenistic warships with more than 7000 crew members, it's not unrealistic at all. There were actual historical ships used throughout the classical era that supported this many warriors in addition to sailors.

Not really. 'Hellenistic warships with more than 7000 crew' is referring to the tessarakonteres built by Ptolemy IV. This ship was actually a cattarman and was built as a prestige vessel rather than an effective warship. You can read more about the  Tesarakonteres (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tessarakonteres) here if you want. The 7000 crew is made up of 4000 rowers, 400 crew and 2850 marines

The Quinqueremes that you mention in your scene could hold 120 marines, and from what I have read some of the larger and usable Hellenistic warships could hold up to 850-1200 marines.

The thing is these ships were warships and regardless of the number of marines they held they carried out their duties at sea. That is, the marines were onboard to carry out boarding actions after they had rammed other ships and not to carry out land duties.

Also being warships I can't imagine the larger ships having a shallow enough draught that would let the marines get off and wade to shore. Even at Dunkirk the soldiers had to wade out in shoulder deep water to let smaller boats transfer them to the larger ships.

Actually I am also now wondering why you have used Greek words to describe your ships.

Title: Re: The Embers of The Past: A Dominion of the Mind - Revision 2.0 - Scene I
Post by: Myen'Tal on February 8, 2021, 06:08:22 PM
Hi Alienscar,

Not really. 'Hellenistic warships with more than 7000 crew' is referring to the tessarakonteres built by Ptolemy IV. This ship was actually a cattarman and was built as a prestige vessel rather than an effective warship. You can read more about the  Tesarakonteres (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tessarakonteres) here if you want. The 7000 crew is made up of 4000 rowers, 400 crew and 2850 marines

The Quinqueremes that you mention in your scene could hold 120 marines, and from what I have read some of the larger and usable Hellenistic warships could hold up to 850-1200 marines.

The thing is these ships were warships and regardless of the number of marines they held they carried out their duties at sea. That is, the marines were onboard to carry out boarding actions after they had rammed other ships and not to carry out land duties.

Also being warships I can't imagine the larger ships having a shallow enough draught that would let the marines get off and wade to shore. Even at Dunkirk the soldiers had to wade out in shoulder deep water to let smaller boats transfer them to the larger ships.

Actually I am also now wondering why you have used Greek words to describe your ships.

Fair enough, I'll adjust the numbers accordingly. I honestly haven't thought too much about ship vessel classes in this universe - so I guess you can consider them placeholder. I still have a lot of time to change those - along with other similar issues that should be addressed as well. I am wanting to complete the manuscript first, then tackle those issues. 

Will look over the feedback and compile some changes to reflect the feedback you've given.

Thanks again.
Title: Re: The Embers of The Past: A Dominion of the Mind - Revision 2.0 - Scene I
Post by: Alienscar on February 9, 2021, 07:12:05 AM
Fair enough, I'll adjust the numbers accordingly. I honestly haven't thought too much about ship vessel classes in this universe - so I guess you can consider them placeholder. I still have a lot of time to change those - along with other similar issues that should be addressed as well.

For me it is not just the number of marines that confuses my mindscape of the scene, but the number of ships and the logistics for getting the marines from the ships to the shore.

One hundred ships are going to take up a lot of space and I am struggling to picture how this scenario is supposed to play out.

The Quinquereme that you mention was 148ft long and its deck was 9ft above the waterline. How are you imagining the marines geting off the ship and onto the shore. Don’t forget that these warships did not carry rowing boats.

The tessarakonteres was 426ft long and its gunwales were 72ft above the waterline. It is estimated that this ship needed 20ft of water to stop it grounding.

At the back of my mind is any soldier/marine wading through even waist high water for any length of time is going to be an easy target for an archer.

A lot of my issues could be alleviated by a dock, but a dock wouldn't allow your hundreds of ships to dock all at once, and again I would imagine it would put the attackers at a bit of a disadvantage if the soldiers had to disembark via a gangplank.

Having read some of the information in the link that you provided historians believe that none of the giant ships of eleven and over were used in battle and were just for exhibition use. I think it might be cool if you had a sort of pirate raiding force.

Triremes and Quadrireme were, for the time, very quick ships and from what I can make out had a draught of 4ft or less. The trireme in particular was capable of being beached by its crew.

I could imagine a number of these ships being deliberately run aground and the marines jumping off similar to modern landing craft.

At a push a Trir could carry 40 marines and a Quad 75 marines.
Title: Re: The Embers of The Past: A Dominion of the Mind - Revision 2.0 - Scene I
Post by: Myen'Tal on February 9, 2021, 08:37:53 PM

F
Quote
or me it is not just the number of marines that confuses my mindscape of the scene, but the number of ships and the logistics for getting the marines from the ships to the shore.

One hundred ships are going to take up a lot of space and I am struggling to picture how this scenario is supposed to play out.

The Quinquereme that you mention was 148ft long and its deck was 9ft above the waterline. How are you imagining the marines geting off the ship and onto the shore. Don’t forget that these warships did not carry rowing boats.

The tessarakonteres was 426ft long and its gunwales were 72ft above the waterline. It is estimated that this ship needed 20ft of water to stop it grounding.

At the back of my mind is any soldier/marine wading through even waist high water for any length of time is going to be an easy target for an archer.

A lot of my issues could be alleviated by a dock, but a dock wouldn't allow your hundreds of ships to dock all at once, and again I would imagine it would put the attackers at a bit of a disadvantage if the soldiers had to disembark via a gangplank.

Having read some of the information in the link that you provided historians believe that none of the giant ships of eleven and over were used in battle and were just for exhibition use. I think it might be cool if you had a sort of pirate raiding force.

Triremes and Quadrireme were, for the time, very quick ships and from what I can make out had a draught of 4ft or less. The trireme in particular was capable of being beached by its crew.

I could imagine a number of these ships being deliberately run aground and the marines jumping off similar to modern landing craft.

At a push a Trir could carry 40 marines and a Quad 75 marines.

Cool, thanks for all the pointers. I'll take a deeper dive into that article. Will probably need to reconstruct a good chunk of the chapter, but fortunately, I didn't get too far into it. I'll get to work on this.
Title: The Embers of The Past: Misery & Sorrow - An Act III: Chains That Break Scene
Post by: Myen'Tal on February 11, 2021, 07:13:19 PM
Warning: Might be too much in the spoiler zone for some, as this is an Act III scene... I did my best not to hand out too many details, but I'm sure some dots could be connected. However, as Oath of the Betrayer is going under reconstruction, I thought I'd give you guys something in the final 30,000 words I aim to write in the final act of Chains That Break.


Misery and Sorrow


Brooding skies began to transition into the faded hues of the night over the city of Tu'shik – Grand City of Canals. Voshki lifted her gaze to watch the Celestial bodies anchored among vivid nebulae begin to manifest throughout the void - their orbiting moons and barren meteors too becoming visible in the emptiness between the stars.

The Hanging Gardens of the God-King's Royal Palace bathed in the full moon. A summer wind coursed through the garden-paradise until every leaf and branch stirred into beautiful life - an eruption of nature's song unfamiliar to her ears.

All the natural and engineered beauty of the City of Canals seemed so unfamiliar. It was an experience she had never known before. It was a shade of life she had never lived. She remembered Erasyl's story about the Valley of Carrion - about the Children of the Sun's generations' long effort to build the first Grand Canals that would forever alter the wasteland into some semblance of an arid paradise.

Tu-shik was born in the generations after all their ancestors' labor and toil. A shining city of golden lights that seemed to glimmer beneath Sirius' gaze, but blazed against the encroaching darkness when night began to settle.

Shoushan leaned heavily on a shrouded colonnade enveloped by shadow. In the faint orange glow of a brazier's obscured flames, she shrugged. She spoke. 'For all of their high-minded beliefs and emphasis on science to conquer ignorance - the Children of the Sun remain a superstitious civilization. All of them fear the absence of Sirius in the night sky - and the wicked dangers that can arise after their god has fallen underneath the horizon.

'... Are you having second thoughts?' Shoushan watched her apprentice like a hawk. She studied Voshki for the revelation buried in her expression and came to a melancholic realization. 'Are you thinking of Zagir and how she must have asked you that very question?'

'No.' A faint smile creased Voshki's lips. 'I am only thinking of the God-King's final hour and how he'll suffer against our blades.'

She imagined Erasyl's final death throes and the Children of the Sun's doom. A brief glimmer of Zagir's face unveiled from her death mask rushed through her mind. She stood nearer to vengeance and true freedom for her Sukhanite kindred than ever before. His death would become a liberation for what precious little remained of her civilization.

'Mm.' Shoushan agreed. 'His fated death shall echo into the eternities and free all the generations that will come afterward.' She continued to bore into Voshki with her observant stare. 'Truth be told, Erasyl is my anathema - my nemisis. There is little need to be here in the moment that him and I match our blades against one another. He maybe a God... no ordinary soul and a masterful opponent. It was always my intention to confront him alone and end his madness.'

Voshki's smile withered into a reluctant frown. 'I was never one for turning my back on kin. You've always been there when I needed rescue from one dire circumstance or another -

Shoushan scoffed. 'Oh, Voshki... my daughter-not-of-blood, if you only knew how deep my betrayal of your trust descends.'

Voshki shook her head. 'I cannot care anymore for what happened in the past.

‘All that you did to deliver me from Tu'shik into the depths of Suannir... You did damn me to that hell. You also delivered me from certain death and offered me another life beyond nothing. You watched over me from childhood into the years of my prime... Gave me my first family - I care not for their dark origins or their black hearts. Faris, Anoush, Zagir... you and all the Ashen Circle. I cannot imagine trading any of the life I lived for one room in the solitary tower of a grand palace.'

Voshki considered her next words. 'You're the only kindred that I still have in this world. Our immortal fate is a shared one. I shall follow you into that ending and not look back.'

Shoushan stood in the obscured light in silence before she gently replied. 'I am surprised to hear that you care so much. Do you believe dying with me is worth more than being with Ara? Erasyl could spill all your blood in but a few moments. Is that worth more than living the rest of your life with your lover? You'd rather die beside me than grow old together in the Zakarian family with him?'

Voshki sighed. She lowered her gaze for a brief pause only to gaze into Shoushan's eyes again. 'I want Ara to continue living above all else. He cannot do that if Carth's God-King decimates Old Myria to its crumbled foundation.'

Shoushan shut her eyes against the wind and sighed with resignation. Some small measure of pride made her smile in the face of their greatest challenge. She answered. 'I should be honored. I did argue that you leave Tu'shik... but I am pleased. I gaze into the immortal soul lurking behind your emerald eyes... and I can see that you've discovered peace - both in mind and in life.

'You are ready. We shall face Erasyl as Daughter and Mother. As Children of the Gods. Only remember, that once we are committed, you will not be able to return from the threshold that we'll cross. As the Ashen Circle has always fought against their myriad foes - we grant death to our mark or we perish in the attempt.'

Voshki nodded.

A challenge from a familiar and authoritative voice carried on the wind's current to every corner of the Hanging Gardens.

Erasyl announced himself. 'Should I languish where I stand until dawn breaks and your haven of shadow crumbles? Come forth and meet this challenger, assassin. You need not become afeared. I am one man that has come alone before you. End your charade and come before me where we can speak eye-to-eye.'

Shoushan craned her head and answered. She continued to lean on her colonnade. 'God King. I thought that perhaps you had begun to grow fearful of Alastrine's judgement. The Goddess of the Underworld has decreed that your soul is marked for damnation and torment. You are destined for the Palace of Misery and Sorrow - never to return to the mortal realms of Khios.'

The God King intentionally did not answer Shoushan. Voshki reasoned that he would not mince words with an enemy hidden from immediate sight.

Shoushan extended Voshki a brief nod, stepping out from under the colonnade’s shadow, emerging into the light of braziers arrayed along the main walkway. She cautiously made herself completely visible to the God King until Erasyl noticed her standing in the moonlight.

Erasyl's stony expression brightened in pleasant surprise. 'Shoushan. The Grand Master of the Ashen Circle honors the Royal Palace with her attentions. Have you finally come to claim this ancient head of mine? I am surprised - I began to think that your allegiances were changing. Shall this be a celebration or a lamentable reunion?'

Shoushan smirked in the blinding orange glow of the fires. 'A lamentable reunion was this always fated to be. All the endless woes of Khios burden our shoulders... I would unshackle them from constant suffering and sacrifice.'

Erasyl arched his brow, impressed. 'Shoushan...' He lifted one finger as he asked. 'Are those words of repentance on your lips? You'll not find mercy in the comfort of Alastrine's shadow - only more anguish and torment in your own failures. That is what brought you here, isn't it?

'Your dark lust for murder and control. The constant cycle of betrayal that has ended the Kingdom you came to rule and seen them enslaved. Your shunning of the Children of the Sun and manipulation of the Children of the Gods to fulfill your own agenda. All the while you merely watched the Dominion achieve my bidding.

'Do you honestly believe that Alastrine loves you for your apathetic devotion? Do you think that claiming my head to bring her as a gift is going to deliver you from the dark fate that awaits you in the afterlife?'

A dark smile spread on Shoushan's lips; her silver eye boring through Erasyl as her emerald one held his glare. 'Alastrine may be wrathful about my failings, but what is a mother who cannot forgive a wayward child? But what would you know about Alastrine's immortal love? You've hidden from her all of your immortal years out of the fear of the pact you betrayed.'

Eraysl arched his brow. 'But you've assumed, Shoushan, that I've betrayed anyone. You've always presumed that you were chosen as a Guardian of the Dark. You continue to presume that Alastrine has favored you - when I believe that she has cursed you for the black sins that stain your soul.'

Shoushan's confidence seemed to waver like the flickering of a dying flame.

Voshki would not withhold her presence anymore. She emerged out of the shadow to stand beside Shoushan.

Eraysl's verbal barrage lulled when he finally noticed her standby her master's side.

Realization dawned on the God-King. His welcoming smile broadened. 'Voshki. What is this? You've continued to slip through my fingers for two decades and some odd years - only to come before me voluntarily in the Hanging Gardens of my own palace?'

Voshki sneered at him, disgusted.

Erasyl folded his arms out of patience. 'I am not in the habit of extending mercy to those who continually spit on my generosity. You could have reclaimed your glorious place among the Children of the Sun... but you've crossed the limits of my forgiveness. What you have failed to freely offer - I shall simply claim by force. I can clearly see that you'll not be dissuaded.

'Tabia shall have to make do with mourning your sacrifice.'

Shoushan nodded in agreement. 'She shall have to make do with that if worse comes to worst. Are we done with the pleasantries? Shall you draw your sword or bludgeon me with your words come dawn?'

Erasyl inclined his head. 'A Child of the Sun does not shirk from the threat of death nor any foe worthy of him.'

A crown of ethereal light burst into brilliance around the God King's skull like a laurel of light. Voshki shirked from the acute burst of blazing light into her eyes. Shoushan did not so much as flinch. As the summer wind began lash about the Hanging Garden - surging into her and her master with increased strength - an aura of bright radiance began to exude from the God King's mortal shell.

Voshki could not bring herself to behold his divinity - his brilliance too searing for her eyes.

Shoushan's hand on her apprentice's shoulder steadied Voshki. She smirked. 'Do not be afraid. He is no more divine than either of us.'

Voshki countered her growing fear with the rhythmic breathing Zagir had taught her so many years ago. A dark emotion pulsed alongside her heartbeat until she no longer felt doubt or fear - not even self-loathing. Familiar sensations came bubbling up to the surface of her psyche. An impulse to lapse into a murderous hatred and apathetic disdain for any life. 

Her forbidden desire crashed against the barrier to her mind - ravenously pursuing an entry it desperately sought. 

Voshki continued to inhale and exhale - concentrating on the chains she had broken to defeat fate and deny a Goddess' desire of her immortal soul. Destiny attempted to enslave her beneath the weight of chains once more, but not even the whims of a Goddess could bind her anymore. 

Voshki nodded. 'I am ready, Shoushan.' She fell into a combat stance with the Crowned Prince readied for the mortal blow. 

A dark miasma began to manifest around Shoushan the moment she planted a step forward. Writhing tendrils of shadow coalesced on the miasma's indistinct fringes. Each tentacle of darkness snapped and writhed even as more continued to ensnare Shoushan until she had become swallowed whole within the shadow mists itself.

Voshki did not wait for Shoushan - she burst into a darting run toward the luminous God King. She ascended the negligible stairs between Erasyl and her in one bounding leap. The Crowned Prince lashed out like a rearing serpent striking to deliver the fatal bite of its fangs.

Erasyl weaved around the blow at the last moment like he had anticipated the assault before it had begun. Sun-Caller lifted overhead - the hammer's head ignited with white-hot flames - Erasyl parried her thrust in a backwash of roaring fire that beat against her skin with an intense heat. The strength of his counter sent the Crowned Prine clattering to the ground - her grip on the haft lost.'

Voshki feigned to her right and kept herself rooted in place - Sun-Caller crushing through the empty summer air where he had anticipated her. As Erasyl committed into his move - she revealed a pair of wicked and crimson laced daggers hidden in her armor. She pounced toward the God King and buried one of her daggers in his chest.

The God King could only wince from the slight burst of pain lanced through his chest. Voshki made to swipe her other blade across his throat, but Erasyl blocked her attempt with a shielding arm. He leaned into the effort of his savage knee into Voshki's torso. He connected with enough force to cast her down the stairs she had climbed to face him.

As Voshki tumbled back down onto the Hanging Garden's main walkway - she caught a burst of shadow coalesce behind the God-King. Shoushan slipped out of her dark dimension - her slender blade poised to sever his head in one blow. A blinding eruption of light and force threw Shoushan back, but her master managed to keep on her feet in the face of such momentum.

Erasyl charged and swept into Shoushan from her left flank. His naked fist connected upon her temple and sent her flying backward further still. Shoushan slid backward with the momentum of his strike. As the God King pressed his advantage to overwhelm and strike her down - she halted him with but a flicker of movement. She lashed out with a pinpoint thrust that punctured a shallow wound in the tyrant's throat.

He relented only a fraction of ground and swatted her long sword out of his throat with a flick of his wrist. Sun-Caller hurtled by Shoushan - a fanning flame lashing out in the hammer's wake to shield him from her offensive.

Voshki ignored the aching in her bruised muscles and staggered back onto her feet. She willed herself back into the combat and raced back up the stairs. She pushed each burst of pain in her mortal shell aside.

Shoushan reeled from the fiery tongues that caught her in mid-retreat. She cried out from the flames searing kiss on her skin, searing minor marks on her facial features. Erasyl was already upon her by the time she could recover. Sun-Caller came crashing down on her long sword, but she managed to block his strike with her blade on the hammer's haft. She weaved around the weapon's flaming head before it could crush her skull into pieces.

The Grand Master of the Ashen Circle ripped her blade free and made a graceful diagonal cut across Erasyl's chest. The God King staggered slightly from the force even as he watched his blood fly from him in an arc. Shoushan followed into her cut as he lifted Sun-Caller in his defense. She leaned into a rapid thrust – her slender blade piercing clean through his right shoulder.

Erasyl swept Shoushan's feet out from under her with the hooked end of his hammer. Voshki cried out as she charged into him from behind. As her master collapsed in a heap at the tyrant's feet - Voshki brought the Crowned Prince down for the mortal blow.

Her venom-laced glaive cleaved through a blazing avatar of celestial sunlight. Where Erasyl's head should have rolled clean off his shoulders - Voshki felt her weapon connect with nothing more than air.

Something seized Voshki by the core of her chest. An invisible force that made her heart struggle to beat and her lungs labor for oxygen. Her vision of the Hanging Garden darkened until she could see nothing but the light-less abyss. She could feel nothing - save the sensation of entering free fall.

She only heard the God King's voice thunder across the void as if from every perceivable direction.

'Your defiance has blazed against Carth for long enough! Your misguided convictions are only matched by your ignorance... Why do you even struggle, Voshki? I was not the one who murdered your kin. And those who remained defied my mercy and forced my hand. You've spent all your years in a dark chasm so absent of light - that you willingly became something less than human in exchange for something reminiscent of the merest glimmer.

'What is it that you continue to seek through my death? Your wayward and wicked kindred-not-of-blood? 

'I shall grant you but one chance to achieve your insatiable desire to mend the mistakes of the past. Defeat me and deliver all the lost souls of your kin from the Gates of Her Palace. Claim my head before Alastrine herself - and present it as a gift to her for the centuries of error that I've created. 

'Let us see if your chains to the Goddess of the Underworld have truly shattered...' 

Voshki felt her consciousness spiral into the crushing weight of the abyss. Her inhalations came in choked gasps until she could no longer breath. Every moment of thought struggled against an overwhelming tide of terror. As she descended into oblivion's depths - she felt her consciousness fragment into grains of lost awareness. 

Voshki faded into the crushing black. Her mind disintegrated and dispersed into oblivion. An endless sea of night was all that marked her passing. 


**To Be Continued...**
Title: Re: The Embers of The Past: A Dominion of the Mind - Scene II - Expanded Content
Post by: Myen'Tal on February 23, 2021, 04:18:09 PM
So I've been researching and delving into some Writer's Circle for the first time. It's a surprisingly cool, but somewhat nerve wracking experience jumping into one for the first time, haha ;D. I've received one in-line review so far, and I've already learned some of the basic grammatical mistakes I'm making. I am glad though, that the reviewer's opinion was overall very positive  :).

It was the first scene from A Crimson Blizzard, and I appreciate Alienscar's help in correcting a lot of those mistakes in those scenes previously.

I'm hoping to get some more critiques over the next week, as I lean back into providing feedback myself.

Here is another scene from Dominion of the Mind that I've expanded on and continued to refine beyond the original posting.

~***~

Far beneath the sands of the Southern Wastes - Shoushan watched the outside world beyond the window of her chambers. She peered through the hidden cavern’s mouth into the scorched dune sea beyond. She would often revisit the sight before examining matters of critical importance - it helped clear her mind of distractions. As Sirius reached its zenith in the midday sky, she considered the fateful moment that would change the face of Khios - forever.

The door to her chambers slid open with a soft sound. The Grand Master of the Ashen Blades knew that the destined hour had arrived.

She inclined her head out of respect for the pair of royalty that represented all the Carth Dominion's leadership. Her gaze never left the sight of the outside world beyond her window. 

Somberly, Shoushan declared. 'Erasyl of Tu'shik. Firstborn of Man. Sun-Caller King of the Children of the Sun. God King of the Carth Dominion. I hear also that Tabia of the Disciples of Heaven has traveled here by your side. I am honored that both of you made the arduous journey to the Ashen Blades - if only for the chance to speak with me.

'I bid you welcome to my humble abode. I only ask that you accept my apologies for your travels through Suannir - the Royal Den of Vipers. I am certain it was no simple task for a monarch to descend into that lair of filth and villainy. I trust that neither of you came to harm from the city's criminal presence?'

Erasyl answered Shoushan with a patient tone that spoke more of wisdom and reason as opposed to absolute control. Shoushan shifted around to face him for the first time, her endless veil of raven black hair subtly obscuring her features. His placid voice belied his frame - crafted by the eye of the Gods and not of mortal breeding. He was the epitome of masculinity and yet his voice seemed well tempered with age and humility.

Erasyl met Shoushan's appraising eyes and smiled. 'Damnation's lure dwells within these blackened depths... I certainly feel Alastrine's presence -distant in the Royal Den of Vipers - finally approach me now that we meet face-to-face. Children of the Sun have nothing to fear from the Goddess of the Underworld nor her Palace of Miseries and Sorrow... and yet I've come to fear for the tainted souls that dwell in Suannir.

'Tabia and her Disciples of Heaven are cleansing the township in the celestial flames of our god. The underground city is ablaze even as our conclave is set to begin. Warriors of the Zar'qin Guard have set about eradicating the criminal syndicates that plague the souls eking out an existence in these forgotten depths. Suannir shall soon be emptied and forgotten to time.'

Shoushan considered the God King's revelation and scoffed. 'A shame things have come to such a head in Suannir... do not overstep in the presence of Alastrine, Sun-Caller. Immortal or not - you may discover there are fates worse than death when my Goddess becomes wrathful. In either case - you've come all of this way to bring your plea before me... see to it that no other settlement in Sukhan suffers from the Children of the Sun's transgressions - and I may remain willing to hear it.'

Tabia executed an elegant bow and apologized. 'Grand Master Shoushan - the fault lies with me alone. I thought the innocent citizens of Suannir deserved some gesture of kindness for their endless woes. I chose to end their suffering.'

Shoushan craned her head in Tabia's direction with a sneer of disgust lining her lips. 'So, you simply ended them all without a second thought?'

The Disciple of Heaven made an uncaring shrug. 'Are your meek and faithful truly destined for greatness in the lightless void of the Black Descent? In exchange for moments of agony, Sirius now bears witness to the light of their immortal souls amid the abyss that has swallowed them whole. He shall call him to his throne of Star-fire and grant them their eternal reward.'

Shoushan arched her brow, uttering a morbid curse under her breath. 'First, you claim responsibility for the eradication of my city... then you have the audacity to challenge the divinity of Alastrine to my face?' She shifted back to Erasyl. 'God King, silence your whore before I end her myself.'

Tabia stepped out of the dark and into the revealing light of the hearth fire. Despite her immortal years, her body retained the image of a woman who had entered the prime of her life. A golden-yellow cloak fell past her shoulders, resting on the small of her back and kept aloft by her wrists - kept near and around her chest. Beneath her cloak was a robe woven from three layers of vibrant satin fabric - the inner layer crimson, the mid-layer cream, and the exterior layer a lustrous shade of sapphire.

Her deep emerald eyes had a familiar shade and glimmer about them. Shoushan instantly placed the comparison in her memories. She cocked her head slightly at the revelation but remained unspoken on the matter.

Shoushan smirked, and then scoffed at Tabia's meager challenge. 'Should I be impressed that you possess the complexion and attire of a plain woman?'

Tabia lifted her fingers and snapped them once. Shoushan lifted her chin in surprise as the Disciple's fingertips bubbled with liquid fire. She first thought the gesture a simple trick - an illusion. Yet she could tell from the scorched pot marks left burrowed on her smooth granite floor that it was more a trick of the gods than of the mind.'

Tabia scowled at Shoushan. 'One more word and I'll sear the eyes out of your sockets.'

Erasyl rounded Tabia and placed a firm hand on her shoulder. His voice became the aspect of an authoritative father. 'Enough, Tabia. Or would you jeopardize our entire reason for venturing all this way into the Southern Wastes?'

Tabia snapped her fingers again and the bubbling fires dissipated off her fingertips. She bit back a confident smirk. 'We have no need of this craven backstabber, Immortal One. We only need her replacement to swear Sukhan's fealty to the Dominion.'

Erasyl dismissed her as if Tabia had become a nuisance. 'Tabia, do me a favor and take you leave. Wait for this conclave's end outside - by the door.'

Tabia shook her head. 'And leave this Master of Murder alone with you?'

Erasyl became more insistent. 'You have outstayed your welcome in the eyes of our Host. I cannot abide a conclave when tensions and impulsive minds rage like a fanning fire. It would be unwise to force the hand of a Master of Murder in her own home... so take your leave. I shall not ask again, my friend.'

Shoushan smirked intentionally in Tabia's direction, then smiled faintly as the Disciple bit back a snarling retort. She watched Tabia turn on a heel and exit her chambers without another word. Her enchanted door was slammed shut behind the Disciple of Heaven. Shifting her gaze back onto the God King of the Carth Dominion, Shoushan addressed him with a curt nod of gratitude.

Erasyl executed an apologetic bow - an exceedingly rare gesture to be drawn out of a God King, Shoushan realized.

She inclined her head in acknowledgement as Erasyl straightened to meet her appraising eyes. 'Very well, Erasyl. Your conclave with the Kingdom of Sukhan has begun on unstable cliffs and threatens to plunge straight into black seas. But they continue to hold together for the moment. Name your request and speak upon your reasoning.'

The God King gestured for Shoushan to take a seat in her own chair. He graciously seated himself in the same chair that her disciples often claimed whenever they answered her summons. Shoushan bit back an amused grin and humored him. She approached her desk and became seated.

Gesturing toward the enchanted door, Erasyl reversed the conversation's course.

His request seemed more of an indirect demand - one that seemed inevitable in its completion to him. Shoushan kept her silence and listened.

Erasyl smiled in that patient way that he had. 'You must absolve Tabia of her transgressions. As a Disciple of Heaven - she is used to the Solar God's constant cleansing of what does not please him. She is a firebrand. Should you be able to look past her zealous nature - then you shall find an alliance that you'll never quite comprehend. You'll claim benefits and rewards in great number from her friendship, but one can never understand the burden and cost of such a pact. Unless Tabia desired that you know.'

Shoushan nodded as she listened to Erasyl's piece of wisdom. 'Are you suggesting that I earn Tabia's trust for further understanding of the Dominion's agenda? Why would you desire an outsider to understand anything about your secrets?'

Knowingly, the God King smiled and held up one finger. 'What is an outsider, Shoushan? Someone born in the bloodline of another people? An aspirant that succeeds in trials to better his understanding and position in a secretive organization? Or an exile that perhaps has already studied each secret of her own culture to better understand their ambitions?'

Shoushan frowned and knew her façade was flawed somehow. She understood that Erasyl could see through the history of her past. 

Shoushan shrugged, then confessed. ‘Decades have come and gone since someone last called me a Child of the Sun. I can faintly recall my life during that time. All that remain are grains of faded memories, spilling through a cracked open hourglass. God King, do you know what the sensation of absolute power when coupled with self-fulfillment feels like?

'To saunter around an entire harem and beckon with a simple crook of your finger for the night's lover? To never know famine and death even as entire civilizations burn around you? To never experience aging in a mortal lifespan as the generations come and go with the times? 

‘The feeling is only ever fleeting sensations of pleasure, followed by long hours of existential dread. 

Shoushan flicked her eyes over Erasyl's stoic mask. 'Perhaps you do not understand, because you balance yourself between denial and acceptance. Absolute dominion and freedom. Pacifist and warmonger. But you cannot be both of any of these dualities. You're only one man with one mind - and immortality cannot change that.'

Erasyl countered with a countenance of stone - his words weighed with the brutality of experience. 'Shoushan, that is where you are wrong. Do you understand why I asked you any of those questions? Both of us understand that you know the answer to each of them. All of them are burdened with truth... You speak of duality and only being able to select one true path. Who were you in your past life?'

Shoushan began to see the God King's point.

Erasyl inclined his head in acknowledgement of her suffering. 'You have not done any worse than any other wayward children of Sirius. I am not your interrogator nor your religious chaplain. I am no bearer of the God’s judgement. Speak to me as one kindred spirit would to another.'

Shoushan desired to confess before the God King. His reaction would speak volumes about his beliefs and intentions.

She replied. ‘I am no different now than I was back then. A disciple of Alastrine - Goddess of Death & Sorrow - in all her myriad aspects, but I found myself invested in the art of death and her myriad forms.' A faint smirk creased her lips. 'One of the reasons why I shunned my self-righteous kindred. Another reason why I came to Sukhan to find like-minded individuals. Blackguards with blacker hearts. Cruel warriors who know only how to feast on the constant suffering of others. Devout murderers who sacrificed their souls to Alastrine in the hopes that they would slay for the rest of their lives - and relive their lust for violence in the next life as a reward for a brutal death in this mortal one.

Shoushan cocked her head at Erasyl. 'You should never have come to Suannir.' She felt disgust radiate from the God King of the Carth Dominion. 'And your whore has done enough damage to my city... take all of your slaves with you. Sukhan has no need for the Dominion.'

Shoushan made to stand and depart her own chambers when Erasyl interrupted her.

The God King commanded. 'Wait.'

Shoushan became frozen with but a word, more from surprise than the weight of his authority.

Erasyl leaned in toward her from the other side of the desk. 'The three questions that I first asked. Please, answer them for me.'

Shoushan scoffed. 'You waste my tim-'

The God King's patient voice became demanding – a promise of retribution in return for her defiance. Shoushan's smirk widened - a silent challenge for Erasyl to attempt to strike her down.

Erasyl became unmoving, assessing Shoushan for even the slightest hint of threat. 'You noticed something about Tabia earlier - something you chose to leave unspoken... You know of a woman with the same shade of color in her eyes. You studied her features and recalled someone quite near to your chest...'

Curious, Shoushan lifted her chin to stare Erasyl directly in the eye as she replied with another question. '... This woman is your child? The person that I thought similar.... her mother perished in her earlier years. Tabia cannot be her mother. I see no resemblance of her in you either.'

Erasyl shook his head in disagreement. 'Voshki is not my daughter... but she is Tabia's child. How she came to arrive in Suannir is a lengthy story. But you should be able to recall the memories of Voshki’s abduction… you did steal her away under the dim of night with your fellow assassins.'

Shoushan’s frown deepened. ‘How strange of a God King, to wait for years after the fact to rescue a stolen child from her abductors. You’ve known this entire time of Voshki’s truest origins? That she is a Child of the Sun? Why suddenly begin to care now?’ 

Erasyl’s fatherly smile remained unwavering. ‘She has changed in these last several years, has she not? Once she was only a fragile and unwanted child of the Royal Den – you created that fate for her. Another duality in the end of all of this, that you extended her the hope of another life. An illusion of freedom and true, breathtaking life… things she should have had since the day she was born in the halls of Tu’shik’s Royal Palace.’ 

Shoushan inclined her head. ‘All of that is true. I decided that she would never become your sacrificial puppet. After all these years, she may as well be useless for the purpose you're seeking her for. She is no immortal. She is no descendant of the God King of the Carth Dominion. Alastrine has marked her soul for that of a daughter – she is a Child of the Sun no longer.’

Erasyl inclined his head in acknowledgement but disagreed. 'Not even a deity can change the nature of the soul once created, Shoushan. Voshki is still of the Children of the Sun. She is a Child of the Gods. As both of us remain from birth to this moment. You too have sworn your soul to Alastrine for the purpose of rebuking my ambition… another futile gesture and another foolish duality – selling your soul does not change the God that fathered you.'

Shoushan dismissed him with a crude snort. 'Is Voshki the only reason that you marched through the Southern Wastes to meet with me for, father?'

The God King of the Carth Dominion looked to Shoushan. ‘Decades and more have passed since the last time you called me by that word. I am saddened, Shoushan, that your opinion remains unchanged about all your kindred in the Dominion. You remain ungrateful even as I left you alone to your whims for so long.

‘As your father, I should have rebuked you the moment you stole out from under me and fled into the Southern Wastes. I should have done what any good parent would have and instilled some discipline in you against your… deviant desires for death and control.’

‘Control?’ Shoushan scoffed. ‘That is more your realm than it is mine. This is the beauty of Sukhan and the Southern Wastes, Erasyl. None here have very much, but there are none in all this world that live freer lives than we do.’ 

Erasyl shook his head. ‘A shame that Voshki cannot have that luxury. She will never be free without knowledge of the entire truth. You cannot hide her from such revelations forever. You bound her with so many chains – only yourself could hope to help her unbind all of them, my daughter.’

Shoushan changed the subject. ‘Is Voshki the only reason you’ve come all this way into the Southern Wastes to assail me about?’

Erasyl confessed. 'We shall continue our discussion of Voshki another time. To answer your question truthfully, I desired to speak with you about Sukhan's clandestine operations throughout Khios - Old Myria being a significant topic. I do not demand or even ask that you return to the Children of the Sun... Only swear an alliance with the Carth Dominion.

Shoushan muttered a curse beneath her breath. 'Do I have a choice? Or was Suannir only a warning? Are you going to send legions across the Southern Wastes and destroy my entire kingdom?'

The God King nodded once in answer. 'I cannot leave Sukhan to its own whims and ambitions. Should Old Myria and the Carth Dominion declare war on one another - then your clandestine network could turn the tide of the entire war. I shall not risk the Autumn Queen Hazan offering you a higher price than the Dominion is willing to pay for your loyalty.

'So, instead of bloodshed, enter into the Dominion's coalition. Become a valued ally instead of a hated enemy.'

Shoushan nodded. 'Your coalition. Of course. An alliance of barbaric nations drawn together by the promise of Old Myria's wealth and an endless orgy of violence to drown an empire under. I know well enough that the Half-Giants of Kharan have pledged their axes to your banners. So have the Liche Priestesses of Osphinx.

'You declare that Sukhan has no option but to join the dominion in one sentence. Yet you pleaded for me to even hear you out mere moments before. I see no reason why my kingdom should bend the knee to your empire. You'll have your hands preoccupied in the western lands for generations. Whilst you become embroiled in the next continent spanning war - my own operations could make your war effort quite a hell for the Dominion.'

Amused, Erasyl laughed at Shoushan's naivety. 'If those are your final words... then there is nothing left but to send the Dominion's declaration of war. You shall regret the consequences when Sukhan is eradicated, and your people scattered - and you imprisoned beneath the city of Tu'shik.'

Shoushan scoffed. 'We shall see who will emerge victorious... I will not have you murdered in my own chambers. Return to your encampment and muster your forces. Return to the Southern Wastes and assault our strongholds when you are ready... I shall pray for you that our desert lands shall not swallow you whole.' She smirked again. 'Alastrine shall devour your immortal soul in either case.

‘Just tell me one thing, my divine father. Tabia is Voshki’s true mother. Does that make you her father-by-blood? Is she my… younger sibling?’
Title: The Embers of The Past: A Crimson Blizzard - Scene 1 - Post Writing Circle FB
Post by: Myen'Tal on March 3, 2021, 11:27:49 AM
‘Remember, my son, that any journey shall lead back to familiar roads. Your faith is always worth holding onto, even when you find only ashes of what used to be…’

Kendal Giram Qallin watched snow bury what remained of the Dawn Fields. A fell wind sliced through the dusk wolf cloak draping his quilted armor—dyed black and reinforced with extra padding. His breathing frosted around his lips and an aching cold oozed into the marrow of his bones. He felt the scabbard of his long sword jostle with every sudden quiver.   

His storm grey stallion, Qenroth, shuffled restlessly in the snow. Kendal reached downward to stroke his mount’s mane. He sifted his fingers through the combed, pallid strands of horsehair. 

Kendal had seen only his sixteenth summer when he had fled this land. His journey had been a long, winding road ever since—only now coming full circle back to the Mist Hollow. Several years had come and gone like the seasons, and the world he knew had changed forever.

Unceasing snowfall continued to fall over the Kingdom of Hallorn. 

Qenroth waded deeper into the luminous white blanketing the Mist Hollow. Kendal tried to remember the same stretch of golden fields on the fringes of the Deep Woods. He searched for the homely farmsteads and burgeoning villages. He looked for anything left to salvage from the destruction.

Scattered debris was all that remained of the homesteads - charred to ash from the fires of war. The once-prosperous villagers were nothing more than skeletal remains, corpses picked clean of flesh hung high from the roofs of their homes. The frozen remains of countless others lay buried amid the ruin.

Kendal beheld the death of the Dawn Fields—his childhood no longer existed—burned to ashes. Only his current self remained. Dark veined eyes of silver glimpsed every detail of his surroundings. His pallid complexion—gifted from his father Rynath’s elven bloodline—had become a lighter shade of caramel over the years from his mother Ankine’s Old Myrian heritage. Combed strands of raven black hair—powdered with fresh snow—fell in combed and wavy patterns around his slightly elongated ears. 

Kendal shivered underneath his armor, then glanced over his shoulder toward his mentor Vindiaccos. Melancholy burdened his words. ‘I used to play in these fields often in my childhood. The Dawn Fields were my second home away from my manor deeper in the Mist Hollow’s heart. I never knew anything about the world beyond these outskirts—not till I fled from home for greater civilization.’ 

Vindiaccos steered his mount to Kendal’s side. ‘Don’t surrender to despair. Your manor may have avoided the destruction thus far. Our foe is swifter than wind—and all-consuming like an inferno. Only days have passed since the first signs of an incurring raid—now death haunts the region.’

Fear weighed heavily on Kendal’s heart, but he banished his concern behind a stoic mask. 

A firm hand on Kendal’s shoulder reinforced his mentor’s presence. Vindiaccos absorbed the details of the grizzly scene before them. He asked. ‘Are you certain you don’t need me to come with you?  I’ve a hundred of my finest veterans at your beck and call.’

He gestured toward the deafening disturbance of armor jostling and war dirges sung through the howling winds. Kendal glanced over his shoulder to see a lengthened column of mounted raven-clad knights—midnight black against the snow laden landscape—forging a trail through the white fields. A score of banners woven from grey, black, and silver thread marked the elite cavalcade - heraldry of the Raven perched upon a chalice fluttering in the breeze. 

Kendal considered the small detachment, then glanced back at Vindiaccos. He answered him with a grim shake of his head.

‘No.’ He answered. ‘I’ll be fine. Our brethren are needed to protect the surrounding villages—my home rests in the heart of the woods—isolated from anything within half-a-day’s reach. You will only slow me down on the forest paths that will take me to the Emerald Road. It should be a short journey from there.’

His mentor inclined his head in agreement. He replied. ‘Your decision, Kendal. Which means we will need to part ways here at the Dawn Fields. I’ll lead my detachment down the Cobalt Way—we’ll follow the Vale River and check on any villages in the area. 

‘If we cannot find the source of this destruction, then it’ll be me who will come galloping to you. Promise me that you’ll do the same?’

Kendal nodded. ‘Should I encounter any warbands emerging out of the snow, I shall come galloping for you. Once I find my parents and get them to safety, I will do the same.

Vindiaccos’ countenance brightened out of nowhere and he punched his apprentice in the shoulder. ‘I’ve only met your parents on occasion, and I know we’re nothing more than acquaintances. Yet I believe that they will feel at home in the City of Raven’s Croft. It’s another chance to achieve their dreams, of which they’ve possessed since they settled in Hallorn with you.’ 

Kendal felt a reminiscing smile overcome him for a moment before concern wearied him again. ‘Akine and Rynath are my inspiration for becoming a Devoted of Hanneth. They believe I have a gift for sharing her teachings with the world.’ 

His mentor inclined his head in agreement. ‘Inspiration is good. It is the reason why I chose you as my only apprentice. Always patient in the face of every challenge—no matter the severity. Forged in the fires of temperance like a great work of steel by the Gods themselves.’

Realization dawned on Vindiaccos at his own words. He reminded. ‘You’re much like your father in that regard. Old stoic Rynath – you should hurry on to your manor. Deliver your parents and any you may find back to Raven’s Croft… in case you cannot find me, or I have left this world.’ 

Grimly, Kendal nodded in affirmation. He replied. ‘I understand, master Vindiaccos.’

Kendal spurred Qenroth in the direction of the Deep Woods and home. Over the course of years, the dark forests of Mist Hollow had conquered vast swathes of the fertile farms by neglect alone. On the overgrown outskirts of the Dawn Fields, nature thrived until the last outlying villages were almost in harmony with her presence. 

Qenroth trotted farther into the woods until the gloom between the black earth and forest canopy enveloped him whole. 

Vindiaccos shouted out from behind Kendal, his words encouraging. He spoke. ‘We shall meet again underneath this bleak daylight! Let the Heavenly Flame blaze in your chest and warm you against winter’s onslaught!’ 

 Ancient roots from centuries-old trees twisted down the steep hills and weathered cliff faces that supported their foundations. Hundreds of roots were buried on the hidden forest paths—so deformed and unique—that Kendal passed through them like naturally carved archways. 

Undeterred, he entered the maze. Mist Hollow grew and abounded around him, teetering higher and higher until the snow-laden canopy blotted out the wane light of the sun. He steered Qenroth over wooden bridges, fording half—frozen creeks and placid streams into the thick of nature’s labyrinth.

He peered through the endless veil in search of any signs for the grey elves that committed these barbarous acts. From the heart of the forest, the howling of wolves echoed out of the gloom. Slender shapes darted through the woodland brush. Kendal discerned them as quiet creatures from the way they kept their distance.

Dawn’s wane radiance gradually intensified over the passing hours. As Kendal journeyed onward, the forest canopy became lit through by the cascading rays of the midday sun. Before the noon sun had come to its zenith in the brightened skies, Qenroth had finally emerged onto the Emerald Road – its cobblestones covered with a thick shroud of snow. 

Kendal investigated the thinning fog in search of any nearby presence-either stranded or lying-in ambush—on the roadside. He noticed a hazy shape coalescing into view and craned his head to assess the surrounding terrain for danger. A familiar scent of charred wood and ash lingered on the wintry air. 

He listened to the wind wail, but heard nothing beyond the natural forest life. As Qenroth cautiously approached, Kendal beheld the remains of a travelers’ caravan. Each wagon in plain sight was nothing more than scorched ruins—a score of bodies half-buried in the snow scattered about the massacre site. 

Kendal reigned Qenroth to an abrupt halt on the massacre’s perimeter. A sense of foreboding quickened his heart—one glance toward the tattered banners not yet concealed by the snow—informed Kendal that it was a supply caravan for the Dawn Field Garrison. This garrison hailed from Ulannis village, more than half-a-day’s journey from Kendal’s manor. 

The ambush had befallen the caravan on their journey into the village of Brightmorn—from where Kendal had come. They had chosen the Emerald Road, unsurprisingly, unaware they were venturing directly into the raids burning across the Mist Hollow. 

Kendal cursed. The Lani elves were still on the rampage after all this time. A calculative thoroughness accompanied the carnage they unleashed upon the surrounding Halish lands the likes he had never seen or heard before. Nor could he understand the elves’ motivations—none among the Halish forces dispatched to the Mist Hollow understood either. 

A subtle crack - like the snapping of a tiny twig shattered the uneasy tranquility of the forest.

Kendal made no sign of acknowledging the sound and slipped out of his saddle. His leather boots vanished amid the deep snow. He searched the area for any signs of life, but could not find one soul. After another brief assessment, he trudged through the deep snow to approach the destroyed caravan. 

He stumbled first upon the corpse of a young woman - no more than twenty summers of age. Beneath the layers of animal hides was a silk dress of burgundy and off-white. Kendal knelt next to her and realized she had several slender arrows embedded in her torso. A gruesome and agonizing death, but Kendal knew that she had succumbed to the blizzard's sleep inducing cold. Coagulated blood frosted over had once trickled from her lips and built up behind her teeth.

Kendal grimaced as he gazed upon the distressing sight, transfixed. He whispered to the deceased woman. 'Hanneth's light reveal the hidden paths for you...' He picked himself up and continued to search through the caravan.

The supply wagons were ransacked by whoever had slaughtered their owners and guardians. Scattered across the main road were shattered chests, broken open with force both natural and applied. He uncovered all manner of currencies buried in the blood—stained snow. What Kendal had noticed was the lack of essential supplies needed to survive a journey.

The only mark of the Lani left at the site of the ambush was a forest floor riddled with a hail of spent arrows—broken ones, Kendal realized after picking up several. Of course, they had left behind their victims as well to freeze amidst the Black Blizzard. Several minutes of thorough searching left Kendal with precious little. 

He stood over the carcass of a workhorse slain under a barrage of feathered and steel-tipped shafts and shook his head in resignation.

 As the mist of his own breath evaporated into the snow-wracked air, he noticed another subtle breaking of twigs from behind him. The sound came more forceful this time, followed by the indistinct noise of another footfall pushing something forward into a bounding rush.

Kendal surrendered to instinct, whirling around with a hand on the hilt of his sheathed sword. A dark, hazed figure came rushing toward him through the lightening veil of snow. 

He unsheathed his long sword with a cry—practically ripping it from the scabbard—and parried the overhead thrust from the dim figure’s long spear. A shower of sparks erupted from the collision of their steel—stinging Kendal’s frosted features. His ambusher’s blurred outline hurtled past him after impact; such was the speed of her charge. 

 As the sentient shadow slid into a screeching halt amid the snow—so too did her features become visible in the midday light. She was all lithe muscle and grey skin—greyer than the brooding skies over the Mist Hollow. Raven hair flowed around her, caught in the wind like eels surging through gentle waters. She was clad in dull grey leathers to match her skin and the freshly tanned pelts of slain foxes and wolves. 

The lioness—Kendal could think of no other comparison so apt—slowly came out of her crouched stance, so near that her frosted breath mingled with his own. Her scarred lips were pale and full, spread into a wolfish grin. The only flaw on her features was a nasty crimson wound carved from her forehead down to the bottom of her jaw. He was convinced that if the blood had not coagulated and frosted, her skull would be visible beneath the deep cut. 

She watched Kendal with keen eyes the color of a deep sea. 

Kendal felt himself lift his hands in a non-hostile action, but took in the sight of the massacre around them. He noticed her leather boot planted triumphantly over one of the frozen bodies she had kicked out of the snow from her earlier rush. He noticed too, the brief assessment of her eyes over Kendal and the contentment in her sigh. 

He blinked, and the Lani darted through snow and rubble unhindered. Kendal parried a flash of her spear. She weaved around a counterstroke aimed at her chest, pivoting to push off her left foot. Her elbow crashed into Kendal’s temple. 

Kendal shouted in pain from her cut across his cheekbone. From her intentional graze, she seemed one to toy with her prey. 

The Lioness pounced—her spear thrust aimed for the bone in his right thigh. Kendal widened his stance—the spear passing between his legs—then countered with a swift fist for her face. 

She slunk beyond his immediate reach—coy laughter on her lips. 

Kendal scrambled back for distance as his opponent came for another bout. 

He changed his tact—his retreat shifting to an engagement. He swept his blade in a low cut for her right calf—the lioness dodged him with a graceful vault over his sword. She brought her spearhead up in a sharp uppercut—parried immediately on the length of Kendal’s leather gauntlet. Gripped one-handed, he answered with a flurry of blows from his sword. 

It was a sword dance - an experience that Kendal had never known. Though he struggled for his life - there was something alluring in reading his opponent's moves and playful manner - as she too read into his own struggle to keep up with her. 

Kendal could not tell if he was doomed or if she was too hesitant to try and land the mortal blow. 

Seeing an advantage, Kendal feinted to his left, then brought down a chopping blow to bring the Lioness to heel. 

Charging forward, the Lioness halted Kendal in mid-execution—her elbow pinned against the pit of his supporting limb. Kendal cursed—she created an opening wide enough to see him dead. The elf lunged into him… and meshed her pale lips onto his frosted ones. She gently shut her eyes for the briefest moment, then pulled away.

Kendal could only watch her fade into the wintry gloom—too stunned to halt her—laughing at him all the while. He sneered in disgust after he realized she would not return, more at his own weakness than anything else.

He brushed any thought of the Lioness aside and sprinted back to Qenroth. He climbed back into the saddle and spurred the horse into a full-tilt gallop down the Emerald Road. He wanted to turn back the way he had come—to warn Vindiaccos and rally the Raven Vale Knights to the defense of Qallin Manor. There was no time left—if there had even been to begin with.

Qenroth galloped, swifter than wind, to deliver Kendal to his homestead before all was lost.

~***~
Title: Re: The Embers of The Past: An Idyllic Place - Excerpt
Post by: Myen'Tal on March 8, 2021, 10:12:08 PM
Update!

Hi guys, been awhile since a post with some status updates.

Some may be pleased to know that The Embers of the Past has officially crossed the 70,000 word mark! That leaves approximately 40,000 words left in total before this version of the manuscript is complete.

Everything is still on track to the finish line.

In case you are curious, here is the revised completion status for Acts 1-3 and the chapters they contain. I'm getting near to wrapping up the second act, and moving on to the big finale!!

Haven't gone too much into the feedback that I received on critiques so far, but the information is compiled for when the manuscript is completed as a whole.

(https://www.40konline.com/proxy.php?request=http%3A%2F%2Fi.imgur.com%2FfKfkqCC.jpg&hash=0e55eeb2f732ed2e867288da66359663cbb0b97e) (https://imgur.com/fKfkqCC)

All that being said, without further ado, I thought I'd bring you guys another look at the 2nd Act.

I am still working on Oath of the Betrayer - which has become Oath of Brotherhood. I've done some reorganization on the story line thus far, but still not finalized yet.

Thanks for stopping by!


Excerpt of An Idyllic Place


A sudden beating on the door of Ara's guest chambers roused him from the nightmare. He opened his eyes and beheld the dim lighting of this unfamiliar room. Scented candles scattered across clean desks and empty corners were reduced to pooling wax—their warming light long since snuffed. Where the curtains draped over the windows began to part, cascading rays of the midday sun shined down upon him. 

Ara watched his reflection in a grand mirror—centered on a great dresser across from his bed. He searched the emptiness of his chambers for any presence—and almost made to climb out of bed as if he were going to walk to the balcony like he always did when he lived in the Zakarian manor. 

Each knock on his door became louder and more persistent, but Ara blocked the noise from his mind. He contemplated on the unfamiliar sensation overcoming him on awakening. A cold spell so intense, he half—expected his breathing to frost over.   

Something critical from his dreams had slipped his mind, but he could not place his finger on what had faded back into memory. Ara’s eyes widened—memories of his dreams drifting to the surface of his mind. 

Sighing, he repressed a deep shiver from within. 'Gods, why is it so cold in here?' 

The pounding on his door suddenly ceased. Ara remembered to grant permission, but the door to his chambers fell back on its hinges. His father quietly made his entrance.

Azat called out more to the room around him than to Ara directly. 'Ara? ... Gods, did he go wondering off?' 

Ara scoffed loud enough that Azat heard him. ‘Is this something urgent for you to wake anyone about?’

Azat craned his head toward the bed on the other end of the guest chamber. 'This hour? My son, it is noon. If this were the Zakarian manor, I'd have you laboring with the carpenters. To sleep so late-- it is unbecoming of anyone!' 

Lord Zakarian appeared on high alert as if he lacked the time to chastise Ara. His scolding glare wavered into concern when he swept his eyes over his youngest son for the first time this morning. '... Are you well, Ara? Gods, you look pale and full of fright.' 

Ara scoffed harder than he had before. 'Infernal Fires. It is only so cold in here.’ He swept out of his blankets, rolling off his bed and onto his feet. 'I'll have to ask the servants to start the fireplace this evening.'

Azat arched his brow, skeptical. 'The Island of Irothis is much cooler than Annahir. The northern winters did not bother you before—not this much—and in the heart of spring, no less.' 

Sighing, Ara shrugged. He replied. 'Perhaps I had a bad night's sleep... I cannot remember how long I was awake.' 

His father did not seem satisfied, but accepted the answer. 'Well, I shall have some of our physicians brew you something to help this evening. Go ahead and get dressed, then join us in the kitchen quickly. We don't have much time before you must see the Autumn Queen again.'

Ara perked at the sudden mention of Hazan. He ceased his complaints. 'I shall be there in a moment, give me five minutes.'

Azat cocked his head at Ara. He informed. 'I've had a bath drawn for you...' He folded his arms patiently. 'I remember what happened in the Throne Hall when I first introduced you two... cast any thought of our Autumn Queen from your mind. She is far and above our class. Not if we were nobility—by—blood could that relationship ever happen.' 

Ara shrugged, his head mirroring the cocked angle of his father. 'Impossible, you say? I did not realize that the Zakarian name was considered so lowly here in Annahir?'

Azat drew back, offended. 'You know what I mean, Ara. Watch yourself. Even I can see that Hazan does like you, at least she does, based on first impressions.' His expression softened. 'Believe me, I understand that some things in life aren't fair... but I don't want you becoming entangled in unforeseen consequences. Those consequences could be disastrous for Old Myria as well. 

'Remember, the Zakarian name lies in its storied history of serving and protecting others. It has never been our place to rule.' 

Downcast, Ara could not find the strength to argue further, especially after the realization of his dreams. The biting cold haunted him still. 

He merely nodded to his father, smiling to lessen the guilt Azat had to bear from his forewarning. 

Ara shook his head. 'I understand, father. I'll be in the kitchen before long...'

Azat nodded. He exited through the entrance to Ara’s room, back into the corridor. He replied whilst shutting the door behind him. 'There's plenty of women here in Annahir, my son. All manner of would-be soulmates. Just try to temper your unceasing ambition. You need not climb that ladder so fast. Slow down and appreciate life as it comes.' 

Ara considered the wise words of his father, then approached the windows to let the spring sun into his room. As the glories of Sirius shined bright over him, a melancholic smile spread on his lips when the cold finally began to subside. 

He smiled only because the sun reminded him of Hazan. 


~***~


Ara emerged from the bathhouse out of the cloying steam, stepping out into the bright sun of the northern spring. Ember Hearth Palace sprawled around him like an unending maze of marble corridors and pallid cream colonnades. He dressed himself in raven black robes that billowed in the cool wind, emblazoned with bronze calligraphy of the Irothian wolves. 

Handmaidens offered him their beautiful smiles, waiting on their ladies by the bathhouse’s entrance. Ara returned their interested looks with a faint smile and an elegant bow. He found that it was all that he had within him.   

On the exterior, he was the calm and patient noble presented in the facade he created. In the interior of his soul, however, his mind was a constant storm of thoughts. Regardless, he made his way down the beatific corridors in search of the kitchens. 

Why had he thought of Nishan in his dreams again? How did he relive his dreams the way he did, and in such greater detail than ever before? He often recalled the most pleasant aspects of his childhood when he fell asleep. It was a rare and disturbing thing to remember every death he had witnessed that fateful night. 

A woman’s voice—warm and languid like she had spent all her days under a cool summer sun—called to him out of nowhere.

'Ember Hearth Palace is a place of dreams.' She said. 'You need not look so morose when you pace its hallowed halls.’ 

Taken back—Ara snapped himself out of his thoughts, searching for the source of the heavenly voice. 

As Sirius reached its zenith in the midday skies, gleaming sunlight obscured a young woman standing by the open archways—the city of Annahir spreading over distant hills some leagues beneath them.

As his eyes sharpened, he first noticed the combed falls of light russet hair cascading down to the small of her back. An ornate headdress crafted from smelted gold crowned her head. A combination of Mother-of-Pearls and emerald tear drops encased in silver framing, dangled on either end of her headdress’ arched horns.

The young woman wore a thickly woven dress of sapphire silk, the shade so darkly rich that the sun's light seemed to dim upon it. Calligraphic symbols were emblazoned across the fabric, representing mountain peaks adorned with twisting trees, and the wind coursing through them. 

Her eyes were a deep shade of hazel—splashed with a soft crimson tint. Her lips pursed into a smile underneath her veiled features. He opened his mouth to speak even as he beheld her, but silence seemed the only word he was able to mimic. He had no clue who she was or if he was worthy of saying anything at all.

At his slack expression and apparent loss for words, she blushed. She laughed; the pleasant sound reminiscent of gentle tides coming ashore. Her retinue of handmaidens mirrored Ara's silence—born from anticipation as opposed to his mild surprise.

Ara suddenly remembered himself and made an elegant bow. He spoke. 'Your graceful words alone are enough to brighten this soul in these dark times, my lady.' 

A collected breath among the handmaidens drew further attention from the surrounding nobility of the One Hundred Families—Old Myria’s noble caste. 

‘Aiman.' She smiled. ‘It was not my intention to startle you.' 

Ara bowed again. 'Ara Zakar--'

Aiman chuckled softly at his expense. She gracefully interrupted. 'Zakarian. I’ve heard your name spoken in certain circles before. It was only my desire to introduce myself. We shall meet again soon, I’m certain. Queen Hazan and Lord Zakarian have me in their inner council.’

Aiman winked before anyone but Ara noticed. ‘I won’t waste anymore of your time, Ara.’ She rolled the name of her tongue. ‘I hope for a more in—depth conversation in our following conversations.’

Ara straightened himself, his smile genuine. He bowed a final time, and spoke. 'I would very much like that, Lady Aiman.'

Aiman smiled. Ara could tell she was impressed. Her handmaidens placed their hands on their mouths, amused laughter carried on the breeze. 

Ara felt Aiman’s watchful eyes follow him when he resumed his pacing down the corridor. He became grateful after stumbling across a pleasant scent of freshly baked bread, and roasted meat, and all manner of delicious smells between the two coming from a nearby door. Slipping out of the hall and away from prying eyes, did the youngest Zakarian reunite with familiar faces.

One of those faces, however, was unfamiliar to him. 

'Ara!' Azat called. He stood at the other end of a room created entirely from marble. Laid out across the vast amount of space were a dozen tables crafted from finely hewn redwood—the leggings and frame composed from a stone whiter than snow. ‘You’ll need to wolf down your food, but there's more than enough for you here.' 

Azat stood at the head of the table on the far left of the kitchens, by the cooks, who labored arduously to produce some of the finest food Ara had ever seen. Aslan sat beside him, while across the table, Kendal and an unknown individual continued to eat in silence. 

Aslan chuckled at Ara when he approached, seating himself on the other side of his father. He laughed. 'Have a good night's sleep, brother? I hope it was not some beautiful woman that's delayed you.'

Azat quietly rebuked his eldest son. Harshly, he whispered. 'Aslan, enough!'

Ara shrugged, uncaring. 'No.' The way he uttered the word made Kendal and the unfamiliar woman beside him look up. He brightened his tone for everyone. 'I did stumble across the path of a woman so beautiful, that I could barely speak when she called out to me.' He looked to Azat. 'She said that she knew you and the queen, father. Her name was Aiman, she said.' 

Azat nodded in recognition of the name. 'Ah, then your reaction was fairly normal. Her beauty and sharpened wit intimidate many young men her age. The Autumn Queen has often called her 'The Light of the West' - she is training to become one of our emissaries throughout the Autumn Realms. She shall be the voice of all the kingdoms, city-states, and all the myriad of factions that rule them--that Hazan currently rules over and any that maybe added to the empire in the future.

'You've done well to speak to her already. I would have introduced you with time, but would have given you fair warning over her otherworldly nature and overwhelming beauty. Hazan has often said that even she is jealous of Aiman, but the two love each other like siblings—not—of—blood.' 

Ara nodded, then gestured to Kendal and the mysterious stranger sitting beside him. He could not discern anything about her under the columns of hair as she continued to eat in silence. 

'Good morning, Prince Qallin.' Ara acknowledged. He looked back to Azat, and gestured toward the enigmatic woman in their midst. 'Father, are you not going to introduce us?'

Aslan's expression immediately soured. Kendal became tense, but pretended everything was normal. Only Azat seemed fine with the question. 

His father considered his finest choice of words even as Ara arched his brow. He finally answered. 'Ara... this is Voshki. She is a Sukhanite from the Southern Wastes... and she is currently in the custody of the palace guard. You can say that she is under my custody alone.' 

Ara blinked once, then several times as he considered what his father was not saying. None-the-less, he felt his stomach churn and his mood darken like a brooding storm. He shook his head and did not press upon the matter further. He picked out some food and began to eat in silence with everyone else. 

Azat considered the reactions of his sons with a scowl of disapproval. 'None of you have anything to say to our guest?'

Aslan grumbled. 'Who did she murder? Or did she steal out from under someone?'

Azat sighed. 'One more impudent word, Aslan, and you're going to find yourself on the floor. Understand?' 

Ara shrugged. 'Well, why is she alone in your custody? Her crimes must be bleak if you must watch over her personally. The commander of the Queen's bodyguard should have other important matters to attend to.'

His father clapped his hands once. 'I am glad that you have mentioned this, my youngest son. I do have important matters that cannot be avoided. Hazan has delayed your appointment, but hurry up and eat. I'll need you three to continue to watch over our special prisoner here. I only ask Prince Qallin, because I'll know that he'll do right by me.' 

Kendal perked at the mention of his name, and nodded swiftly. 'If you trust her, then I am not opposed to sitting in a room with her.'

The Sukhanite paused in her eating, and glanced up at Kendal, who locked eyes with her for the briefest moment. Ara spied one sparkling emerald eye before she turned back to her food, uncaring for Prince Qallin's compliment.

Aslan inclined his head toward Kendal. ‘I heard that your mentor and father have departed Ember Hearth to return to the shores of Ios, Prince Qallin?’

Not even Kendal could seem to lift his own melancholy today. 'Yes, as they promised they would.'
Title: Re: The Embers of The Past: A Sanctum of Swords - POV Test & Critique!
Post by: Myen'Tal on March 15, 2021, 11:26:50 AM
So, this scene is an interesting test. I'm practicing the utilization of the 3rd Person Character Limited POV - the goal of this exercise is to remain wholly within the POV the entire scene, which is not what I was doing before.

I've decided to test myself on this, due to a critique I received on the writing circle I joined. That critique in particular was really cool, because it was from an actual editor, who has his own website too! He critiqued the piece I shared as if I had sent it into his agency for review. He also provided a lot of insightful feedback on what editors tend to look for when they are reviewing manuscripts.

I did a lot of things well, but he also listed a number of problem areas that I could use work on. These areas are in POV, punctuation, adverbs, and some instances of telling instead of showing (which is kind of linked to the POV issue). Those were the big three, so I decided it would definitely be beneficial for me to work on these three areas.

So, here we are!

Comments and constructive criticism are welcome!

A Sanctum of Swords


“Drummir runs crimson from ceaseless battle as I had promised.” Nishan spoke. His words echoed into the abyss. “Blood runs in rivers on the battlements. Slain warriors choke the corridors where the fighting is fiercest. This is as it should be. Our Sanctum of Blades has no other purpose than that of ceaseless war, and the Dominion will understand this before long.” 

Underneath the Southern Wastes, the Scarred Child stood before the gates of the underground fortress, known only as the Sanctum of Blades. It would be the second gate that the Dominion looked to conquer, having already forced the fortress above ground into submission. It was Drummir city’s final defense, and would be the death of the stronghold when the Sanctum finally collapsed.   

He could not see anything beyond the cavern ceiling, but instead listened to the distant clamor of ceaseless battle echoing through the dimly lit tunnels. He cast his gaze behind him as the gates into Drummir’s Sanctum of Blades were gradually sealed shut with a deafening bellow. 

Ashen Blade disciples chanted in the dark around him. Every uttered syllable became a malignant shard of a dark incantation to the Goddess Alastrine – the Guardian of the Damned. 

The Scarred Child of Ak’shan did not chant with them—he was not born of the Southern Wastes. He would not become learned of their barbarous ways, and neither would they strive to embody the teachings of the deceased Carth Republic. But the Ashen Blades had learned respect for Nishan the Scarred, as he had learned to respect their own ways of war. 

He listened to the rhythm of the battle—noting which languages were being spoken most through their war cries. He estimated within his mind the increasing or shrinking distance the Sanctum of Blades was from the actual combat. 

Armed with foresight, the Scarred Child of Ak’shan knew that the hour of his final stand had come. 

His legend was a storied one. A lifetime’s history of great battles won, and a myriad of slain foes left in his wake. He had conquered entire civilizations from the Valley of Carrion to the Qi Steppes. Ancient cities raised in the mythical years of mankind’s ascendancy; he had seen toppled with but a whispered command to his generals of old. 

This was not how he imagined the final chapter of his life—deep beneath the surface of the earth itself, distant from the light of the sun. He never imagined that he’d be leading the desperate defense of a desolate kingdom like Sukhan. 

The Scarred Child of Ak’shan considered what were surely his final moments—and how he wasted them lying in wait for the inevitable. He sighed and unsheathed his ancient family heirloom—a prismatic scimitar—forged from Tears of Shymira. He fondly handled the sword in his hands, and briefly recalled the greatest moments of the four decades he had slain and conquered beside it. 

A mischievous grin spread across his lips, one corner to the next. 

He considered this last opportunity a minor blessing. After all, what better a death than one spent slaying the hated traitors of his fallen republic? Nishan supposed he was the last living son of that bygone era. God King Erasyl had butchered the rest in his great betrayal, and reduced even their graves to cinder to warn the world of his new dominion. 

Deep within his chest, he hoped beyond hope that Erasyl would meet with him on the field of battle, before everything came to ruin for the fortress defenders. 

A sudden and cataclysmic force quaked the Sanctum of Blades. Nishan had experienced the earth—shattering sensation before from the ignited essence of rarely used black powder.   

A maelstrom of death and sundered steel spilled into the cavern, before the gates. An implosion of dirt and shattered granite came raining down from the cavern mouth. Nishan saw Obsidian Vipers attempt to scurry to safety, but failed, buried beneath pillars of jagged rock. 

 He somehow managed to remain standing despite the continuing earthquake. Obsidian Vipers toppled around him as loose chunks of stone came rolling down toward the Sanctum of Blades. A choking smog came drifting in from the cavern mouth near the source of the implosion. 

Nishan sneered and lifted his blade so that it gleamed in the dim torchlight. ‘Warriors of Sukhan! Remorseless blackguards are you all! Let your blades maim and reave! Murder them all!’ 

Out of the smog, Sukhanite survivors from the Surface Gate emerged, embattled against the overwhelming momentum of the Dominion’s slave legions. As the Zar’qin Guard began to surge into the cavern in their hundreds, the Surface Gate garrison stumbled over the corpses of countless slain in their forced retreat. 

The Scarred Child of Ak’shan waded into battle. 

Nishan surged through the hundreds of Obsidian Vipers as they hastily picked themselves up to enter the fray. Sumera’s Kiss, his illumined blade, effortlessly cleaved through shield and crimson robes. The blade was halted only by the bone housed in the Zar’qin’s neck. 

He kicked the fallen slave warrior aside. A sliver of crimson—laced steel nicked the Zar’qin turning to face him. The Carthite’s sword clattered to the ground a moment later. His shield followed. Choking on poison, the Zar’qin could only lift a trembling hand to defend himself. Nishan judged his self-defense poor and cleaved him from navel-to-groin with one blow. 

A spear thrust came out of the dark. The Obsidian Viper that had come to Nishan’s defense died from a ruptured gut. The Scarred Child parried the second spear thrust on the length of his chainmail gauntlet. He tossed the spear aside with a flick of his wrist. Nishan lashed out, his grasping fingers grappling with the face of his attacker. 

Nishan pushed his weight into the momentum of his shove—and down the Zar’qin fell, onto his back. Spear lifted in his defense, the Zar’qin lunged recklessly, his desperate thrust finding the chest of another Viper—who parried at the last second. 

Nishan sliced his foe across the throat with an uncaring cut. 

The battle for Drummir raged on, but Nishan knew the fires of battle were already waning for the Sanctum of Blades to come directly under threat… months before it was intended to by its guardians. He did not need a summary of casualties; he knew those numbers ranked in the thousands. Thousands was all he was given in the weeks leading up to the siege. 

Such numbers would always pale in the face of the Dominion’s grinding war machine.

The Zar’qin Guard flooded the caverns before the Sanctum Gate in their hundreds. All of them were marked by the blood of their foes, their interlocked shields scarred and pitted, but intact. The crimson and cream standards that they bore into battle, were sullied with blackened dirt and spilt blood, and yet they waved on the verge of the Dominion’s triumph. 

Obsidian Vipers died without caring about their own survival. Nishan understood that they were aware of their doom, and that it had become inescapable at this point. Every nick of their poison—laced swords condemned another Zar’qin to an agonizing death. Whilst the slave legions of the Zar were disciplined and well trained, the Disciples of Alastrine had survived their entire lives in the darkest pits of humanity. 

The Children of the Southern Wastes outmatched any individual warrior of the Carth Dominion. They danced and flickered like living shadows—coming to life around their enemies—only to slit their throats or stab them through the chest.   

As Nishan strode through the conflict, hewing down Zar’qin after Zar’qin, he counted far more fallen Dominion soldiers than he did Obsidian Vipers. 

He knew that it did not matter. For every death the Dominion suffered—another waited in the legions held in reserve alongside their masters in the Children of the Sun. Another army in and of itself, and far better equipped and trained to eradicate any foe. 

Starving for glory, the Scarred Child only wished he could send a final message to the Children of the Sun and their God King betrayer. If only he could somehow…

Suddenly, the Sanctum Gate was thrown open with a deafening boom. Before anyone realized why, a guttural cacophony of war cries in an unfamiliar tongue quaked the entire cavern again. Nishan rammed the tip of his blade through the bottom of a Carthite’s throat, violently jerking the sword upward to split him open around the neck. He had no time to witness the spectacle.

Finally goaded by the Scarred Child’s brutal display of martial prowess, an entire unit of ten Zar’qin encircled him. They hastily closed the loop to entrap and strike him down without another loss. 

Nishan lost focus. He could no longer concentrate from the alien screams bellowing in his ears. Before he could sluggishly weave around the first nearing blade, a handful of dwarfing, slender figures tackled into the rear of the encirclement. 

Nishan blinked, and then the entire entrapment disintegrated amid cleaving great axes and scarred, half-naked muscle. Pink-skinned warriors with a pale reflection of the human anatomy piled into the combat around Nishan. Any one of their number easily stood four or five heads over the tallest Obsidian Viper. Gaunt were their physical frames. These warriors were so lean of fat, that their physiques were whipcord thin, packed densely with tightly woven muscle. Their hair flowed around them, wild and unkempt, in various shades of blonde, brunette, and fiery auburn.

They wore vibrant, flowing trousers, emblazoned with intricate patterns of brightly woven colors. Thick slabs of chainmail padded their legs, and reinforced their leather gauntlets. Pelts tanned from the hides of great, horrifying looking beasts cloaked their naked shoulders. Their males bared their naked torsos to the foe, gnarled, pitted, and scarred from what appeared to be ceaseless strife and conflict. 

Their women clothed themselves in warrior clothes—thickly woven tunics and flowing skirts, reinforced with animal hides and chainmail. Nishan could hardly tell the genders apart from the way they rent limb from limb with every swing of their mighty weapons. 

Nishan sneered, disgusted. He knew them as the Half—Giants of Kharan. 

A thick slab of a hand was placed on Nishan’s broad shoulder, making him feel like a child in the presence of the giant dwarfing him. He shifted to behold a mightily scarred warrior several heads taller than he. His gnarled skin was the shade of pinkish plumes. 

Obsidian and gold circles flowed over his rough, loose trousers in swirling patterns. A massive leather belt folded in over itself thrice—fold around his slim midriff. A great steel buckle held the belt in place. A crudely stitched together cloak crafted from the twin hides of Lantern Beasts cloaked his shoulders. Whip-like tongues lolled from the upper jaws of their horrifying skulls. 

Straw-blonde hair and a chiseled face chewed up by the blades of countless foes—presumably dead, watched Nishan out of curiosity. 

“You the Scarred Child?” The pinkish giant rasped. His voice was like the bellows of a great forge. He beheld Nishan’s myriad of scars, nodding approvingly. “My kin know me as Baal. You may thank your Grand Master for the arrival of my clan. There’s little time, so be swift and retreat through the escape routes beneath the Sanctum.” 

Nishan arched his brow. He hated the Half—Giants of Kharan nearly as much as the Dominion itself. “Why should I trust anything you say, Kharanite?”

Baal refused to repeat himself. He bellowed to his rampaging kin. “Break their bones beneath your fists! Grind their flesh into the dark earth! Sever their heads and sacrifice the rest…”

A tremor of horror rattled Nishan, for the first time in what must have been decades. He shook his head once, and called for any surviving members of the Obsidian Vipers to fall back and escape their demise. 

Baal. Nishan considered the ferocious warrior. How unlikely to find a savior in such a demon of war…
Title: Re: The Embers of The Past: Kindred Souls - Revision 3.0 - POV
Post by: Myen'Tal on March 27, 2021, 04:02:11 AM
Voshki listened to the wind come howling through the streets of Gor’rum, immersed in the storm’s calming ambiance. Zagir’s voice cut through the distant thunder, her proximity granting her quiet voice a noticeable presence. Her question came out of nowhere. She asked, “Do you know how proud I am of you, Voshki? You’re like my sister not of blood. I’ve never taught the art of death to a student so talented.”

From the eyrie of a fortress tower, Voshki beheld the ruin of fallen Gor’rum. Lightning fell from the heavens, cruel and wicked. Ruined streets quaked amid the storm’s fury. 

She gazed out across the breadth of the city; a monument of hubris built across the mountain valley it was founded on. Impoverished slums sprawled across the outskirts like a desolate sea. Once formidable strongholds dominated them like the summits of lesser mountains, now reduced into crumbling masses of stone. 

Of what remained of the City of the Cobalt Mountain, was only a shadow of its former glories. 

Voshki considered Zagir’s high praise as she beheld the permanence of Gor’rum’s desecration. She did not bat an eyelash. “I never notice much of anything behind your mask.” She smiled. “I appreciate your praise.”

Of Gor’rum, Voshki considered the ruins of the great city a decaying carcass. Her industrial centers—scattered with armories, blacksmith forges, and all manner of resources and raw goods—were being ransacked by the legions of the Zar’qin Guard. Under the Children of the Sun’s constant observance, so was Gor’rum’s Sarunite populace mercilessly put to the sword. District by bloody district. House by crumbling house. 

Any merchant family with sense enough had long since fled before the siege had begun some two years ago. She recalled the myriad of courageous souls she had fought beside during the city’s gradual slide into destruction. Most faces she remembered from the Sarunite nobles, formidable warriors that had tasked themselves with defiance until their last breath. 

Too proud to abandon their last remaining works, the Sarunite nobility had endured the siege beside their common citizenry. She could still hear an endless chorus of screams drifting from the High Quarter in the heart of Gor’rum. 

She caught Zagir’s death mask boring through her from a sideward, tilted angle. She replied, “Such steel in those words.” She chuckled, “is something bothering you, Voshki? You seem distracted. Did I offend you in some form?”

Voshki shook her head. “I’ve no qualm with you, Zagir. Do you think I’d never mention if we had bad blood between us?’ 

Zagir considered her question in silence. She shrugged, “I remain uncertain on that issue. You’re quite a box of hidden secrets. Sometimes your cryptic messages can be difficult to decipher.”

Voshki swiveled around to face her mentor, flustered from the accusation. “What does that mean?”

Zagir shrugged again. She chuckled, “You deflected my previous question. That is all that I meant. Something is on your mind, young sister. Your emotions and state—of—mind is important to me. It’s been two years since Shoushan assigned us here in the heart of the Carth Dominion and I remain your only confidant in near proximity…” She spread her arms in a welcoming gesture. “You don’t need to hide from an elder sister. I may have some wisdom about life that I can part onto you.”

Voshki contemplated heavily on her choice of words. “It is a great shame is all. Don’t you agree, Zagir?”

Her mentor cocked her head toward Voshki. She seemed puzzled behind the tormented expression of her death mask. Her voice emanated from the mask, smooth like a tranquil river. She asked, “A great shame, you say?” She shrugged again. “Pray tell, what has you brooding in silence so much?” 

Voshki sighed; exhaustion and concern banished any thought of smiling from her mind. She gestured about all Gor’rum with a flick of her wrist. “Us Ashen Blades are death and blood. Misery and all the sorrows therein lie in the wake of our passing shadows. Only a dark fate awaits those marked by our hand. There is not even hope.

“Perhaps I’ve only lived in the shadows, far from the light of the sun, but I’ve found kinship in Gor’rum’s hardships. A dark fate has befallen her citizens and heroic armies… All the hardships I’ve endured, pale in comparison to the sheer scale of this city’s suffering. My existence in the Den of Vipers was harsh, but this reality of life on the surface, laid out in plain view before me—It is a doom that makes me feel fear for the first time since…”

Zagir remained silent, thoughtful of her apprentice’s sudden confession. Again, Zagir shrugged. “Does being a blade in the dark mean that we have become the ultimate evil? Sniveling and craven beasts haunting all that is good and sacred in this world?

“Do you want the truth, Voshki? Fear is not everything that you should feel. Dearest sister, you should not only quiver, but tremble before the forbidden desires of Khios’ innumerable tyrants, pretenders, and regents who continue to persist in this bleak world. I am sorry if that emboldens disappointment with your newfound life on the surface, but I am certain you already understand that life up here can be even more difficult to endure than the Den of Vipers. 

“A greater shame for all the generations of Khios, is to allow concepts like tyranny and madness to continue its reign unchecked. There would never be another dawn for anyone, if people of our mission and caliber did not exist in the Ashen Blades. Our immortal task is to maintain balance on Khios. Perhaps us Ashen Blades are children of a dark creed, but we are a necessary evil. An evil that even the vilest creatures have come to fear. 

“As for Gor’rum, her fate was decided by the shifting tides of battle. Shoushan had granted the Sarunites a fighting chance, but this was never meant to last. Beneath the Dominion’s relentless advance, her fall was all but inevitable. Our mission remains a success. Our marks have suffered death, and none remain to dispute that.

“So, do you feel any better now?”

Saddened by her mentor’s unfiltered revelation about the surface, Voshki resigned herself to contemplation. Eventually, she sighed, “You’ve never been one to blunt your words for anyone, Zagir.” She flashed Zagir a brief smile. “I am burdened by all the familiar faces that have died fighting for our cause. I can do no more for Gor’rum than watch her citizens languish in the hands of the Dominion.”

“You cannot save everyone.” Zagir replied. She removed herself from where she leaned on the crumbling foundation of a light house. She patted Voshki on the shoulder and gracefully stepped around her. “Our time has arrived to leave this place behind—forever. I have news from our Grand Master that you will want to hear.”

Voshki perked at the mention of her departure from Gor’rum. She asked, “Where are we headed?”

Her mentor looked over her shoulder even as she pulled open the eyrie door. She gestured for Voshki to begin the descent back into the ruined roads beneath them. “We are headed back to the Southern Wastes. Our time in the Dominion has ended.

“I suppose I should not have to ask, but what did you think of the Sarunites? You seemed to care for them?”

Voshki descended the spiral staircase, Zagir followed close behind. She replied, “The Sarunites? You mean what do I think of them, certainly?”

Zagir replied. ‘Look around this fallen city, Voshki. Soon, none of them will remain to speak their stories. The children of Gor'rum were the last remnants of those still loyal to the Carth Republic before the Dominion inevitably collapsed it some two decades ago. Now that Gor'rum has fallen, I fear that any voice of dissent within the Carth Dominion itself has fallen into a permanent silence. The list of Carth's rivals and hated enemies continues to grow shorter every several years.'

Voshki shouldered into the cracked open door guarding the stairwell entrance.  She pushed the crumbling frame aside, coming into the temple's inner sanctum. This place of worship was now ravaged, reduced to nothing more than a faint shadow of its former glories.  

An unfamiliar voice answered her mentor. His patient tone lacked the vain glory that the Children of the Sun were known for. 

“It was nothing more than a divine hand righting civilization’s course. Gor’rum was granted her chance to prove the right of its existence—and failed. The gods have deemed her citizens unworthy of the deliverance they have begged for throughout these last few years.”


Voshki gazed beyond the temple doors into the streets of fallen Gor’rum. The sun’s brilliance shimmered upon the crumbling remains from clearing skies, near blinding to behold. 

A lone figure stood in the entrance. His bronze skin gleamed in the luminescence, draped in robes of cream and crimson that billowed in the wind. A sapphire tabard billowed in the wind at his feet, and a cloak of the same vivid shade flowed around him. She squinted into the bombardment of celestial sunlight, and noticed his heavy frame—all toned muscle and not an ounce of weakness.   

A single braid ran along his scalp, a cold black, and woven into form with golden lacing. An intricate mural of the Khiosian Pantheon was tattooed across his bare arms and barrel chest. 

A sudden gust ripped through the abandoned temple. Voshki beheld his brilliance, cascading upon him like dancing curtains of golden light. Her breath became caught in her lungs. Her heart skipped a beat. As realization dawned on the Ashen Blade disciple, icy tendrils of fear twisted around her heart. 

Alone before her stood the God King of the Carth Dominion. 

Zagir’s looming shadow shielded Voshki from his inscrutable gaze as she stepped between the God King and her apprentice. Glaive readied, her mentor fell into a combat stance. Voshki remembered herself and made to stand by Zagir’s side. The death masked assassin intervened. She forced Voshki back into her shadow with a broad sweep of her arm. 

“Hands off your daggers, sister…” She formulated her strategy in the span of several moments. Out of patience, the God King folded his arms. “Conceal yourself behind the sanctum’s altar. Spectate and learn until I’ve dealt with our guest.”

Voshki felt her mouth slacken in disbelief. “Zagir, you’re not going to—” 

“Go, and do as I say.” Zagir dismissed her with a flick of the wrist. 

Voshki retreated behind the temple altar. Leaning on the desecrated shrine, she kept a watchful eye on Zagir, who kept her hollow—eyed gaze fixed on the Carth’s Immortal Son. 
Title: Re: The Embers of The Past: Summary & Roadmap
Post by: Myen'Tal on April 11, 2021, 10:46:16 PM
Embers of the Past – A Summary

•   Embers of the Past is a High Fantasy Novel set in a classical-era inspired world of tyranny, corruption, and war-torn lands.

•   Khios continent is a harsh land, where tyrants, kings, and regents reign over lands once steeped in glory by their ancestors. Old Myria and her Autumn Realms are the last remaining coalition of free civilization, and have warred for centuries against the kingdoms of Carth situated in the Khiosian heartland.

Once a republic, the lands of Carth have fallen, descending into a civil war that has lasted three decades since their defeat at the hands of Old Myria, and the death of the former Sun Caller King of Tu’shan. Once more, time repeats itself as an ancient people once considered annihilated, have arisen in the Dominion again. These enigmatic ‘Children of the Sun’ aim to conquer all the lands of Khios in the name of their God King Erasyl, to defeat an ancient evil long forgotten by mankind, or so they believe.

As the Dominion begins to consolidate its control of the former Carth Republic, armies of indentured warriors and their masters in the Children of the Sun reach across every corner of Khios. Should heroes of old, whose times of glory have long been put behind them since the republic’s final defeat, be too late to act, then the consequences of the Dominion’s ambition could become irrevocable.
Three fledgling heroes gathered from across distant lands shall find unity and purpose not in their storied bloodlines, but by the grave events that have shaped each of their pasts.

A young prince of the Autumn Realm of Irothis, his family betrayed by a disillusioned hero of bygone wars, swears vengeance after his father forsook it to raise his sons.

A son of an elven prince and a human mother, devoted to his goddess, has his life changed forever after a fateful raid on his parents’ farmstead. When he barely survives and his mother perishes amid the flames, his father reveals revelations about his mother’s heritage that will draw him into the conflict on Khios.

A street urchin, rescued from death at the hands of a criminal syndicate, has her life forever altered by the Grandmaster of a forgotten fortress hidden beneath the underground city she has survived in since birth.

In a world abandoned by its gods, the last living God King sets in motion his ambitious plan to thwart the greatest threat to the race of men. A primordial malevolence that may perhaps predate humanity’s creation…

•   It is the first iteration in a planned trilogy.

•   Embers’ features the perspectives of three main protagonists, backed by a large cast of supporting characters.

•   These characters, including the supportive ones, I’ve labored a long time to make each one unique and standout. This includes personalities, origin stories (some of which predate the main narrative), and the option for expansion later in the series or in novellas & short stories.

•   Embers’ main story takes place on the eastern continent of Khios, a land dominated by two empires of competing ideologies, and lesser kingdoms that surround them on the fringes of much of the continent.

•   The empire of Old Myria & the Autumn Realms is the protagonist empire, where most characters are drawn from in Embers specifically. It is settled in the northwestern section of Khios, her territories isolated by the Veiled Mountains.

•   Old Myria is ruled by the Autumn Queens, a matriarchal monarchy that reigns over multiple, autonomous kingdoms within their empire’s influence. The Autumn Queens rule with a gentle hand on the tiller, and hold conclaves to hear the concerns and look to the future prosperity of all the Autumn Realms.

•   The Dominion of Carth is positioned in the heartland of Khios, surrounded by lesser kingdoms and would be enemies. The Dominion is reigned over by an enigmatic civilization simply called ‘The Children of the Sun’.

•   The Children of the Sun are a theocratic, militarized society, that is steeped in the wealth and prestige earned from the conquests of over a dozen kingdoms and grand city states.

•   They are reigned over by the Sun Caller Kings, a line of immortals that cannot perish from old age, and are unnaturally resistant to physical death. The Sun Caller Kings have always ruled as gods for over a thousand years, but constant turmoil brought by the downfall and ascension of the Children of the Sun over the centuries has seen the ancient line of the Sun Callers reduced to one last living soul.

•   God King Erasyl of Tu’shan is the last living son of the Sun Caller Kings. Currently, he reigns over the Carth Dominion he established after collapsing the Carth Republic thirty years before the main narrative.

•   As for our protagonist characters – as mentioned, there are three.

•   Ara Zakarian is the youngest twin son of Azat Zakarian, an Old Myrian war hero who fought during the collapse of the Carth Republic and brought peace to the lands after slaying the prior Sun Caller King of Tu’shan, Erasyl’s father.

•   Ara has sworn vengeance on one of his father’s old war comrades, after an arch—betrayal that saw his manor raided and many people he had always known slain several years before the narrative.

•   Kendal Giram Qallin was born on the western continent of Ios, and has lived his first sixteen years on his parents farmstead in the Mist Hollow. When a raid by the Druidic Lani tribes ravages the Mist Hollow, and his mother slain, Kendal’s father—an Ishalnan elf, and a prince of the Celithorn Empire, reveals truths to his son about his mother’s true Old Myrian heritage, and her former status as exiled royalty. When his father reveals that the current Autumn Queen has demanded that Kendal come to live in Old Myria as part of the royal family, his life is forever changed.

•   Voshki begins the story as a vagrant, a street urchin living in the subterranean city of Suann. One day, when Voshki is fleeing for her life from a criminal syndicate known as the Obsidian Vipers, she stumbles across an old, forgotten keep hidden behind an illusion. The Grandmaster of this keep comes to her rescue, and forever alters Voshki’s path to become one of the Ashen Blades, a syndicate of Assassins that secretly fight to keep tyranny and oppression in check across all Khios.
Roadmap:

So, the release portion of the roadmap is not set in stone, but here is what I’m looking to do leading up to release.

1.   Getting a hand drawn, completely custom, digital map made of Khios since the first trilogy is going to be set there.
2.   Getting a hand drawn, completely custom, digital cover book art created for The Embers of the Past – and all the marketing materials needed for soft book, handbook, eBook, and audiobook.
3.   Go through the full editing process for Embers of the Past – which will include a manuscript critique (scheduled for July 2021), line edit, and proofread (both will be scheduled toward the later half of the year).
4.   Establishing a website and social media channels

Post book launch:
1.   Assemble a launch team
2.   Hold a book launch
3.   Maybe get some custom art done for the series to place on the website
4.   Still deciding traditional publishing vs self-publishing (both have pros and cons)
5.   Hire some professional reviewers and try to garner reviews from interested friends.
Title: The Embers of The Past: Under Death's Shadow - Scene III - An Act III Excerpt
Post by: Myen'Tal on April 14, 2021, 12:00:59 AM
Under Death's Shadow - Scene III

Suranna Plains

Khios shook underneath Voshki, the Veiled Mountains trembling amid an ominous thunder. A northern stormfront laid siege to the craggy peaks, breaking the brunt of its momentum against Cressa’s Lantern. Inside Azat’s pavilion, she languished in chains, with only the gloom outside to light her surroundings. 

Shackled like imprisoned royalty, Voshki curled into herself by the corner where Azat’s Immortals had originally laid her down. Dawn’s first light had come and gone since she waited, much like the sun’s zenith, until dusk encroached upon the Veiled Mountains. 

Voshki waited in absolute silence for Lord Zakarian’s return. As she waited, the storm’s thunder never seemed to cease. She relished its deafening cries, finding reprieve from the endless solitude of her isolation. 

The storm broke against the ancient mountains, and the deluge came down harder than before. As night descended, she heard the first signs of armed forces on the march. Distant cries, commands from unfamiliar champions, flitted through the void of silence. She waited, until the encampment was revived with the sounds of human civilization. 

She heard hundreds of warriors disarm themselves for the night, throwing their weapons back onto weapon racks and laying their shields back down in their war tents. As the deafening sound of armies marching back into the encampment lessened, cries of agony became louder than the dissipating stormfront. 

Voshki listened to the horrific wails of the wounded, who survived on the battlefield long enough to be relocated to the encampment infirmary. She continued to wait, for anyone, or any sign of intervention, until the night sky glimmered in the eerie light of a full moon. 

As the Old Myrians lifted their voices in ancient war songs, did Lord Zakarian come staggering through the silk—veiled entrance of his pavilion. Surprised, Voshki concealed her initial gasp, blinded by a bright light carried in the Immortal’s hand. 

Azat sat something down on the council table with a loud clatter. Voshki’s vision cleared after a time, discerning Azat from the fading light as he fooled around with the contraption. She blinked the vivid shades of orange, sunburst yellow, and white out of her eyes, listening to the Immortal’s staggered breathing. As her vision returned, she witnessed the blurred image of a man exhausted from an entire day’s battle. 

Gory, crimson blood soaked Azat’s priceless laminar from head to toe, so much that its brilliant white sheen was utterly lost. Thick sword cuts were gouged across his chest plate, and his left shoulder guard was smashed to splinters. 

He smiled through a veil of soaked and matted coal black hair, that failed to conceal several new scars etched on his face. 

“I’m surprised,” Lord Zakarian looked her over once, “I more than half—suspected you’d break your bonds. You’ve waited all day for my return?”

Voshki, too exhausted from faint echoes of hunger, extended him a weak nod. She almost turned from him, when Azat whistled, then tossed her a burgeoning pouch that she caught between her chained wrists. 

“Here,” Lord Zakarian approached, concealing the pained sighs born from his aching body. As he knelt beside her, she caught the scent of perspire, gore, and storm rains that soaked him through. He produced a key in one hand, and beckoned for Voshki to offer her chained wrists in turn. 

Azat twisted the key into the hidden insert of her cuffs, the leaden iron clattering to the ground, useless. His gaze leveled with her own, he looked her in the eyes. “I trust that you’ll not become a danger without these?”

Voshki ignored him, proceeding to tear into the overfull purse he had tossed her after catching the merest whiff of sugar—sprinkled fruits. 

Azat said nothing when she crushed the first few pieces between her teeth. Gradually, he managed to stand. He made to return to his chair at the head of the council chamber. He said, “Gods, I am not as young as I used to be. That is certain. I’m crippled with aches I’ve never experienced in my life.”

Voshki spoke after wolfing down several pieces of fruit. “Are you going to live, old man?”

Azat glanced at her skeptically, then boasted with laughter that made him cringe with regret. He slammed his fist down on the table, and spat out a thick a wad of blood on the strategic map of Cressa’s Lantern. 

Voshki ceased her eating, and almost made to move nearer to him, if that were possible. 

Lord Zakarian lifted a hand to still her concerns. He sighed, “I am not injured. A Zar’qin caught me with a fist full of chainmail earlier in the day. One of my physicians had to remove a tooth. The pain is killing me. He promised me a sedative some hours ago, but considering the hundreds wounded on the field today… I would be unsurprised if he never returned tonight.” 

Voshki could not conceal her curiosity, and asked, “How did the battle go? Did the Old Myrians fare well?”

Azat shrugged, “The battle for Cressa’s Lantern is only beginning. However, our forces achieved our initial goal. The Dominion’s slave hordes were repulsed from Reaper’s Lantern, and the mountain pass has fallen under our direct control. Our forces shall now have access, an entry point, to spearhead into the rest of the valley.”

Voshki sighed, “It sounds like the coming days will be more difficult for Old Myria still. Zar’qin warriors prefer to fight to the last, then dishonor their Immortal God King. Trust me, Sukhan has dealt with their like more often than Old Myria by far.”

“Don’t underestimate our resolve.” Azat suggested, “The common folk of the Ardent Vigil managed to secure us the mountain pass. The fate of Cressa’s Lantern now falls squarely on the shoulders of the Knights of Myr, and their commander, Vahe of Grand Damira…”

Her voice weakened, Voshki chortled, “A wise decision to sit the next battle out. You should be commanding from the backlines in either case. Keep wading into battle like you did today, then I’d wager you won’t have much time left to you.”

Lord Zakarian grinned, “I will heed your advice, for tomorrow. Vahe is a brash commander and prefers great confrontations over tactical and well-organized strategies. There can be a place for both on the battlefield, but one must not dominate the other. 

“I am considering that perhaps… I could break your chains and send you alongside him. To be my eyes and ears, and more importantly, keep Vahe alive and safe.”

Voshki arched her brow. “Do I seem to be in any condition to fight to you?”

Azat nodded, “Give yourself a few days, and I shall make certain you’ll eat well. You act as if years have passed since you’ve left Ember Hearth. It has only been a few weeks, and you’ve barely suffered.” He paused, then acknowledged. “Except in isolation.”

Voshki sighed, “Then you’ll return me back into these chains. Where I’ll sit here until the war is won or lost… and then what?”

“Our war is far from lost, Voshki.” Azat corrected, “but, to address your point… I think you’ve suffered enough. I will allow you sometime tomorrow to walk freely among the encampments. No one here knows of your origins or who you are. You’ll find a practice field hidden behind my pavilion. You may practice alone, should you wish. 

“Agree to accompany Vahe on his mission into Cressa’s Lantern and I’ll vouch for you you before him myself.”

Voshki cocked her head at Azat. “Why not the Autumn Queen?”

“She would not spare you no matter how much I pleaded.” Azat admitted, “you murdered her younger sister, and nothing can change that. However, Grand Damira is Vahe’s court. That is where you are headed to serve the rest of your term. A quick word to him can end your entire plight before Hazan would, or perhaps ever, even find out…”

Voshki chose to remain silent on the matter, careful not to show signs of either denial or acceptance.

“I must ask for your forgiveness, assassin.” Azat confessed, “Old Myria is on the eve of war and terrible battle. I should never have dragged you into this crimson mire. Hazan desires justice for her sister Sirvat, so leaving you alone in Ember Hearth was not an option. You would have been drawn and quartered the moment I departed for the southern Autumn Realms. 

“It was never my attention to have you trapped in this ensuring war. Just wait here patiently, until the battle’s end. Then I’ll think of some further uses for your services, should you remain willing.” 

Voshki perked at his emphasis of ‘willing’. She asked, “How much is an Ashen Blade’s skill worth on the battlefield these days?”

Azat considered her opening for negotiation, and nodded. “To most of my kin, it would be nothing at all. But I can be pragmatic if you volunteer to help us win back Cressa Valley. So, Voshki of the Black Bane Mercenaries, what is that you desire? 

“Gold, perhaps?”

Voshki inclined her head, “Gold would be a reasonable start.”

Azat guessed again, “A warm hearth and a home to return to on gloomy days and cold nights?”

Voshki arched her brow, confused. She would never have thought of that one. “Here? In Old Myria?”

“Where else?” Azat scoffed, then sniggered. “You would return home to the Southern Wastes of your own volition? From what I understand, most Sukhanites youths that have a chance to flee their kingdom, never return. For good reason, too.”

Voshki decided to not outright decline his offer, but not accept it either. “Go on, I’m listening.”

Azat shrugged, pondering, “Would you love to command another band of mercenaries again? Old Myria has many willing swords, who look for prime commanders.”

Voshki could not conceal her smile. Neither could she dispel the burden of grief that came over her. She shook her head, “As kind as that offer would be, I’ve only ever commanded one band of mercenaries. I failed them. I have no right to command others anymore. But you are kind to give me hope of reliving my aspirations again.”

Azat placed an emphasis on his final suggestion. He countered, “Or, perhaps you’re searching for something far rarer and more invaluable. You obviously do not lust for wealth, or you would have accepted my first offer. 

“You reminisced about your old home in the Southern Wastes, and yet you entertained the thought of living here in Old Myria with interest. 

“You say you’ll never command another band of mercenaries, but you still desire to aspire to—something, anything…” Azat trailed off, then picked up again. “It takes an individual of great courage, to admit to someone they may not trust, that they are lost. Perhaps you’re not lost, but merely choose to wander through life, as I believe you’ve always done. 

“You’ve seen the endless beauty of the world and of humanity, as well as the darkest depths to which our kind can descend. You choose not to become either extremity, but to adhere to balance as a way of life. That, Voshki, is the way of the Children of the Moon. It is Jumunah’s path. 

“Those who seek balance, naturally strive to find perfection and a sense of place. So, why not find perfection in what you’ve already devoted your whole life to? Continue training to become a master of blades, but turn your purpose to an even higher cause. If it is a sense of belonging that you seek… you have brothers and sisters right here, ready to stand beside you.”

Voshki snorted. “Like whom?”

Azat placed a hand over his heart. “You have a mentor and a father in myself, so long as I live. You seem to think fondly of Prince Qallin, and he sees many great qualities in you.”

Voshki sighed. “And your sons? Are you going to tell me that they do not despise me?”

Azat flashed a knowing grin. “I believe that you and my sons are far more alike than you could ever imagine. Aslan and Ara, they simply know nothing about you, outside of the mistakes you’ve made. You cannot blame them either, considering your crimes. All that said, I hope Ara comes to know you as I have. I would pray, that you both see each other in the same light that I’ve come to see both of you. 

“I only ask that you not hate my sons for their ignorance… They’ve suffered much at the hands of Sukhanite blades, but that is an entirely different, and lengthy story to delve into.”

Vohski was silent, her head bowed slightly. She spoke after a brief quiet. “I didn’t know.”

Azat shrugged. “You could never have known. It is a black stain on the Zakarian name that we have chosen to keep near to our chests.”

Daring, Voshki asked the question plaguing her thoughts. “I trust that Lord Zakarian avenged himself for house and family? It is the way of Sukhan, and I hold no grudge for those who live by the creed of my kin. Nor those who die by it.”

Lord Zakarian frowned in disapproval, but thought the matter over. He replied, “For the peace of the sons that I still had to raise from childhood to where they are now, I made my decision to forsake vengeance. Hunting down my old war brother would not change what happened, and it could certainly have costed me more than my family has already lost.

“They lost their mother. I decided against being the fool, and stealing from them the presence of their father. Truthfully, I’ve not thought of the Scarred Child since then. I only remember my wife and the life I’ve spent with Ara and Aslan, and her when she still lived.”

Azat sighed. He rubbed his temple with a pair of fingers. “That is the reason why they cannot trust any man or woman from Sukhan. So, now you know. I’ve often told them that their hatred is weakness—”

Voshki pointed out, “You have a similar weakness.”

“A similar mistrust, to be certain.” Azat quipped. “But that is not hatred. Besides, you’ve changed my mind quite some time ago.” 

“I apologize,” Voshki proclaimed. “I believe you were offering me something?”

“Ah,” Azat slammed his fist on the table. “Where was I? If it is a sense of place that you’re searching for, then why not try your hand at becoming one of the Annahir Immortals?”

Voshki cocked her head. “The Autumn Queen’s bodyguard that you command? Why would you have me anywhere near the Autumn Queen, defending her person?”

Azat confessed, “I wouldn’t have you within Ember Hearth at all, truth be told. Yet, there is no reason you cannot operate beyond Annahir and even Old Myria. Prince Qallin and my sons also aspire to join, and Hazan and I have a test in mind worthy of their skills. Without her knowledge, you could take up the trial with them. Prince Qallin will do right by you as a brother. I know Aslan and Ara shall take time to adjust to you, but they will, I’m certain.”

Voshki imagined her return to the Southern Wastes, against Shoushan’s wishes for her to return as an Ashen Blade at all. Her mission in Old Myria was meant to grant her permanent freedom. Independence. Voshki was meant to define herself from then on. 

She was never meant to see Shoushan again. As much as she desired to return only for her, Voshki knew she could never do so considering her failure. She could only fade back into obscurity, and become someone different than the Voshki she had always known. 

She would become the Voshki she always desired to be. From where she stood, Azat and his offer for mentorship in the Annahir Immortals, was likely her best chance at success. 

Voshki looked an exhausted Azat in the eye. She grinned. “Do I also get the gold and home and hearth?”

Despite his miserable pain, Azat smiled in that knowing way he had.
Title: Re: The Embers of The Past: Quick Update!
Post by: Myen'Tal on April 24, 2021, 12:37:34 AM
Quick update!

Word Count: 98,000

Just need to finish 3 1/2 chapters before I can start the self-edit phase again.

(https://www.40konline.com/proxy.php?request=http%3A%2F%2Fi.imgur.com%2FD4g9U7a.png&hash=8ba2dc31dded0617ff57ccd1cfcab3a6f024b786) (https://imgur.com/D4g9U7a)
Title: Re: The Embers of The Past: Black Ashes - 1st CH - Ver. 4.0
Post by: Myen'Tal on May 6, 2021, 11:22:20 PM
Starting to get around to doing some serious editing! Turns out that the MS Editor tool and the 'Read Aloud' feature in Word is actually very useful when you combine the two for editing purposes. This is going to be one of my final passes before handing this off to the editor soon, so I need to get started now to get the whole manuscript up to standard  :).

After this pass, I just need to start implementing some more world specific terms and phrases to get rid of the common place and mundane ones.

~*****************~


Kendal Giram Qallin watched snow bury what remained of the Dawn Fields. A fell wind sliced through the dusk wolf cloak draping his quilted armor, dyed black and reinforced with extra padding. His breathing frosted around his lips and an aching cold oozed into the marrow of his bones. The scabbard of his long sword jostled with every sudden quiver. 

Qenroth, his ebon stallion, shuffled in the snow. Kendal reached downward to stroke his mount's mane. He sifted his fingers through the combed horsehair. 

Kendal was sixteen summers when he had fled this land. His journey had been a long, winding road ever since, only now coming full circle back to the Mist Hollow. Several years had come and gone like the seasons, and the world he knew had changed forever.

Snowfall fell over the Kingdom of Hallorn. 

Kendal tried to remember the same golden fields on the fringes of the Deep Woods. Qenroth waded into the luminous white to approach the ruined village. In vain, Kendal searched for the homely farmsteads and villages. He searched for anything left to salvage from the destruction.

Scattered debris was all that remained of the homesteads, charred to ruin. The villagers were nothing more than skeletal remains, corpses picked clean of flesh scattered amid the debris.

Kendal beheld the death of the Dawn Fields. His childhood no longer existed, burned to ashes. A shiver passed through him as he looked toward his mentor, Vindiaccos. “I remember these fields from my childhood. My second home away from the Mist Hollow's heart.”

Vindiaccos steered his mount to Kendal's side. “Don't surrender to despair. Our foe is swifter than wind, and all—consuming like an inferno. We shall cease their rampage soon enough.” 

Fear weighed on Kendal's heart, but he banished his concerns. 

A firm hand on Kendal's shoulder reinforced his mentor's presence. Vindiaccos insisted, “Are you certain you don't need me to come with you? I've a hundred of my finest veterans at your disposal.”

He gestured toward the deafening jostle of armor and war dirges sung through the howling winds. Kendal glanced over his shoulder. Out of the snowfall, a lengthened column of mounted raven-clad knights waded through the winter fields. A score of banners woven from grey, black, and silver thread marked the elite cavalcade, heraldry of the Raven perched upon a chalice fluttering in the breeze. 

Kendal considered the small detachment, then glanced back at Vindiaccos. He shook his head, grimacing. He answered, “No. I'll be fine. Our brethren are needed to protect the surrounding villages. My home rests in the heart of the woods, isolated from anything within half-a-day's reach. You will only slow me down on the forest paths that will take me to the Emerald Road. It should be a short journey from there.”

His mentor inclined his head in agreement. “Your decision, Kendal. Which means we will need to part ways here at the Dawn Fields. We'll follow the Vale River and check on any villages in the area. 

“If we cannot find the source of this destruction, then it'll be me who will come galloping to you. Promise me that you'll do the same?”

Kendal agreed, “Should I encounter any warbands emerging out of the snow, I shall come galloping for you.”

Vindiaccos” countenance brightened. He lightly punched his apprentice in the arm. He replied, “I've only met your parents on occasion, and I know we're nothing more than acquaintances. Yet I believe that they will feel at home in the City of Raven’s Croft. It's another chance to achieve their dreams, of which they've possessed since they settled in Hallorn with you.”

A broad smile spread on Kendal's frosted lips before concern wearied him again. “Akine and Rynath are my inspiration. They believe I have a gift for sharing her teachings with the world.”

His mentor affirmed him with a sigh. “Inspiration is good. It is the reason I chose you as my apprentice. Always patient in the face of every challenge, no matter the severity. Forged in the fires of temperance like a magnificent work of steel by the Gods themselves.”

Realization seemed to dawn on Vindiaccos. He reminded his apprentice. “You're much like your father in that regard. Stoic Rynath. You should hurry home. Deliver your parents and all survivors you find back to Raven's Croft… in case you cannot find me, or I have left this world.”

Grimacing, Kendal nodded. “I understand, Vindiaccos.” 

He urged Qenroth onward.

Vindiaccos shouted words of encouragement to his apprentice. His words echoed, “We shall meet again underneath this bleak daylight! Let the Heavenly Flame blaze in your chest and warm you against winter's onslaught!”

Qenroth trotted farther into the woods until the gloom between the black earth and forest canopy swallowed him whole. 

 Ancient roots from centuries-old trees twisted down the steep hills and weathered cliff faces that supported their foundations. As he rode, Kendal ducked under a maze of hanging branches. Small falls of snow shaken from half—buried foliage came raining down on him whenever he snagged a tree limb in his passing. 

Mist Hollow grew and abounded around him, teetering higher and higher until the snow-laden canopy blotted out the wane light of the sun. He steered Qenroth over wooden bridges, fording half—frozen creeks and placid streams into the thick of nature's labyrinth.

Kendal searched for marauding bands of elves through the ceaseless snow. Wolves howled out of the gloom, hidden in the heart of the forest. Quiet creatures of the wood darted through the underbrush. 

Dawn's light continued to intensify over the passing hours. As Kendal journeyed on, the forest canopy became lit through by the cascading rays of the midday sun. Before the noon sun came to its zenith, Qenroth had finally appeared onto the Emerald Road, the cobblestones buried underneath a shroud of snow. 

Kendal searched for any presence in near proximity. His hawk eyes scanned the forest for stranded souls and bandits lying in wait by the roadside. Before long, Kendal noticed a hazy shape coalescing into view. He craned his head to assess the surrounding terrain for danger. A familiar scent of charred wood and ash lingered on the wintry air. 

He listened to the wailing wind, but heard nothing beyond the natural forest life. As he approached, Kendal beheld the remains of a travelers’ caravan. Each wagon in plain sight was nothing more than scorched ruins. A score of bodies half-buried in the snow scattered about the massacre site. 

Kendal reigned Qenroth to an abrupt halt on the massacre's perimeter. A sense of foreboding quickened his heart. A glance toward the tattered banners not yet concealed by the snow, informed Kendal that it was a supply caravan for the Dawn Field Garrison. This garrison hailed from Ulannis village, more than half-a-day's journey from Kendal's manor. 

The ambush had befallen the caravan on their journey into the village of Brightmorn, from where Kendal had come. They had chosen the Emerald Road, unsurprisingly, unaware they were venturing directly into the raids burning across the Mist Hollow. 

Kendal cursed. The Lani elves were still on the rampage after all this time. A calculative thoroughness went with the carnage they unleashed upon the surrounding Halish lands. Nor could he understand the elves’ motivations.

A subtle crack - like the snapping of a tiny twig shattered the uneasy tranquility of the forest.

Kendal made no sign of acknowledging the sound, but slipped out of his saddle with caution. His leather boots vanished amid the deep snow. He searched the area for any signs of life, but could not find one soul. After another brief assessment, he trudged through the deep snow to approach the destroyed caravan, Qenroth pulled along by his reigns. 

He searched his surroundings with subtle glances, but could not discern any threat nearby. A woodland beast, perhaps?

He stumbled first upon the corpse of a young woman, no more than twenty summers of age. Beneath the layers of animal hides was a silk dress of burgundy and off-white. Kendal knelt next to her and realized she had several slender arrows embedded in her torso. A gruesome and agonizing death, but Kendal knew that she had succumbed to the blizzard's sleep inducing cold. Blood trickled from her lips, building up behind her teeth.

Kendal grimaced as he gazed upon the distressing sight, transfixed. He whispered to the deceased woman. “Hanneth's light reveal the hidden paths for you...” He picked himself up and continued to search through the caravan.

The supply wagons were ransacked by whoever had slaughtered their guardians. Scattered across the main road were shattered chests, broken open with force both natural and applied. He uncovered all manner of currencies buried in the blood—stained snow. What Kendal had noticed was the lack of essential supplies needed to survive a journey.

The only mark the Lani left at the ambush site was a forest floor riddled with a hail of spent arrows. Broken ones, Kendal realized after picking up several. Of course, they had left behind their victims as well to freeze amidst the Black Blizzard. Several minutes of thorough searching left Kendal with precious little. 

He stood over the carcass of a workhorse slain under a barrage of feathered and steel-tipped shafts. Kendal shook his head in resignation.

 As the mist of his own breath evaporated into the snowy wind, he noticed another subtle breaking of twigs from behind him. The sound came more forceful this time, followed by sounds of someone bounding through the snow. 

Kendal surrendered to instinct, whirling around with a hand on the hilt of his sheathed sword. A dark, hazed figure came rushing toward him through the veil of snow. 

He unsheathed his long sword with a cry, practically ripping it from the scabbard. His blade parried an overhead thrust from the dim figure's long spear. A shower of sparks erupted from the collision of their steel—stinging Kendal's frosted features. His ambusher's blurred outline hurtled past him after impact; such was the speed of her charge. 

 The sentient shadow slid to a screeching halt amid the snow. Her features became visible in the midday light. She was all lithe muscle and gray skin, grayer than the brooding skies over the Mist Hollow. Raven hair flowed around her, caught in the wind like eels surging through the seas. She was clad in dull grey leathers to match her skin and the freshly tanned pelts of slain foxes and wolves. 

A Lioness, Kendal thought, came out of her crouched stance, so near that her frosted breath mingled with his own. Her scarred lips were pale and full, spread into a wolfish grin. A nasty crimson wound was carved from her forehead down to the bottom of her jaw. 

She watched Kendal with keen eyes the color of a deep sea. 

Kendal lifted his hands in a gesture of peace. She planted a leather boot on the back of the corpse she had dragged out of the snow. She studied him with cold, calculating eyes, that concealed a hidden flame beneath the façade. 

He blinked, and she darted through snow and rubble unhindered. Kendal parried a flash of her spear. She wove around his counterstroke for her chest, then pushed off her grounded foot. Her elbow crashed into Kendal's temple. 

Kendal shouted in pain from her cut across his cheekbone. 

Agile beyond human limitations, the gray elf pounced. She aimed her spear thrust for his vulnerable thigh. Kendal let the spear pass through his legs, then countered with a swift swing to give himself distance. 

She slunk beyond his immediate reach, coy laughter on her lips. 

Kendal scrambled back as his opponent came for another bout. 

He stopped his retreat, and committed to an engagement. He swept his blade in a low cut, missing the bandit's limb by a narrow inch. She brought her spearhead into an uppercut. Kendal parried the strike on the length of his gauntlet. Sword gripped one—handed, his fury of blows drove her back.”   

Seeing an advantage, he feinted to his left, then brought a chopping blow to bring the elven bandit to heel. 

Charging forward, the gray marauder halted Kendal in mid-execution, her elbow pinned against the pit of his supporting limb. Kendal cursed. She created an opening wide enough to see him dead. The elf lunged into him… and meshed her pale lips onto his frosted ones. She gently shut her eyes for the briefest moment, then pulled away.

Kendal could only watch her fade into the wintry gloom. He was too stunned to stop her, whilst she mocked him even as she faded into the winter gloom. He sneered in disgust after he realized she would not return, more at his own weakness than anything else.

He brushed any thought of the Lioness aside and sprinted back to Qenroth. He climbed back into the saddle and spurred the horse into a full—tilt gallop down the Emerald Road. He wanted to turn back the way he had come, to warn Vindiaccos and rally the Raven Vale Knights to the defense of Qallin Manor. There was no time left if there had even been to begin with. 

Qenroth galloped, swifter than wind, to deliver Kendal to his homestead before all was lost.
Title: The Embers of The Past: Black Ashes Ver 4.0 Scene 2/2
Post by: Myen'Tal on May 19, 2021, 08:07:43 AM
Alright, so as I promised... I've been working away on the reconstruction of Chapter One.

I wanted to implement a few things with this chapter:

More creative, specific language in the form of terms and phrases for each culture/civilization that I created for the Embers of the Past.

I've decided to start with the first chapter as that seemed a good a place as any. Here is a short list of what I've changed:

Kendal's horse had a name change to Atlas, as opposed to the former name Qenroth, which was just too similar to Kendal's name lol.

Kendal Giram Qallin --> Kendal Ciluran Qallin

Lani Elves --> Lai'nurai Ishal

Elf --> Ishal

Elven Gods --> Ishalnan

Lani Elf Antagonists for CH I --> Siren Wraiths Clan

Lai'nurai Druid --> Dur'waith

Qenroth, Kendal's Ishal war horse --> Atlas

Qin'sar --> Noble-blooded Children of the Sun

Zar'qin --> Slave Warrior

Tu'shik --> Grand City of Canals

That's all I can think of for the moment, but this list will inevitably expand as I make the final pre-manuscript critique pass.

Second, recreating Chapter One has proven a very fruitful endeavor. I've had to split the original chapter into two, since there is so much new material.

This time, I've been aiming to create a really suspenseful, almost otherworldly event that will start Kendal's narrative. Of course, the consequence to this is that I must now take a look at all his dialogue and chapters, since now I think I've finally found this character's voice.  I've noticed that the Kendal I want to write about is still in the other parts of the text, but his narrative arc as a whole just needs to be brought in line so that it's consistent.


~***~


Swifter than wind, Kendal rode into the heart of the morbid winter. Sunlight dwindled the farther his steed, Atlas, raced into the primordial wilds of the Mist Hollow. The winter conspired with time itself, strengthening until the horizon became a deep, colorless gray. A shrieking wind cut through his armor, lashing against his bones. A heavy snowfall clouded the path forward, until he had only his memories to guide him onward. 

From the dark heart of the Mist Hollow, sirens wailed into the bitter wind. Kendal first thought them howling predators on the hunt, until he noticed hazed, slender figures emerging out of the white shroud. Wherever Kendal heard the eerie wailing, he noticed only more of these strange, bipedal creatures appearing through the snow. 

Each time he heard their cries, the closer in proximity they seemed to come with every reappearance. Kendal spurred Atlas to the height of his limits, gliding like they had never done, but still the spindly shadows seemed to be closing an invisible noose around his neck. 

Kendal realized, when the first arrows struck the foliage around him, that the disturbing shadows were of the Lai’nurai Ishal, the Druidic and enigmatic race tormenting the Mist Hollow.

His heart almost burst within his chest, when the first Lai’nurai lying in wait behind a roadblock of hewn down trees, unveiled themselves with ear-piercing screams. His warhorse reacted on instinct, before Kendal even thought to take control of the reigns. Atlas diverted from the glinting tips of moonlit spearheads, weaving into the untamed forests of the Mist Hollow. 

The Lai’nurai were everywhere, Kendal realized, spotting the gloomy shadows by the score in any direction he searched for them. These Ishal were deathly pallid, so brilliant a white that their skin almost matched the snow blanketing the forest. Their shapes were whipcord thin, lithe enough that an ordinary man like himself appeared twice their girth. 

These Ishal were incredibly gifted of height, their males two heads over the tallest of men. Their hair was a deep contrast of dark and pallid shades, often dyed into soft, but bright hues of color. Their eyes unnerved Kendal most, piercing stares of lavender, cerulean, and vermillion piercing the winter gloom even when the Lai’nurai were all but invisible. 

Kendal could not shake the feeling that hundreds were watching him flee for his life. They studied him for every perceptive detail of horror and unease, many of them displaying a not—so—subtle mirth behind their cold, pitiless gazes. 

Inexorable, the Ishal strode through the winter woods toward him. Yet their aggression was subtle. The Druidic creatures refrained from closing the last few leagues between them and their quarry. Their archers, however, loosed entire volleys at him while they shrieked into the fell wind. 

A constant rain of luminescent, cerulean—white tipped shafts came raining down around him. Atlas weaving behind the protective bulk of teetering trees, Kendal was convinced the Ishal considered him sport rather than a threat to be neutralized. 

By Hanath’s deliverance herself, Atlas burst out of the labyrinthine realms of the Mist Hollow. Kendal found himself riding through a field of violet roses, where leafy white stalks, crowned with gold, bent unceasingly with the wind’s direction. Of the towering trees, the countless varieties in the Mist Hollow faded in numbers, until only several of the Anorian Guardians dominated all the fields beyond the forest. 

The Guardians were so world defying, that their branches and leaves formed an endless domed canopy over the entirety of the Mist Hollow’s heart. Their hulking trunks rivalled the girth of entire valleys, and their height rivaled those of the mountains. Their created canopy contained every kaleidoscopic color, so translucent that Kendal at first thought he had entered a world hidden under a sky of stained glass. 

Kendal remembered his pursuers, and snapped back into focus. He remembered where he was now; only a stone’s throw away from the farmstead of his childhood memories. He glanced over his shoulder more than once in search for the Ishal, but after the seventh time, Kendal wagered they had ended their pursuit.   

Nestled in the gargantuan flank of an Anorian Guardian, the Unknown Valley’s entrance loomed where the fields of violet roses came to an end at a massive cliff face. Kendal spied a natural, off—beaten path that would lead him safely down the cliff and into the foothills surrounding the miles’ long valley. 

Hope kindled, then blazed within his chest as Atlas galloped the last few miles around half of the most southward Anorian Guardian. When he approached the lowlands where his homestead was isolated, his hope withered into despair at the first signs of pillaging. 

Atlas twisted down winding roads, guided toward the smoke billowing into the bleak night where his homestead should be. The ashen pillars were only visible by the great orange glow appearing to bathe all the secluded valley. 

Kendal refused to surrender to temptation, and throw himself headlong into danger again. Atlas descended into the lowland farther still, until the heart of the Mist Hollow vanished from sight. All that remained was the valley carved into the flank of a mountainous Guardian, swallowing him whole.   

Once in the valley proper, Atlas raced across the last few leagues between his master and his home. He dared to hope that his parents were still alive. He dared to hope that somehow this was all a nightmare he could not awake from. 

When Atlas stumbled across a familiar path, and rode through the toppled gates leading through walls strong enough to rival a fortress’, Kendal no longer dared hope for anything. He rode swifter than wind itself through the shattered gates, trampling its dead guardians underfoot, and came into the lush, fertile fields of the Qallin Farmstead. 

The Lai’nurai Ishal were strange beings. Kendal would have thought them lustful for Seanna’s Wishes, the enchanted substance grown and harvested on Qallin farmstead. Even a purse full of the stuff was worth entire strongholds and the armies that garrisoned them. Yet the Ishal left several acres ripe with the enchanted pearls untouched. 

Laboring for breath, Atlas finally slowed when crossing through the last acres separating him from his farmstead. Kendal lightened his demands on the Ishal warhorse, knowing that if Atlas collapsed, then his efforts to rescue his parents were for nothing…

The fires of hope faded within Kendal’s chest, scattered like dead ash, when he laid his eyes upon Qallin farmstead. His home was already engulfed by a raging inferno, all eight tiers of the grand work charred so badly that the entire house had collapsed in upon itself. Shocked into inaction, Kendal could only behold the sight of his entire life fading away amid the dancing embers. 

Of the Lai’nurai, there was no sign. All they had left in their wake, Kendal noticed after a brief pause, was a field of their slain foes left at the foot of the blazing destruction. Kendal steeled himself, and slipped out of Atlas’ saddle. He quickly took his horse by the reigns, and walked the last remaining paces to where the dead lay in their open graves. 

The heat from his burning manor became so intense, that his skin started to sweat profusely after a minute or two near its remains. Kendal pressed onward, however, until he stood on the perimeter of the massacre site. He studied the unblemished faces of each, and every poor soul heaped over the snow. Many were Qallin Manor’s farmhands and armed garrison, many of which he remembered in the days before his sixteenth summer. 

There were others. Distant kin of his Cenlori father, Rynath Ciluran Qallin, of which Kendal could not bear to see what they had plainly suffered before their demise. Of the scores that were heaped in the manor courtyard, Kendal could not seem to find the faces of his parents amid the death and ruin. 

Relinquishing Atlas’ reigns, Kendal patted the wearied warhorse, instructing him to stay nearby. Almost irreverently, he began to sift through the ranks of the dead. He tried with some semblance of ceremony to wade through the fallen for any sign of his father and mother, until he finally cast such notions aside. He picked up any corpse that looked to be burying another, throwing it aside with abandon when it did not uncover what he searched for. 

A voice unfamiliar by its spoken words, but vaguely familiar by the pure sound of its hushed breathing, called out to him. 

“None of the kin you’re searching for are here, half—blood.” 

Kendal picked himself up out of the bloody mire surrounding him, and turned back toward Seanna’s fields. He blinked, but could not dispel the illusion before him. The lioness he had encountered on the Emerald Road stood before him. She held no weapon at the ready, but kept her arms folded in patience. 

Kendal searched her stormy blue eyes, and found, to his surprise, a great empathy behind what he remembered a cold, calculative gaze. 

She spoke again, “There’s nothing left for you here. You should not have hoped that the gods would be merciful to you…”

Kendal studied her, perplexed. He asked, “Who are you? You’re not one of the Lai’nurai?”

She frowned, the expression brimming with distaste. “I am of the Ishal, but of another clan. The Siren Wraiths are no kin of mine. That is the reason why I am here in the first place. Doing the same thing that you are. Hunting our enemies.”

Kendal shook his head in deliberate motions. “I did not race all this way to defeat an army on my own.” He gestured to the mansion, a despairing laugh slipping his lips, absent of anything good. “I cam—”

“Search all you want, little Qallin,” She interrupted, “Your parents aren’t here any longer…”

Kendal felt the dying flame of hope gutter within him. 

The Ishal’s words sparked his dying spirit, until it blazed once again. “Your parents still live, Kendal. I saw them make their escape back the way whence you came from. You should know that they do not have much time.”

Kendal shrugged, and pushed any thought of her out of his mind. He whistled, calling for Atlas, and mounted back into his saddle when the horse came racing for him. He paused, before he spurred Atlas toward the exit. 

Kendal looked toward the Ishal warrior maiden in his midst. “You have my eternal gratitude—”

“Ishali,” She proclaimed, “My name is Ishali Winterwood… Do you think you’ll rescue your parents from that Lai’nurai horde on your own?”

Kendal arched his brow, “I don’t understand why you care, Ishali.” Speaking her name was like a revitalizing breath. “Why are you here, telling me what I need to know?”

Ishali shrugged, winking up at Kendal, her eyes fierce with interest. “I’ve a qualm with these brainless barbarians… let me ride with you, Kendal. I can guide you to your parents far sooner than you can find them on your own. Let me fight with you. I swear on my life that you’ll never regret it.”

Kendal almost became insistent, wanting to demand more information from her. But after some thought, he relented, and gestured for her to hop on Atlas’ back. Ishali chortled at him, and then whistled through the snow. Her own mare came trotting out of the fields, a pure ebony warhorse with a mane so lustrous, it sparkled in the firelight with an incredible sheen. 

Ishali gracefully mounted her mare, patting its mane. “Come, Naila, we must ride swift for our new friends here.” She looked to Kendal. “Come, let’s ride!”

Kendal spurred Atlas into a full gallop, and still found himself trailing behind Ishali when she commanded Naila with only a spoken word.
Title: The Embers of The Past: Kindled Hopes
Post by: Myen'Tal on May 26, 2021, 05:16:20 PM
Another reveal of Kendal's overhauled narrative - this time quite a bit later in Act I.

~~~~*********~~~~


A crackling of wood drifted from the hearth fire, flames filling the emptiness with a pleasant heat. He had slept peacefully to the calming sounds, and the soft lullaby of the summer wind. Nestled away under quilted blankets, Kendal awoke at the first sound of firewood tumbling deeper into the hearth. 

He opened his eyes, taking in the scent of burning apple-wood, and found the cedar roofs of his home housing him within his room. After spending his whole life beneath this roof, the mere sight of it became stifling. Unadorned walls crafted from fine redwoods never seemed to change. 

Too familiar for him to feel anything beyond a distant nostalgia. It offered no challenge, but the same mundane tasks he had come to endure for all his years. 

Kendal watched the hearth blaze, flames rising like the defiance of one’s true purpose. A purpose many took for granted in these blissful days; he knew. For years, he was no different. Always thinking the gods had a place for him. Always confident that some aspect of destiny would forever alter his life the way he saw fit. 

It was like his father, Rynath Qallin, had spoken to him the day before.   

“What would you do if destiny altered your course the way you desired? Would you stride through these doors like a fated hero? You, a young boy with many aspirations, but learned of none of the lessons that such heroes would know by heart… Remember, my son, that patience is what separates true myths from even legends.

“You want to live forever? Of course, you do, everyone does. Then I suggest you continue your studies, and keep chopping firewood… you’ll never wield a sword without respect for the basics of life itself. Let alone anything so demanding in the disciplines of the mind and body.”

It was only upon awakening when Kendal realized how much his father’s words bothered him. Tried as he might to pull the blankets over himself and fall back asleep, the effort was futile. Eventually, he kicked off his quilts and rolled over to sit on the edge of his bed. Minutes passed into hours, as Kendal spent his night before the hearth fire, reflecting on himself. 

He always did so absent the watchful presence of his parents. As Kendal thought about his mistakes, his father Rynath always so quick to point them out, he knew he would not fall asleep again tonight. 

Leaping to his feet, Kendal drowsily navigated the spaciousness of his room. He wove around the gnarled oak roundtable placed at the heart of his chambers, past a triple door wardrobe to approach the space most familiar, and beloved by him. With a ginger touch, he nudged aside his assortment of scrolls and ancient tomes, gathered from across the fabled lands of Ios and Khios continents, his parents had always bragged. 

Kendal wasn’t so certain if there was any truth to that. But he wouldn’t argue that some of the finest scholars of their own ages had placed pen to parchment, creating some of these exemplary tomes from ages long forgotten. 

He sat down within the claustrophobic confines of his study, somehow at home amidst the chaos. 

Picking up one of the dust-laden tomes, a gentle knocking at the entrance of his room interrupted him. Kendal leaned out of his armchair, twisting uncomfortably toward the source of the disturbance. The door came sliding open in silence, without even a squeak to betray the presence of the one who had opened it. 

A woman of unblemished caramel skin, dressed in flowing night robes of pallid lavender and beige silks, stood before him. She leaned against the doorframe with her arms folded, eyes of golden amber watching her son with a curious look. Her endless falls of hair, a dim shade of midnight, was bound into a great crown around her head. 

Nairi, his mother, studied her son within his adapted environment. Casually, she swept her gaze across his room for anything alarming, before it settled on Kendal again. With a puzzled arch of her brow, she smiled in the way he had always recalled. As he would always remember. 

Kendal made to open his mouth and explain himself. Yet, Nairi cut him off with her own confession. 

She sighed, “Can't sleep? I thought you’d be up, reading your books.” After her confession, Nairi swept into her only son’s room, and closed shut the door behind her with the quietest muffle. 

Nairi kept a hand raised to the doorway as she contemplated her choice of words. She warned, “You shouldn’t be up like this. You’ve given your father more than enough to worry about these last few weeks… Don’t you think, son?”

Kendal shook his head in disdain, turning back to the tome clutched in his hand. He unfurled the sprawling pages, and started skimming through their contents. Without looking up, he asked, “When have I given either of you cause to truly worry about me? It’s not like I’m half a world away, just out of reach of you for forever.”

“No,” Nairi agreed, but pressed her point. “It’s your sixteenth summer, Kendal. We know you’re no longer a child. No one is trying to treat you like one… You jest about being across the world itself, but once you choose to walk out of these doors, then you could very well be so distant from your parents.”

Kendal sighed, becoming frustrated. He set the ancient tome in his hands back down on the table. He tried his best not to accuse them outright. “If this is supposed to happen, then why am I being berated by guilt and fear? Both of you always said, there must come a time when I must know more than what the Mist Hollow has to offer. Why are both of you changing your minds?”

Silent, Nairi drifted away from the door to his room, and seated herself in one of the roundtable chairs by the burning hearth. She shook her head, “Your father isn’t angry with you, Kendal. Neither does he vent his frustrations to my face… he becomes inward when he must confront his own mistakes. Much like his only son, I might add.” 

“What mistakes?” Kendal cocked his head at her, “he only ever believes himself right.”

Nairi lifted her hand in a gesture of calm. “When you have lived a century or two short of several, then you may have wisdom enough to question his doubts about you. If I were you, son, I’d start assuming the faults were my own. I would begin to think about how I could mend them, then turn that weakness into strength.”

Kendal shook his head, “Mother, I cannot waste all my years in this lonely place. As much as I love you and Rynath… there has to be somewhere else as comfortable as all this.”

Nairi warned him again, “Reality is far harsher than you realize, Kendal Ciluran. Push too hard on the boundaries, and it’ll all come raining down upon you in ruins.”

The door to Kendal’s room fell open once again, the frame filled this time with the shadow of a majestic figure. 

“Nairi,” The familiar tone of his father’s patient voice called out to them. “Leave us. I’ve words for Kendal meant for him alone…”
Title: The Embers of The Past: Progress Update & Oath of Brotherhood, Scene III
Post by: Myen'Tal on June 10, 2021, 08:14:37 AM
Progress Update:

Manuscript has reached about 102,000 words. Less than 8,000 away from hitting my target word count of 110,000. I think I'm going to over it a bit at this rate.

I'm actually writing the final chapter of Embers of the Past now, basically wrote the first two scenes. Now I'm just tying up some scenes I never quite finished, then everything should be ready for my critique.

I've done a lot of editing, kind of paused to resume writing the story again. But getting ready to dive back into editing the rest of the manuscript once I complete it.

Almost finished overhauling Kendal's entire Act I narrative arc, just have one last scene for him to go. Then I've one more chapter to seal up, and a battle to edit through on the fly, and that should be it!

I want to thank everyone who is still holding interest! It might be a while before I'm able to go through the other editing steps with Embers, but if that happens, then I'll switch to Plan B to focus on the Map + Website + maybe some additional art for EoTP.

Azat stood alone on the battlefield, abandoned since the evening dusk of yesterday. Ominous thunder split the dawn skies asunder till they wept. Ceaseless rain came pouring down from the heavens onto the mountain pass of Reaper's Lantern. Galerider waded through crimson water coming up to his ankles, through the innumerable dead heaped upon the craggy earth. 

Azat took in the aftermath as the storm raged on. Cleansing rain washed away the gore and filth of the battlefield back into the Suranna Plains. Despite the weather, warriors of the Ardent Vigil hunted the field without end. Each of their number combed through the dead's morbid legions in search for wounded or deceased comrades.

Thousands had died in the span of a single day. Azat gazed out across the thick of ruin left in the wake of two clashing armies. He shuddered at the sight of such violence and death. It was no different than that fateful day, thirty years ago, where a King had perished, and his armies put to the sword. 

Yesterday, he had little time to assess the damages done to his forces. The battle at Reaper's Lantern had not even came to close that night, when Azat was forced to quit the field to execute his strategies for the morrow. Of course, the first day of the battle had proven indecisive. Old Myria had repulsed the Dominion back into Cressa's Lantern, but his own battered army was all but spent holding their ground. 

Azat knew any attempt to spearhead an assault into the mountain valley was suicide. 

So, as the dawn sun crested the horizon, Azat waited for the Carthites to take to the field for another day. He was unsurprised when less than a fraction of the Dominion’s hordes sent against Old Myria yesterday, came riding down the steep slopes into the mountain pass. He counted about two hundred riders, a mix of Zar'qin warriors and their Qin’sar masters, riding under one banner. 

They held aloft no white banners for parlaying, but Azat knew that was precisely what they wanted. He knew from the God King of the Carth Dominion riding at the fore of the cavalcade. 

Erasyl of Tu'shik, Azat thought, in the flesh himself. 

Azat folded his arms, standing his ground before the oncoming stampede. The Ardent Vigil combing the fields looked up from their grisly task. They saw the enemy charging through the heavy rain, and drew their swords out of caution. His Immortals quickly gathered around him, forming a protective formation as the Carthite cavalry began to slow when they drew near enough. 

Their voices carried on the howling winds; their wailing battle cries distorted by the storm, sounding like howling sirens of death. A handful of the Anahir Immortals clashed their swords over shields to strike courage in the hearts. A handful of Ardent Vigil glanced over their shoulders toward safety, but the presence of the Anahir Immortals amassed in the backfield forced them to look forward. 

The deathly cries of the Dominion's warriors continued to haunt the Old Myrian ranks, well after the cavalcade halted amid the battlefield. Azat felt the earth under his feet gradually cease its shuddering, as his enemies kept a respectful distance from the Old Myrians. Still, they were near enough that he could make out their shadow clad figures in the burning light of pitch—soaked torches. 

From the howling ranks of the Dominion, one warrior rode out toward Azat alone. He shouted the command for his archers to stand down, and spurred Galerider to meet the Dominion's herald on middle ground. Galerider waded through the endless dead and came into the light of a lonesome torch, blazing between either army. From the opposing direction, Erasyl of Tu'shik did the same. He rode a massive ebon warhorse the size of which Azat could only imagine in fairy tales. 

Lightning cracked open the dark skies, and thunder bellowed until the Veiled Mountains quivered out of fear. 

The God King of the Carth Dominion smiled graciously when he first noticed Azat's approach. The two figures neared one another until they stood face to face, and could see the white in each other's eyes.

“Lord Zakarian,” Erasyl intoned. He brought his gargantuan mount to a halt, looking down on Azat with a look of extraordinary pride. “I should have known you'd find some way to survive the onslaught. I must confess, that you've impressed me. I can see why my father was struck down by your hand, when you were in your prime.” He looked Azat up and took in the sight of his repaired armor. “There is not a talented blacksmith in all the world that could clean out all the blood in those iron scales.

Azat disagreed, “It is the blood of the countless slaves you've sent to their deaths, and of the friends that perished fighting against them. This is not a wardrobe that I'm proud of.”

The God King inclined his head out of respect. He replied, “Azat Zakarian, the Black Wolf of Irothis… I remember the days some thirty years ago, when you were a much brasher, arrogant sort. Perhaps not vain like my father, but I can appreciate the wisdom you've gained in your elder years.”

Azat smiled, “In theory, my wisdom is probably only a grain compared to the full hourglass of a thousand-year-old man. The fact alone that you continue to fall into the same pits of sin like any mortal shows that mankind is flawed beyond hope.”

Erasyl lowered his gaze, glaring down at Azat with a patient smile. He answered, “What guilt I must bear for my transgressions, I gladly bear for the sake of all the children of man. You wouldn't understand, Lord Zakarian.”

Azat arched his brow, “Are you so certain about that? Always have the Children of the Sun stayed an enigma to Khios. Should you have some convoluted lesson shrouded in all that religious encryption, I would gladly listen.”

Erasyl considered Azat's insistence, pleasantly surprised judging from his expression. He contemplated, then declined with a mere shake of his head. “You're gracious enough to ask, but you and I both know that there are more pressing issues to be discussed during our parley.”

Azat squinted into the rain crashing down on him. He asked, “Shall we stand here in the rain till we've reached some agreement?”

Erasyl bellowed with hearty laughter. He answered, quickly sobering, “Would you feel comfortable accompanying me back to my encampment? I am certain you would not, as I would not feel comfortable riding out alone into the Suranna Plains.”

Azat smirked, “Candor from a tyrant? And here I thought you a fearless sort.”

Erasyl shrugged, “Fearless, perhaps, but certainly not foolish…”

An eerie silence descended upon Reaper's Lantern as the Carthite war hordes eventually ceased their wailing cries and the Old Myrians stopped beating their shields. There was only the storm raging, as a moment of silence haunted the still ranks of the fallen. 

Erasyl shattered the interlude with an unusual request. “Let us cast aside our obvious demands. There is little point in asking you to abandon Reaper's Lantern, as there is no point of asking the Dominion to withdraw from Cressa's Lantern.”

Azat heard Erasyl's reasoning, and nodded in agreement. “We would be at an impasse otherwise. You surprise me, Erasyl, I thought you would send another legion of your Zar'qin to batter us aside. You and I both know that you could have your victory on this second day of the battle.”

The God King did not disagree, but neither did he agree with Azat's opinion. He countered, “It has only been the first day of our battle at this mountain pass. I have lost several thousand of my finest Zar'qin warriors. And you?”

Azat arched his brow, taken back by the confession. The last thing he wanted was to reveal the number of his own fallen to the God King of all the Carth Dominion. He thought upon the matter, and decided to parlay in honest transparency. 

Azat sighed, “I've lost nearly three thousand able bodies. All that said, I have no intention of surrendering the mountain pass, or allowing you to march on without retribution.”

“That is no surprise to Carth's Immortal Son.” Erasyl smiled knowingly. “I could order another assault on your forces, but I could risk my casualties spiraling beyond ten thousand valorous souls… and for Old Myria, is the rest of your three thousand living, able sons and daughters not too great a sacrifice?” 

Azat cocked his head at Erasyl, puzzled. “Are you suggesting an end to this petty war?”

The God King answered with a grim shake of his head. “This war is far from petty, Azat. It is a reckoning over one thousand years in the making. But for either of us to lose so many in the first two days of this war… It is unbecoming of any general or monarch to waste valuable lives in such numbers.”

Azat slowly inclined his head in agreement. “Then we've come to another impasse. What is it that you are suggesting?”

Erasyl smirked. He must have thought Azat was being coy. “You must have an idea already? In the days of wars long forgotten from history itself, our ancestors would solve pressing issues like these in personal combat. They would allow their armies to gather and spectate, and two champions selected by either opposing army fought on till the death in most cases.

“I suggest that we forgo a trial by combat to the death, but determine the victory by the first grievous wound.”

Azat countered, “Either of us would risk death anyway, if it was to the first wound that leave us unable to fight.” 

Erasyl nodded, “True, but you'll have your chance to survive, should you remain strong. The same applies to me. Such is the way of war, even those fought honorably.”

Azat nodded without hesitation. He said, “shall we get this over with now then?”

Skeptical, the God King questioned him, champion to champion. “How do you feel after the first day of battle? I heard from my scouts that you led from the fore. I was greatly impressed to hear of your exploits, and am impressed further still that you are still here, breathing.”

Azat begrudgingly answered, uncertain how to be thankful to his mortal nemesis. “Perhaps we could wait…”

“Seven days.” Erasyl suggested. “We shall meet here one week from today, our armies assembled, when Sirius has reached its zenith in the clear skies. You and I shall fight a trial by combat to the first grievous wound. Should you wound me, and I yield, I shall take the warriors of my Dominion… and return from whence we came. Should I wound you and you yield, you must surrender Reaper's Lantern to my armies.” 

Uncertainty haunted Azat. He wrestled around in his thoughts, calculating which choice was the correct decision. He concluded, that if anything, another seven days for reinforcements to arrive was better than losing the mountain pass and his entire army, then his life on the morrow. 

He accepted with a nod. “Seven days from now, the fate of our entire war shall be decided by who is the better warrior.” 

Erasyl nodded, still smiling. “It shall be a myth to pass down into the centuries. Should either of us die in our struggle, we shall be remembered as legends.”

Azat sighed, “It feels odd, doesn't it? Men as old as we are already carved legacies that will last into history. It is strange that after thirty years, you and I are poised to repeat history once again.”

The God King turned his great warhorse back to the Carthite lines, and went ahead to take his leave. As the storm winds howled ever louder, the God King's words pierced the veil like a Sage's prophetic warning. 

Erasyl promised, “Us old guards must do what we can for our children. For one day, they must take up the sword when we are gone from this world. Let them spectate a little longer. There will be no return to peaceful days of bliss and waiting for champions to decide Khios' fate, when they replace their forebears on the battlefields of ceaseless war…” 
Title: The Embers of The Past - Finale Chapter Scene - Final Preview (Almost Complete!)
Post by: Myen'Tal on June 30, 2021, 12:03:53 AM
So, to everyone who has been keeping up with this story, thank you so much for coming back to read the updates. Probably 99.5% are lurkers and that's perfectly okay.

This will be my final preview for Embers of the Past - at least for a good long while. The manuscript is almost complete, and I'll be busy following the next steps to get this thing into gear.

So I wanted to leave everyone with something really memorable. I don't think this is something anyone has seen quite yet throughout the book scenes I've shared.

I introduce to you a taste of The Embers of the Past's finale. I won't say anymore, go read it. Also, this portion of the final chapter is only a piece of the story's culmination. I hope you guys have enjoyed everything I shared, and I know none of its was perfect, even now. The editing process is only beginning.

In the meantime, keep a lookout for a second thread on the fiction board. This will be for the sequel, A Sanctum of Swords.

~***~

Hurrying through the Maritime Gate, Ara was greeted by the sounds of battle raging. Burning fires fanned throughout Khalnar’s river-bound infrastructure, whilst its scattered defenders engaged their adversaries in the town’s streets and homes. He looked toward the harbors in the near distance, seeing an entire armada of ships anchored on the Alabaster.
   
The Children of the Sun laid waste to the district, their presence growing as more ships sailed into the harbors.

“Gods,” Ara cursed, “we’re too late! Dominion forces have already pillaged their way to the maritime gate!”
   
“Good,” Aslan said, “let them come with all their strength. We’ll turn them aside with the reinforcements we’ve brought!” He turned about, addressing seven hundred Old Myrians Antranig dispatched to reinforce the harbors. All were Cataphracts of Myr, Old Myria’s finest equivalent of the Iosian knights.  “For Anahir and the heartland! Death to all tyrants!”
   
Several hundred voices, roughened from ceaseless nights spent putting down the riots throughout Khalnar, echoed his battle cry. Despite their exhaustion, Ara saw their eagerness to test their blades on mortal enemies. The thought of giving battle after so many decades languishing in peace, granted their life’s devotion in the pursuit of war a renewed purpose. They lifted their swords with pride, screaming into the maelstrom, rallying around one another.
   
Ara joined his brother’s bellowing cry, breaking ranks in a headlong charge toward his adversaries. The earth quaked beneath his feet as the Old Myrian forces rushed through the Maritime Gate after them. Leaping over scattered debris, he waded through the slain scattered about the main road. 
   
Flaming arrows filled the skies, loosed from the Dominion’s fleets anchored on the river. Ara made to defend himself, when Aslan covered them both with his great round shield, Aegis. The fiery hail came raining down around them. Stray arrows deflected off Aegis like soft rain. On either side of the Zakarian brothers, Ara noticed Kendal and Voshki overtaking them. With timed precision, either of them turned away the heavy arrows by their blades alone when one strayed near enough.
   
Out of the fire and smoke, the Dominion’s finest came charging without fear into their foes. Scarred champions of either gender, the Children of the Sun were of sable bronze skin. Satin robes of sapphire fluttered about their physical frames, scarred, and honed by centuries of constant war. Chain mail layered their clothes, followed by full suits of scale mail armor, creating a fearsome sight for any beholding them.

They came rushing forward with all manner of two-handed weapons at the Old Myrian forces. Around Ara, the collision of both armies into one another deafened him like a storm of sundered steel.
   
Aslan hurled Aegis out in front of him and his brother, barreling over the first four Qin’sar piling in to strike them down. Out of the shadow of his elder brother, Ara shoulder-charged his first would-be opponent to the ground, a Qin’sar female crying out from the shock of his assault.
   
Her surprised shout became one of pain, the metallic rim of his buckler impacting hard against her temple, knocking her unconscious. He parried a lunge for the right side of his chest on his shield, then the natural counter with his sword. Ara leaned into his new adversary, kneeing him beneath the belt.
   
Aslan’s shadow fell over them, his broadsword thrusting straight through the Carthite’s neck. Their foe seized up upon death, his fingers grappling the wrist of Ara’s shield arm like the cold grip of death itself. Ara broke the Carthite’s vice grip, slamming his shield down on the elbows where they bent, robbing them of all strength. He watched the body sag to the ground, lifeless.
   
“You’re welcome,” Aslan said. “Don’t overthink in the midst of combat, just defend yourself, brother!”
   
Ara hawked and spat, catching a Qin’sar beneath the jaw with a flung elbow. A bloodied toof flew out of the Chosen’s mouth. He said, “Worry about yourself! Coming from your right!”
   
Aslan stepped aside, letting the halberd hurtling down toward him sunder its blade on the road. His elder brother struck with beguiling speed. Ara saw his broadsword punch straight through the Qin’sar’s chest. The blade had exited through the broad of her back, slathered in blood, when Ara shifted to turn another blade aside.
   
War cries deafened him from either side, as the Myr Cataphracts came crashing amid the Children of the Sun like a tidal wave of blue-hued steel. Around Ara, their great swords struck with ruthless precision. They broke through grounded defenses, running noble-blooded Chosen through or breaking them open with bludgeoning force.
   
Their wrath stoked into a blazing fire, the Qin’sar answered Ara and the Knights of Myr with the brutal chained assaults they were known for. Old Myrians closed in around him, matching their foes blow for blow. Yet where they possessed momentum, the Children of the Sun claimed near-limitless endurance.
   
Blood flowed throughout the height of the battle, lashing Ara across his armor and soaking his clothes through. Qin’sar veterans weathered the worst the Myr Cataphracts had to offer without effort. They endured until their foes tired from exhaustion, cleaving through entire ranks of the Old Myrian Knights in practiced coordination with one another.
   
Ara himself was almost slain several times, blind sighted by adversaries who struck over the heads of the comrades locked in combat with him. He ducked beneath the pendulum swing of a halberd. The Qin’sar claimed the heads of two Old Myrian Knights, as oblivious to the danger in death as they were in life.

Focused upon Ara, the Child of the Sun shoved his way to the frontline with the intent of killing him. He lunged into the Carthite, but was turned aside by a masterful parry. A pommel strike to his flank sent him hurtling sideways. He pivoted, striking the halberd’s haft, altering the course of the Qin’sar’s killing blow.

Out of the fire and smoke, a shadow coalesced behind the Child of the Sun, dark like the essence of night. Voshki slew the Qin’sar with a razor-edged dagger across his throat. Ara staggered backward, watching the blood spray from the dying warrior’s open wound.

He looked to Voshki, who mocked him with a confident smile. She turned from him, her glaive lopping the arm from a Chosen daughter at the elbow. She never ceased moving, her dagger and glaive woven in broad sweeps, spilling blood by the gallon like a gladiator, hungering for eternal glory.

Ara made to follow her example, rejoining the fray with a reckless charge into the teeth of several Qin’sar. Before he could make contact the first foe turning to face him, the Qin’sar’s armor slathered in the blood of a slain Knight of Myr, Prince Qallin swept into the combat alongside him.

Ara’s scimitar struck true, cleaving through a battered suit of scale mail, cutting a Chosen from shoulder to waist. Prince Qallin hurtled past him; his longsword thrust straight through the throat of the first foe who moved to counter him. He shouldered into the sable bronze warrior next to him, tearing his longsword out of the throat of his first kill. Clutched in both of his fists, he drove the blade down clean through the nearest threat.

The Carthite staggered back into his comrades, bloodied fingers clutching the razor-edge of Kendal’s blade even as they wept streams of blood. One of the surviving warriors whirled around the corpse of his brethren, his polearm striking out to split open Kendal around the bicep. Kendal reacted swifter than his opponent did, somehow turning the blade aside despite the blow biting deep through his padded brigandine.

Ara mobilized, ducking beneath the Carthite’s following thrust of his spiked halberd. With one cut alone, he severed the Qin’sar’s leg out from under him, toppling him to the cobblestones. Kendal planted a triumphant foot on the warrior’s chest. He silenced his cries with a merciful downward thrust through the Qin’sar’s heart.

Kendal cried, “Ara, we cannot hold out much longer like this! The Children of the Sun are more skilled than we are! They have superior numbers! The Knights of Myr are faltering, they’re being butchered where they stand!”

Ara searched the battlefield and realized Prince Qallin had spoken the truth. Throughout the streets, the Knights of Myr were being scattered into isolated pockets of resistance. Some where even being pushed into the blazing ruins of many buildings, cornered, and hunted down like animals. Others took shelter from the brutality of battle, even as the Qin’sar worked to burn them alive or smoke them out.

In silence, small numbers of Old Myrians routed after realizing how outmatched they were. As Ara and his comrades had fought on, those numbers swelled until their ranks threatened to break all at once. He knew their panic would sweep through the ranks of all the Old Myrian defenders and rob them of any will to fight.

The siege of Khalnar would end with the stronghold crumbling down to its foundations.
Aslan appeared by his younger brother and Prince Qallin’s side. He said, “brother, sound the retreat…I will hold the line with the most courageous. We’ll give you the time you need to organize another defense.”

Ara replied, “how will you do that, Aslan? You’re only one man, Lion of War or not! You’re committing suicide!”

Aslan shook his head, shrugging. He said, “You know I was never one for being foolish. That has always been your calling. I shall challenge the Exalted to personal combat and survive for as long as possible. Perhaps I may even prove the victor, but I won’t leave any one of your lives to chance. So, withdraw and find some way to outlive this storm!”

A triumphant scream tore through the anarchy. Ara shifted his gaze alongside Kendal and his elder brother. Unnerved Qin’sar were backpedaling away from the black-clad assassin in their midst. Voshki stood amid the Children of the Sun, holding aloft the severed head of a woman bedecked with a crown of glittering jewelry. He watched several glittering necklaces created from flawless precious stones slide off the bloodied stump of her neck, lying broken at the Ashen Blade’s feet.

Kendal cried out, “is that the Exalted?”

Aslan shrugged, “doubtful, Prince Qallin. Regardless, this is my chance to even the score against the Children of the Sun, and break their morale. Voshki and I will hold here with whoever is willing. You two must report to Antranig… tell him the maritime district has fallen. Tell him the Lion of War will see his given task fulfilled.”

Horns sounded behind the amassed ranks of the Children of the Sun, who chanted dirges into the blazing dawn and hefted their weapons at the noise. In loose synchronicity, the formations parted into great aisles on either side of the road, leaving an open walkway filled with the dead and heavily wounded.
   
Ara witnessed an individual approaching them in a casual stride. His armor was like the rest of the Children of the Sun, save that a tabard of sapphire satin silk, emblazoned with white gold calligraphy, marked him out as a leader. Helmet cradled underneath his arm, the Qin’sar’s chiseled face exuded poise and confidence. His skull was shaven on either side, his wavy hair swept back along his scalp so that it flowed off the back of his skull like a curling wave.
   
Piercing hazel eyes studied the four warriors with a calculative glare. He noticed Voshki first, then picked out Prince Qallin with an arrogant snort. His eyes finally fell upon Ara with great interest, before they finally locked with Aslan and ceased their wandering.
   
Aslan shoved Ara back behind him. He said, “go brother. Do the same, Prince Qallin. None of us will survive this if no one is willing to do what must be done.”
   
Ara said, “I’m not leaving behind the only kin left to me. I won’t be the one who will visit father’s deathbed and say I left my brother on the battlefield. Neither would you, brother, so enough debating. Are you going to kill this Qin’sar or stand around until Khalnar is blackened rubble?”
   
“Gods above guide my hand,” Aslan replied. “If you won’t save yourselves, then stand here and watch me bury this Carthite in the cold earth.”
   
Ara punched the air with his shield, shouting in approval. He said, “Let the Children of the Sun despair, brother!”

Kendal inclined his head to Aslan. “Good fortune, all of us needed it days ago, but better late than never.”

Voshki cried out as she came rushing back out of the fray to join them. She said, “Break their hearts, and then their souls, Lion.”

Aslan nodded to them all, then pivoted to face the Exalted standing before them from a good distance. Ara knew his elder brother was preparing himself, though he seemed confident in the face of death. The Lion of War held his shield tight across his chest and pointed his sword toward the Children of the Sun’s commander.
   
Almost in unison, both the Exalted and Lion approached the middle ground between their bloodied forces…
Title: The Embers of The Past - Completed!
Post by: Myen'Tal on July 3, 2021, 07:13:44 PM
EDIT: It is done... now to get this beast through the editing process lol.

Have about 2,000 words left for the Epilogue, and then I'm calling it done until after the first appointment with the Editor.

So, I've done thus far:

- Multiple chapter deletions / rewrites
-Narrative revisions implemented across entire Acts of the Manuscript
-Probably wrote 200,000 words at this point, just 100,000 of those in deleted scenes and chapters
- Made several different passes for self-editing throughout the entire manuscript
-Implemented all feedback from writing circles, editors opinion from Version 1.0, and friends.

It's all about to be done lol

Finalized Manuscript Title Page & Table of Contents:

(https://www.40konline.com/proxy.php?request=http%3A%2F%2Fi.imgur.com%2FpcqXFHr.jpg&hash=a13318d0d793226f251d4842e8d405af19b86bad) (https://imgur.com/pcqXFHr)
Title: Re: The Embers of The Past - Finale Chapter Scene - Final Preview (Almost Complete!)
Post by: Alienscar on July 5, 2021, 05:22:06 AM
Hey up Myen'Tal I have fallen too far behind to offer any real feedback on your story, but I couldn't let you go without saying one last thing.

   
Piercing hazel eyes studied the four warriors with a calculative glare. He noticed Voshki first, then picked out Prince Qallin with an arrogant snort. His eyes finally fell upon Ara with great interest, before they finally locked with Aslan and ceased their wandering.
   
Voshki cried out as she came rushing back out of the fray to join them. She said, “Break their hearts, and then their souls, Lion.”

The sentences I have highlighted above don't gel as Voshki is described as being one of the four warriors being studied. It is odd then that she rushes back to join them later. 
Title: Re: The Embers of The Past - Completed!
Post by: Myen'Tal on July 5, 2021, 08:58:52 AM
Hey up Myen'Tal I have fallen too far behind to offer any real feedback on your story, but I couldn't let you go without saying one last thing.

   
Piercing hazel eyes studied the four warriors with a calculative glare. He noticed Voshki first, then picked out Prince Qallin with an arrogant snort. His eyes finally fell upon Ara with great interest, before they finally locked with Aslan and ceased their wandering.
   
Voshki cried out as she came rushing back out of the fray to join them. She said, “Break their hearts, and then their souls, Lion.”

The sentences I have highlighted above don't gel as Voshki is described as being one of the four warriors being studied. It is odd then that she rushes back to join them later. 


Hey Alienscar, good catch! I will correct this  ;D.

Thanks!
Title: The Embers of The Past - Offering - Scene I - Final Pass Before Edit
Post by: Myen'Tal on August 5, 2021, 06:40:53 AM
Manuscript critique in a couple of weeks, but that doesn't mean I haven't been busy.

I've made even more passes on the text, and am currently in the final one leading up to the editing process, this time using a great software called Prowritingaid to help me weed out mistakes I've been missing thus far.

I've gotten through the first act so far, but there's still more to cover.

Just wanted to share a more finalized version of the beta manuscript.

~***~

Beneath the sands of the Southern Wastes, Voshki descended into the underground stronghold of Suann. Sunlight dwindled into darkness upon her entrance through the monolithic gates. Torches burned amid the hidden alcoves of underground passages. She rushed by them, crossing crumbling bridges deeper into the abandoned ruins. 

Behind her, warriors of the Obsidian Viper Syndicate shouted as they gave pursuit. 

Voshki shouldered her way through every barred door in her path into cobweb infested rooms. Her footfalls navigated abandoned dungeons littered with the dusty bones of the forgotten dead. Dusty tables and old bookcases toppled behind her to stall her baying hunters. 

Stumbling across a weathered boulder entrenched inside the shattered bars of an old prison cell, she traced its origins through a gaping wound in the dungeon walls. Her gaze swept across the claustrophobic confines of the forgotten dungeon. Committed, she leaped through the opening into the maze of the underground city. 

She came running into the abandoned slums built far from the surface world's light. A hidden figure kicked in a nearby door when she made to pass by. Voshki slid out of the tumbling door's path as it came off the hinges. A lean figure of dark caramel skin came striding out of the shadows toward her. His clothes were of black leathers, layered over fiery robes emblazoned with gold. 

Voshki stumbled, losing her footing amid the muck and debris at the mere sight of the Obsidian Viper. Storming toward her, he grasped the scuff of her collar. Struggling against his iron grip, she regained her footing against his twisting snare. Her trembling fingers grasped for the dagger hidden in her clothes, unable to secure it while she resisted her captor. 

Catching the hilt of the dagger between her fingers, she revealed the weapon, then lunged. A glimmer of steel flashed in her white-knuckled fist. She thrust the weapon into the Obsidian Viper's throat. The blade punched clean through the flesh. Voshki buried the weapon to the hilt and twisted until her captor broke his hold on her. 

The Obsidian Viper staggered onto one knee. Hand pressed against his weeping wound, he keeled over, absent another sound. Surprised, she watched the lifeless corpse as if it would come back to life at any moment. Several voices ushered into earshot. Their labored breaths echoing through the cavern slums. 

Voshki resumed her flight and her hunters gave chase. Their nearing footfalls hastened her to the limit. She left the abandoned slums behind, pushing into the caverns buried beneath even Suann. Grasping the narrowing walls with bloodied fingers, she tried to find her path through absolute darkness. 

A brief flicker of light flashed in the lightless caverns. Shadows caught afire from the intensity of its brilliance. Before Voshki could discern anything from its light, it withered, fading into nothing. 

A maelstrom of fire came surging out of the depths. Gasping, Voshki seized up with horror. She shielded herself with her bare arms as the flames washed over her clothes and skin. 

Yet, the flames did not burn her.

Her eyes squeezed shut, she forced them open again after a period of silence. Her ears ceased ringing after a few moments. Despite the flames' icy touch, she choked on a thick smog of acrid smoke. Burning incense drifted from torches burning along walls of weathered stone. Clear waters coursed within ornate drains, running through onyx doors marked with calligraphic scrawl. 

Hesitant footfalls approached Voshki from behind. 

A grizzled Viper commanded his subordinates. "Encircle her! Don't stand idle!"

Cautious of their enigmatic surroundings, the Obsidian Vipers approached. Voshki noticed a glimmer of fear in each of their eyes. What manner of majestic ruin had they fallen into?

The elder viper snapped again, saying, "don't just look around, fools! Seize her!"

A leather boot connected hard against Voshki's temple to batter her down onto the wet stone. Several vicious lashings from the Viper's boots made her double over in pain. Scarred, mutilated hands seized her by the arms, pinning them behind her back. Feeling the heated burn of rope being pulled around her wrists, Voshki struggled with all her strength. 

A subtle voice came creeping out of the dark behind them. 

"Stay your hands."

"Halt!" One of the younger vipers stormed toward the shadows, coming shy of where the light faded to dark. "Return the way you came, Ashen Blade. This doesn't involve you!"

The elder Viper barked again, "Faris, guard the girl! The rest of you, encircle our brave hero here. Silence her protests."

Several Obsidian Vipers approached their hidden foe. They unsheathed their weapons, brutal blades laced in a dark crimson liquid. 

"Offerings for Alastrine," the disembodied voice proclaimed, her voice as quiet as trickling waters. "The Black Descent awaits."

"Enough, kill her!" Their commander ordered. "Break her limb by limb, bring me her head when you're done."

One rogue charged. His club bludgeoned the outline of a woman eclipsed in shadow. Stunned, Voshki watched the illusion dissipate into shades of mist. A sound reminiscent of honed steel cutting through flesh echoed throughout the cavern. Everyone craned their heads toward the Viper commander in the backfield. 

The Obsidian Vipers watched their leader's head topple off his shoulders. His head smacked the stone with a meaty thump.   

His warriors readied their weapons for another assault. 

A pair of Vipers screamed their war cries and charged. The sentient shadow lifted her blade and parried one of their tarnished blades. She melded into the dark, only to step out again elsewhere. She ended one of her foes with an effortless thrust. His weapon clattered on the stone. The Viper crumbled where he stood, hand over the wound gouged through his heart. 

"Cursed will each of your deaths become." One after the other, each Viper perished. When she next spoke, only a handful of them remained. "Begone from this place… and return on pain of death."

The syndicate warriors heard her threat and returned whence they had come. Faris, the one securing Voshki, spared her a reassuring smile. Relinquishing control over her, he picked himself off the blood soaked stone and stood. He did not retreat with the others, but made to stand beside the sentient shadow who had rescued her.

Her savior cooed out of the dark. She asked, "And what manner of stray has come wandering into my domain? Another troublesome adolescent fleeing the Viper's venomous bite. Alastrine, Lady of Sorrow, must watch over you. The sacrifices made here are worthy of her attention.

"Tell me, girl, who are you?"

A woman garbed in quilted armor as dark as black thunderhead clouds stepped into the light. Pieces of polished plate armor reinforced her limbs. Raven black hair fell down her shoulders, ending around the small of her back. Locks of her hair came spilling down her shoulders in a mess of coils. Four scars running over her left emerald eye appeared to Voshki as some form of ritual scarification. Her right eye was a deep veined silver, staring through flesh and bone to find the soul housed within. 

Voshki slipped out of her restraints, picking herself off the blood-slick stone. She ignored the gore splattered on her clothes. She kneeled instead to offer her sacrifices to Alastrine.

She replied, "I am nameless. I am nothing more than a passing shadow. I would join the ranks of the Ashen Blades and learn the secrets of her warriors."

"An aspirant?" She asked. "We shall see how badly you wish for that."

Snapping her fingers, the torches of the wall extinguished themselves by her savior's command.

"I am Shoushan." She called from the shadows. "Do you fear the horrors of the dark? Does your heart quicken with terror when faced with a threat you cannot trace with mortal eyes?" 

Voshki's heart stilled within her chest. She said, "Of course not."

Shoushan's amused laughter echoed through the cavern. An oppressive silence filled the emptiness it left behind. 

"There may be some potential there," Shoushan confessed. "To what degree, we will need to discover. I bid you welcome, Voshki of the Ashen Blades. Never betray forbidden knowledge and avoid death in each of her guises. Those are the only rules you should abide by here. Come, step into these hallowed halls. We will see if the clandestine arts are for you."
Title: The Embers of The Past - Manuscript Critique Update!
Post by: Myen'Tal on August 27, 2021, 03:48:07 PM
So, the first week of the manuscript critique has come to an end - and I've received an update from my editor.

It's a small update, but thought I'd share as it is a sign of good things to come:

Hey John!

Things are going great—I’m really happy with how the story is progressing so far—not too much information shared upfront (which overwhelms the reader—and something that was an issue in previous versions of your book I’ve read). On top of this, you’ve done nice character and setting descriptions with beautiful language. I’m taking notes, leaving comments, and making suggestions as I go.

So far, I’m really pleased with how things are going—and I’m about to dive back in now for another day of reading. Enjoy your Friday!


Excited, hopefully I'll get the deets on everything within the next couple of weeks.
Title: Re: The Embers of The Past - Manuscript Critique Update!
Post by: Dread on August 27, 2021, 04:19:06 PM
This is so great. Glad its coming together finally. Sorry been abaent a bunch, life ya know.
Title: Re: The Embers of The Past - Manuscript Critique Update!
Post by: Myen'Tal on August 27, 2021, 09:29:36 PM
This is so great. Glad its coming together finally. Sorry been abaent a bunch, life ya know.

Thanks, Dread, and no worries. I've been quiet on the Western Front myself  ;D . It's been a busy year so far lol.
Title: The Embers of The Past - Manuscript Critique Update #2 !
Post by: Myen'Tal on September 6, 2021, 07:30:46 PM
Been a little while since I've stopped by, hope everyone in the U.S. had a great Labor Day weekend & that anyone in the rest of the world enjoyed their weekend as well :slight_smile: .

I received my manuscript critique for *Embers of the Past* & the first chapter critique for A Sanctum of Swords this weekend. Compared to my first manuscript critique a little over a year ago, I've achieved a marked improvement in about every category!

Back in 2020, Embers' manuscript had an entire suite of issues that needed to be worked out before it could move further along. This time, the issues with the manuscript has been narrowed down to about two individual issues - both originating and isolated in the First Act.

- Not enough establishment of the respective Empires, Kingdoms, and the civilizations that reside in them in the First Act.

- Not enough establishment for character motivations and their roles in each kingdom / empire, and their part in the overall conflict.

I believe the reasons for these issues stem from my decision to weave so much character backstory throughout the First Act. Also, that backstory details events too far in past from the current narrative to be entirely relevant. While it's relevant to the characters and its molded them, it's clear that there is too much origin story and not enough establishment of the current narrative's beginning.

As a consequence, some characters are not as developed as others.

Aside from that though, all the story line essentials were given a green light.

Dialogue proved to be implemented throughout the narrative with great success.

All the characters are likeable, my editor was rooting for all my protagonists and some other characters from beginning to end :slight_smile: .

Reader comprehension is faaar better than version 1.0 and the actual setting descriptions scene for scene received a lot of praise as well. The Pacing was also great throughout most of the book - the part where it wasn't was Act I again.

POV - which I overhauled from Third Person Omniscient to Third Person Character Limited, was consistent throughout the narrative (Yes!)

Finally, Act II & III were given the green light! My editor believes that they were well written, and will sync very well once I've revised (and likely overhauled) Act I.

For the first chapter critique of *A Sanctum of Swords* - the only issue reported with the first 4,000 words is basically the world building I failed to establish correctly in Act I in Embers - as there's some related setting & world info incorporated in that scene.

So, that's my report, as promised!
Title: The Embers of The Past - Act I Re-Construction - A Time of Wolves Scene I & II
Post by: Myen'Tal on September 22, 2021, 09:33:13 AM
Alright, here are the first two scene of our great Act Reconstruction!

Goals:

Provide more clarity & Establishment of the Old Myrian Empire & her Autumn Realms, including her society, armies, traditions, etc.

Also begin more in-depth, revised, and changed character arcs that will establish character motivations, their desires, and a details originally left out a little for most characters, and then way more details for the handful of characters that got left out the first go round.

Of course, this cannot all be covered in one chapter, but the plan is to start establishing more of the world, character & kingdom motivations surrounding it.

Here is the new beginning for Act I. Let me know what you think!


A Time of Wolves


Summer , Month of the Gaia Reborn
Year 887, the Ascension of Kings
Ember Hearth Palace in the city of Annahir, capital of the Old Myrian Empire


"What will you do, Lord Zakarian? Are you going to answer this challenge? Would you weigh the fate of an empire on the gods' scale, and just pray for victory?"

   Lady Sameh Sadoyan banished the silence haunting the corridors of Ember Hearth Palace, reminding Azat Zakarian that not everyone had abandoned the ancient heirloom of the Autumn Queens in its hour of need. He mused to himself, treading windswept corridors built from checkered tiles of alabaster and matte black stone, spiral granite stairwells jutting from the foundations to reach the palace's higher tiers. Looming monuments of Old Myria's greatest legends kept their solemn vigil from dark alcoves hidden in the hollowed out openings in the granite walls.

   The beauty of Ember Hearth seemed like nothing more than a shell of itself, without the families of the Shaira nobility milling through its halls. The epitome of scholarship and education ceased to matter without the children of Lords and Ladies playing at intrigue in the shady nooks outside the academies. Embassies would serve no purpose, without Lords and Ladies wagging their tongues, striking affluent trade alliances and declarations of war within the hour. A queen could never rule an empire without loyal subjects, willing to abide by her mandate and serve her in all things.

   Yet here Azat lingered in the shadow of obscurity, amid the emptied halls of Ember Hearth Palace. All the Autumn Queen’s servants abandoned her stronghold and capital city for fear of conquest, total defeat, and subjugation.

   Azat heard Lady Sameh Sadoyan's quiet voice resound through the dead weight of silence bearing down on them. Every syllable uttered from her lips filled his ears like a queen's royal decree.

   "Lord Zakarian," she called again. "Will you answer the God King's challenge to meet him in open battle?"

   Azat paused, breaking his stride to look at Lady Sameh in the deep emerald of her eyes. Beside him, Sameh also paused, the fluttering trails of her cerulean and pallid white dress bunched between her anxious fingers. Anxiety exuded from her like an infectious energy, making his heart race uneasily and churning his thoughts like a brooding storm. He inhaled deeply, then sighed out a long exhale.

   Azat answered, "I will do what the Autumn Queen commands. You know more than anyone, Sameh, that this decision does not lie with me."

   Sameh glanced away from him, like she could no longer bear looking her forbidden lover in the eye. She said, "And what if it did, Azat? Would anything change? Would the fact alone that your queen left the decision to you... would it stop you from riding out there on those distant battlefields and into your death?"

   Despite the sting behind the accusation, Azat managed the loving smile that usually made her return the expression likewise. He knew the gesture would have no effect this time, but he tried anyway.

   Azat replied, "I could have ridden out there months ago. I could have abandoned you without a second thought to face destiny itself, but I'm still here. Meanwhile, all the Shaira have fled further northwest for their lives and all the warriors Old Myria might spare have ridden out further southeast... those battlefields are where I belong, Sameh, fighting beside my kin for Empire and Queen. I should be out there fighting for you... Yet here I am, waiting in these abandoned halls, where only the royal family and their most trusted servants endure the solitude in hope of better days."

   Sameh interrupted, "And what about your children? Your twin sons!?"

   "You can tell them I died for their futures should I perish out in those fields. I won't be the father that will watch them grow up, only to one day tell them I stayed behind while the greatest war of our time was raging, and that tens of thousands of their brethren died in my stead..."

   Sameh said nothing. He heard only the subtlest sigh of her shock, but that was enough to drive a lance through his chest.

   Eventually, she gathered the strength to rebuke him. "Then ride out like the fabled hero you believe yourself to be... should you die, no one shall mourn you or remember your name. Should you somehow survive by Jumanah's miracle... maybe one day you'll come to know the children you abandoned here today, but it will not be for many moons. You will not see them for as long as I live."

   Azat opened his mouth to speak, but Sameh shunned him with the turning of her back to him. Before he could say anything, she hurried back the way whence they had come, quickly disappearing into the shadows.

   Despite himself, he had not the strength to tell her to stop. He knew and understood that she would not reason with him. Azat's destiny laid out plain before him, an inescapable feeling driving him toward the last confrontation that would end the five decade long war between the Old Myrian Empire and the tyrannical power of the Carth Dominion.

   He peered through a nearby archway into the sweeping moorlands beyond Ember Hearth and the idyllic city of Annahir. He watched the horizon burn and charred smoke billowing toward the clouds, blotting out the Veiled Mountains in the distance.

   Azat Zakarian promised he would meet the Children of the Sun in open battle, and claim the head of the Carth Dominion's so-called immortal God King...

~***~

   Another dawn crested the Veiled Mountains in the east by the time Azat assembled his retinue accompanying him in Ember Hearth. The Irothian Black Wolves, twenty-five sons and daughters of the Island of Irothis, prepared themselves to ride into battle outside the palace walls. During the last decade, Azat had journeyed across the whole of the Autumn Realms. Irothis, the place of his birth and the only home he could ever dream of, made even the lofty halls of Ember Hearth pale in comparison. It came as no surprise then, that the children of the fabled island eclipsed their Old Myrian brethren in matters of war more often than not.

   Pristine suits of lamellar crafted from hundreds of individual iron scales, interwoven into thick and durable hides, shielded them from head to toe. His retinue of sworn brothers and sisters struck a fearsome visage behind stoic, silver-plated and amber plumed helmets crafted into the visage of their long deceased ancestors, howling in rage from beyond the grave.

   Azat stood apart from his brethren, lingering by the gargantuan double doors of the palace gates, crafted from solid oak and reinforced beneath a steel framework and plating. In patience, he continued to wait for the sun and its golden radiance to strike the glittering spires of Annahir and Ember Hearth palace just right. Instead, the light appeared to vanish into the roiling clouds of smoke rolling over the Veiled Mountains, flooding the Suranna Plains behind them.

   Lady Hazan Sadoyan's question came upon the billowing wind, reaching Azat before he realized she had even sallied from the palace to greet him a final time.

   "You surprise House Sadoyan yet again, Lord Zakarian." she said. "You've shocked me more than any man ever could, and you're no lover of mine. I thought I knew you better than this. I suppose Sameh must have thought the same when you said everything you did to her last evening."

   Azat turned away from the wane sunlight glimmering through the smoke clouds, back toward the open palace gates. He watched Lady Hazan approach through the courtyard, leading an entire procession of Ember Hearth's handmaidens. One hundred in number, the young Shaira women emerged from the dark halls of Ember Hearth. Dressed in all-black attire, the sun's pale light did little to lift their somber countenance or their disquiet spirits. He knew they did not want him to leave, but they had come anyway, each maiden bearing a bundle of handpicked lavender and roses in their gloved hands.

   "Your Grace..." he began, "You should not have come. The Black Wolves of Irothis don't deserve the honor of a queen's royal send off."

   Hazan pursed her lips into a neat smile. She replied, "I am not your sovereign, Lord Zakarian."

   "Your Grace, please, could you cease calling me by that title?"

   The subtle arch of Hazan's brow made him tense with anticipation. She had some hidden point behind her coy dialogue, he realized, something she wanted him to understand before he went charging off into the sunrise.

   Hazan pressed her hidden agenda. She answered, "If you can call me 'Your Grace', Azat, then I can address you as Lord Zakarian."

   Azat did little to hide his puzzlement, shrugging. "The difference here is that the Autumn Queen is on her deathbed while her country burns... and you will receive her crown and take her place any moment now., you always knew the truth... I am no son of the Shaira, but raised on a farmstead, fated to spend my days tilling the black soil on the Isle of Irothis."

   "Fates can change, Lord Zakarian... your destiny as a simple farmer ended the night you took up the sword and kneeled before my mother's throne to swear fealty to queen and empire. You've never set foot on that damn farmstead ever since and at this rate, you never will. You're correct, I am to succeed in my mother's reign of Old Myria and take her crown, but not a moment before her death. As I understand it, you cannot take Sahem's hand in marriage without bearing the title of lord. My first action after I've taken the throne is to gift you with the affluence of a Shaira noble, and a wealthy source of income worthy of it. I will seek to grant Sahem and you some dead Shaira noble's estate or another, hopefully on the Isle of Irothis. Then, you can waste the rest of your days away together, raising your twin sons."

   Azat's stony countenance softened at Hazan's alluring promise, knowing she had little reason to give such favor to him. Azat managed a weary smile, the expression betraying the immense burden he wore. He said, "You are kinder than most to promise me anything, and pure of heart to achieve any of those promises on my behalf, but... I fear Sahem has turned her back on what we've always dreamed of."

   "Lord Zakarian, I cannot think of many who swallow their pride to become a princesses' consort. I'll confess, you were craftier than I thought, gifting her two twin sons before she thought to take another noble's hand."

   Azat sighed, "It wasn't intentional."

   Hazan chuckled, "So I've been told, but the damage there is done. One cannot simply erase your status as the blood father of Sahem's children. Of course, you know the Autumn Queen would accept none of what we are speaking about, but I am not my mother. Sahem is my younger sister, and there is little chance she'd succeed the throne after me or the other elder siblings in line to be crowned before her. In a strange turn of events, I believe you're the only man she's ever truly cared for. I don't think a little lover's spat will change any of that. All you need to do is help our countrymen end this invasion, and come back home alive."

   A glimmer of hope kindled within Azat's chest, but he dared not let the kindling ignite into a blaze. Leaving Ember Hearth behind would become even more difficult then.

   He answered, "I will do all that I can, but I can make no promises."

   Hazan nodded. "That should suffice. Jumanah has blessed you many fold for many deeds of lesser effort... I will have our stable hands remove the equipment from your horse."

   Azat paused, looking to the noble mount waiting patiently by his side.

   Hazan offered before he could say anything, "You should take Mustaphen."

   "That demonic engine of war?" Azat chuckled, "there has never been a warrior who could ride him since his owner passed some five years ago."
   
       Hazan nodded, "True. That is why I want you to take him. A noble mount like Mustaphen was never meant to be punished in isolation. He deserves another master who will care for him and bring him glory on many battlefields. If you are riding into open war and battle, you'd be a fool not to even see if he'd take to you. No other horse in all the Autumn Realms would serve you better."

        Azat considered her offered, sighing out of resignation. "Fine, Your Grace, have the stable-hands bring him out. We will see if Mustaphen believes I am worthy of him. In the rare event that he'll ride with me, the Black Wolves of Irothis ride for the mountain pass of Reaper's Lantern with the sun's zenith."

~***~
Title: Re: The Embers of The Past - Come Dawn from the Night - Scene I - Rev 10/9/21
Post by: Myen'Tal on September 27, 2021, 01:35:00 PM
Come Dawn From the Night

   Even when lost in dreaming, fate's mark blighted the Autumn Realms of Old Myria like the dark clouds of a brooding storm, common throughout the idyllic northwestern lands upon which the empire was founded. 

The northern moorlands, known for the vivid flowers that thrived on their rolling hills, had turned to quagmire beneath the steel shod boots of tens of thousands. Thunder quaked the earth, booming from the grizzled bellows and frantic screams of armies clashing around him, grinding each other into the mud ridden soil. A deluge of spilled blood came raining down on the battle, blinding Azat with every burst from within the maelstrom. A lashing wind battered him, carrying an endless hail of arrows through the rain that scythed down hundreds. 

    Azat committed into the fray, undeterred by the scene of utter horror, something created from the hellish nightmare found in the collective soul of mankind itself. He had no desire to revel in the onslaught, just the drive to see the battle through to the end. His brethren bellowed at his back, every guttural cry a promise of retribution and defiance. Garbed in the dark armor of their homeland, the Black Wolves of Irothis surged into the melee alongside him. Their blades of Alabaster Steel gleamed beneath the pale sun with a ghostly hue, made radiant when struck by sunlight at just the right angle. 

 Luminescence, Azat's legendary blade, struck the first slave warrior to approach in challenge with such force, the ancient heirloom cleaved a diagonal cut from shoulder blade to thigh. The Zar'qin collapsed to his knees; the agony etched into every moment of screaming more akin to the weapon he could no longer wield. As the wound in the warrior's chest came open, Azat ended his suffering with a purposeful thrust through the still beating heart. 

    Around him, Azat's Black Wolves savaged their enemies beneath a hurricane of blows. Crimson blood pooled around the fallen lying broken at their feet, but the children of Irothis fought on. 

 Sweeping aside the vicious slash of a wicked sword, Azat near disarmed another Zar'qin when he cast the obstacle aside. His opponent went with Azat's momentum, deflecting Luminescence on his buckler before pushing into the Black Wolf himself. Falling back by a single step, Azat turned on a heel, coming around the Zar'qin's left flank, before their blades clashed in a flurry of blows. Azat swept his blade upward and parried a downward chop, the light of the pale sun striking Luminescence in such a way that the sword flared with blinding radiance. 

 The Zar'qin staggered but briefly, then collapsed upon his knees. He fell aside like a piece of broken timber, split from shoulder blade to lower rib cage by Azat's superior strength. 

    A formation of Zar'qin, protected behind a phalanx of great round shields, emerged out of the dust and rain clouding the battlefield. Their crimson and cream robes, soiled with blood and grime, sowed a dreadful terror in the ranks of Old Myria, the empire Azat and his island home of Irothis swore fealty to. Out of the crimson rain, shining spearheads answered the Black Wolves, running several kindred spirits, bound by oaths of brotherhood, through the weathered and worn sections of their lamellar. The slave warriors thrust their spearheads with practiced precision, becoming a bastion against the onslaught of those who defied the God King's tyrannical mandate.   

It was not uncommon for the Children of the Sun to unleash their Zar’qin hordes upon entire kingdoms, their actions independent of the guiding hand of their noble masters. Azat loathed fighting against their disciplined, but neglected ranks, bereft of the quality weapons and armor the Children of the Sun horded for their own legions. 

He knew that each of their ranks were eager volunteers, the worthiest selected from among the Zar, the Carth Dominion’s caste of slaves. Young men and women delivered from the cavernous mines beneath the mountain cities of the Khiosian heartlands. Indoctrinated, trained as steadfast infantry that preferred to fight in highly regimented formations that favored quantity over quality. 

But what made the Zar’qin fearsome was their possession of exceptional quality in addition to their vast quantities. It was the lack of support and neglected supplies granted by their masters that often brought them great disadvantage. Yet for a chance of true freedom, the Zar eagerly joined their ranks anyway, and replaced their dead in greater numbers than what they had been before every battle. 

 "Zakarian, on your flank!"  

 Azat realized too late a sable figure, bedecked in the cream and crimson of the Zar, bearing down on him, eclipsing him the moment an unfamiliar battle cry blasted him near deaf. He turned on a heel, knowing he was unable to intercept the bludgeoning blow meant to split him open. The Zar'qin's halberd cut through lashing rains and wind like a fallen pendulum, before he burst from within with a blinding golden light. 

Azat watched, stunned into inaction, as the Zar’qin burned, reduced to burning ashes swept up in the gale. 

The brilliance was overwhelming, shining from an Avatar of Light watching the battle rage from the height of a great hill. His radiance assailed Azat no matter how well he shielded his gaze from it. As the skies became darker still, the ethereal brilliance dulled into a golden haze, banishing dark shadows from existence. 

An entourage of sable-skinned warriors surrounded their liege and God King, guarding him with a grace of poise and effortless strength impossible for any ordinary man or woman to possess. They clasped themselves in armored suits of gleaming scales, their robes the same cream and crimson as their slave warriors beneath great cloaks of sapphire satin. Each clutched an ornate halberd between their leather mittens, their plumed helmets the same shade as their cloaks. All of them were black of hair, wavy in their patterns, and abundant of length. Their eyes glimmered like bright amber plucked from the depths of the seabed. 

The Children of the Sun had taken to the battlefield, charging into the maelstrom alongside their Zar’qin, slave warriors in their own tongue. Azat pried his gaze away from them, meeting the searing gaze of the Avatar of Light, and realized the God King that reigned over both warring armies, watched Azat with eager anticipation. 

    After beholding them briefly, Azat realized the brilliant haze of golden light came from no sun, but exuded from the physical bodies of each of these guardians, adding to the Avatar of the Sun's brilliance.  

 The Avatar spoke to Azat, voice burning like rushing magma, but somehow multi-faceted, like the mortal soul beneath the divinity spoke in unison with it. 

    Soon my time shall end on this mortal plane, like the dwindling lives of your kin… Just like the brief kindling the Children of the Sun cast into the flames of constant war. Tell me, Child of Irothis, did a sovereign command you to ride out against me? 

 Azat shook his head. "I am here of my own accord." 

 "Then you seek the sacred passage of self-sacrifice? You would accept the challenge that I’ve offered, in the hopes of sparing thousands of your Old Myrian countrymen. You would hope to strike me down to bring an end to my reign… to scatter the Children of the Sun to the four corners of Khios, and end tyranny forever? A God King could find honor in such conviction…

 Azat barked, "I seek an end to your madness! You would burn all this world in the flames of your crusade, just for the chance to see it reborn, and your people reborn into gods like yourself. Your ambition is beyond the laws of reason.” 

 “Then you believe you will conquer death? To lift your blade against a true descendant of the God of the Sun, Sirius… it is an obvious invitation to death. If you doubt the truth of my words, look to the tens of thousands of your kin who have perished on these crimson fields. If you seek the glories of martyrdom, then maybe you will yet deliver the souls of these innumerable dead. Should you seek me out at Reaper's Lantern, the clash of our steel could save countless thousands before they even meet their end… 

 Azat answered, "you've mistaken me for a fool playing a hero." 

 If they gave you a choice that would decide the fate of empires and the lives of countless thousands, then why does any of that matter? Would you be the fool and play your part, anyway? Only those born of ignorance would mock a martyr's death. What is humanity if we are anything else when our last days end? It is when the hourglass cracks and the sands of time become finite is when we most often discover the glories of what truly lies beyond death, and the reach of lost souls who cannot understand it. 

 The decision lies with you, Azat. Accept my challenge to a trial by combat. Should you face me and strike down a mortal god, the Children of the Sun shall honor your request and quit our campaign of conquest upon Old Myria. Should you fail and you perish beneath my blade, then the Autumn Queen shall meet with my leadership herself, and grant me sovereignty over the Old Myrian Empire. Choose your commitments with caution, Azat Zakarian. None of your kin will raise their sword against me in your stead.” 
~***~
Title: Re: The Embers of The Past - Come Dawn from the Night - Scene 2 & 3- Rev 10/9/21
Post by: Myen'Tal on September 28, 2021, 11:43:11 PM
Summer, Month of the Gaia Reborn
Year 857, the Ascension of Kings
Ember Hearth Palace in the city of Anahir, capital of the Old Myrian Empire

 Azat listened to the haunting silence in the wintry morning air, a mournful wind rustling through the garden paths, the only song to lure him out of his inward musings. A piece of him feared to know what the new day had brought to the Autumn Realms of Old Myria. A labyrinth of hedgerows separated the small sanctuary hidden at the garden's heart, where he contemplated in silence, almost forgetting he wasn't alone anymore. He could barely see beyond the flickering torchlight burning around the base of a fountain, still overflowing with water. 

 The skies were still dark, only kindling with the soft morning light that came right before the breaking dawn. He tried to remain unconcerned, wanting to distance himself from the thought of grief and uncertainty. Yet Lady Sahem Sadoyan had come by his room in the dark hours of the night and informed him she could not sleep either. 

 So, they had ventured into the blissful haven of the palace garden, when the night had become so black that it blotted out their vision, save for the gentle light of burning torches. They waited for news of the Autumn Queen's imminent death together, in the gardens of an abandoned palace and silent capital city. 

    Sahem eventually broke the silence hanging in the air. The sound of her quiet voice felt like the first words he had heard in months. "It's difficult to believe, isn't it? The Autumn Queen laid down on her death bed after all these years. You used to jest with her, remember, Azat, that after a century of life, you were convinced that death would not touch her." 

 Azat frowned, guilt-stricken by the memory. "Your family has always been unusually long lived. Your mother almost convinced me she would never leave Ember Hearth. Her courtiers were whispering rumors that Goddess Jumanah was her birth mother, and that she maybe immortal." He shuddered. "It's difficult to fathom how the queen has fallen ill enough that death looms by her door each night… I-" 

 Sahem cleared her throat, interrupting Azat's thought. "Enough about my mother. If you're curious about the cause of her illness, just look through any window in the palace that faces south… you can see the Old Myrian heartland burning."  

 She suddenly came to her feet, an unspoken sign that she longed for the familiar halls of Ember Hearth Palace once again. Without a word, Azat stood beside her, just as dawn's first fledgling rays came cresting over the eastern horizon. He couldn't help but notice how fragile every individual lance of light appeared on today of all days. He tried to remember when he had last seen a rising dawn so pale. Azat called on the guards, and they emerged out of the shadows, the torches they bore aloft making their cobalt cloaks shimmer in the wane sunlight. Together, they began their return to the palace. 

 He replied, sighing, "and the blood of thousands feeds the mountain valleys and rolling hills of Old Myria. Your mother saw the Autumn Realms through several wars over the course of her reign. Grief from the destruction would not have laid her low so easily." 

    Beside him, Sahem made a subtle nod. "True, but none of those wars have gone so poorly for our empire like this one has… how many centuries has it been since the Children of the Sun have defiled Old Myrian soil? Since when in our history have their legions come within a week's march of Anahir, capital of all the empire?" 

 Azat grimaced, "never in our history. Yet the Autumn Queen I've always known is strong of heart. If she could, your mother would be on the battlefield, encouraging her warriors while watching them drive their spears through her enemies' hearts. She could always stir the meekest of men to commit to the ferocity of battle. I've seen her stare down the Dominion's God King once".    

 Sahem asked, "And what about you? That God King challenged you to a duel meant to decide the fate of an entire war, not my mother. He challenged you, Azat. The Autumn Queen's obscure champion. My mother's stalwart blade, keeping vigil over her Autumn Throne." 

 Azat stepped around Sahem, opening the heavy oak door before them to allow her first entry. He said, "Sahem, the Autumn Queen begged me herself from her death bed. Anyone who has faced this Sun Caller King has fallen before him. I know not if he is a god, but I must face him." 

 "Then what will you do, Lord Zakarian? He is undefeated. Your death would be just another self-sacrifice. You cannot save anyone by getting yourself killed. Would you weigh the fate of an empire on the gods' scale, and just pray for victory?" 

 He didn't know. Killing a mortal god would be of some difficulty. It mattered little how much he thought it through or answered every question about how feasible it was. 

    Lady Sameh's burning demand echoed through the halls of Ember Hearth Palace. Shocked gasps from handmaidens hidden in the gloom reminded Azat Zakarian that not everyone had abandoned the ancient heirloom. They tread windswept corridors built from checkered tiles of alabaster and matte black stone, spiral granite stairwells jutting from the foundation to reach the palace's higher tiers. Looming monuments of Old Myria's greatest legends kept their solemn vigil from dark alcoves hollowed deep into cobblestone walls.

 The beauty of Ember Hearth seemed like a shell of her former glory, without the families of the Shaira nobility milling through its halls. The epitome of scholarship and education ceased to matter without the children of Lords and Ladies playing at intrigue in the shady nooks outside the academies. Embassies would serve no purpose, without Lords and Ladies wagging their tongues, striking affluent trade alliances and declarations of war by the hour. A queen could never rule an empire without loyal subjects, willing to abide by her mandate and serve her in all things. 

 Yet here Azat lingered in the shadow of obscurity, amid the emptied halls of Ember Hearth Palace. All the Autumn Queen's servants abandoned her stronghold and capital city for fear of conquest. Unattended, Ember Hearth's windswept corridors dimmed, becoming dark like the clouds of a brooding storm. All the Shaira nobility were fleeing into the west for their lives, while all the warriors of the Autumn Realms fought a bleak defense in the Southern Reaches. 

 Azat heard Sameh's quiet voice resound through the dead weight of silence bearing down on them. Every syllable uttered from her lips filled his ears like the declaration of a royal mandate. 

 "Lord Zakarian," she called again. "Will you answer the God King's challenge to meet him in open battle?"    

 Azat paused, breaking his stride to look into the deep emerald of Lady Sameh's eyes. Sameh paused beside him, leveling her expectant gaze with him. She stood before Azat, unwavering. The fluttering trails of her cerulean and pallid white dress bunched between her anxious fingers. Anxiety exuded from her like an infectious energy, making his heart race uneasily and churning his thoughts. He inhaled deeply, then sighed out a long exhale.  

 Azat answered, "I will do what the Autumn Queen commands. You know more than anyone, Sameh, that this decision does not lie with me." 

 Sameh glanced away from him, like she could no longer bear looking Azat in the eye. She said, "And what if it did, Azat? Would anything change? Would the fact alone that your queen left the decision to you… would it stop you from riding out there on those distant battlefields and into your death?" 

 Despite the sting behind the accusation, Azat stood firm, unable to turn away from his oath to the Autumn Queen. 

He replied, "I could have ridden out there months ago. I could have abandoned you without a second thought to face destiny itself, but I'm still here. Meanwhile, all the Shaira have fled and every warrior sworn to Old Myria has ridden south to meet the Dominion's approaching hordes… I should be on those battlefields, Sameh, fighting beside my kin for Empire and Queen. I should be out there fighting for you… Yet here I am, waiting in these abandoned halls, where only the royal family and their most trusted servants endure the solitude in hope of better days."    

 Sameh interrupted, "And what about your unborn children?"  

 "You can tell them I died for their futures should I perish before the end of this war. I won't be the father that will watch them grow up, only to one day tell them I stayed behind while the greatest war of our time was raging, and that tens of thousands of their brethren died in my stead…" 

 Sameh said nothing. He heard only the subtlest sigh of her shock, but that was enough to drive a lance through his chest. 

 Eventually, she regained her composure. She answered, "then ride out like the fabled hero you believe yourself to be… should you die, no one shall mourn you or remember your name. Should you somehow survive by Jumanah's miracle… one day you'll come to know the children you abandoned here today, but it will not be for many moons. You will not see them for as long as I live." 

 Azat opened his mouth to speak, but Sameh shunned him with the turning of her back to him. Before he could say anything, she hurried back the way whence they had come, disappearing into the shadows. 

 Despite himself, he had not the strength to tell her to stop. He knew and understood that she would not reason with him. Azat's destiny laid out plain before him, an inescapable feeling driving him toward the last confrontation that would end the five-decade long war between the Old Myrian Empire and the tyrannical power of the Carth Dominion. He could see little reason to decline the God King’s challenge when he could save the lives of thousands by his acceptance alone. Even should he be defeated, and Old Myria surrendered… the chances of his countrymen winning the conflict through any other means dwindled with every passing hour.   

 Fifty years of pointless death, Azat thought, plaguing all the continent of Khios from one end to the next. The Children of the Sun sought the resurrection of their fallen deity, faithful that their constant pursuit of war would grant him life once more. Sirius, the Solar God, who reigned from his sunlit throne, a golden burning star shining in the void. The God King who ruled them possessed some measure of his blood and divinity. A mere man elevated far above mortal capabilities… immortal and imbued with an otherworldly strength and shining radiance. 

God King of the Carth Dominion, Firstborn of the Children of the Sun, and Sun Caller King of Tushik – City of Grand Canals. 

The Children of the Sun desired their share of the Solar God’s divinity, of which he and his descendants in the Sun Caller Kings offered freely, to those devoted enough to drive darkness and night from all Thearus, and grant Sirius the foundation upon which he would usher in the final age of humankind. The children of man would be reborn, and the Children of the Sun recreated first to reign among all the civilizations therein as gods among men. 

 A foolish tale meant to frighten children, Azat knew, or an excuse to hide behind their relentless conquest in search of long dead gods, forgotten from bygone eras, now buried deep beneath the soil of Thearus. 

 He peered through a nearby archway into the moorlands beyond Ember Hearth. The idyllic city of Anahir swept across the rolling countryside, cloaked beneath a shroud of frost and powder snow. Past the capital city, the southern horizon burned, the fertile provinces of Cressa's Lantern and the Suranna Plains reduced to scorched earth in the Children of the Sun's passing. Thick plumes of charred smoke drifted toward the clouds, blotting out the Veiled Mountains in the distance. 

    Azat Zakarian knew what he must do and promised to meet the Children of the Sun in open battle, and claim the head of the Carth Dominion's so-called immortal God King… 

~***~

Another dawn crested the Veiled Mountains in the east by the time Azat assembled his retinue accompanying him in Ember Hearth. The Black Wolves, twenty famous champions from the Island of Irothis, prepared themselves to ride into battle outside the palace walls. During the last decade, Azat had journeyed across the whole of the Autumn Realms. Irothis, the place of his birth and the only home he could ever dream of, made even the lofty halls of Ember Hearth pale by comparison. 

 Pristine suits of lamellar crafted from hundreds of individual iron scales, interwoven into thick and durable hides, shielded them from head to toe. His retinue of sworn brethren struck a fearsome visage behind amber plumed helmets and silver masks crafted in the visage of their deceased ancestors, howling in rage from beyond the grave.  

 Azat stood apart from his brethren, lingering by the gargantuan double doors of the palace gates, built from enduring oak, and reinforced beneath a framework of steel plating. In patience, he waited for the dawn's golden radiance to strike Anahir and Ember Hearth palace's limestone spires exactly right. Instead, the light appeared to vanish into the roiling clouds of smoke rolling over the Veiled Mountains, flooding the Suranna Plains behind them. 

 Princess Hazan Sadoyan's declaration came upon the billowing wind, reaching Azat before he realized she had even sallied from the palace to greet him a final time. He knew her words pertained to her younger sister, Sameh, Azat’s bride in waiting. 

 "You surprise House Sadoyan yet again, Lord Zakarian." she said. "You've shocked me more than any man ever could, and you're no lover of mine. I thought I knew you better than this. I suppose Sameh must have thought the same when you said everything you did to her earlier this morning." 

 Azat turned away from the wane sunlight glimmering through the smoke clouds, back toward the open palace gates. He watched Lady Hazan approach through the courtyard, leading an entire procession of Ember Hearth's handmaidens. One hundred in number, the young Shaira women emerged from the dark halls of Ember Hearth. Dressed in all-black attire, the sun's pale light did little to lift their somber countenance or their disquiet spirits. He knew they did not want him to leave, but they had come anyway, each maiden bearing a bundle of handpicked lavender and roses in their gloved hands. 

 "Your Grace…" he began, "You should not have come. The Black Wolves of Irothis don't deserve the honor of a queen's royal send off." 

 Hazan pursed her lips into a neat smile. She replied, "I am not your sovereign, Lord Zakarian." 

 "Your Grace, please, could you cease calling me by that title?" 

 The subtle arch of Hazan's brow made him tense with anticipation. She had some hidden point behind her coy dialogue, he realized, something she wanted him to understand before he went charging off into the sunrise. 

 Hazan pressed her hidden agenda. She answered, "If you can call me 'Your Grace', Azat, then I can address you as Lord Zakarian." 

 Azat did little to hide his puzzlement, shrugging. "The difference here is that the Autumn Queen is on her deathbed while her country burns… and you will receive her crown and take her place any moment now. You always knew the truth… I am no noble, but a farmer's son, raised on a quiet farmstead. Should I survive to see better days, I'll spend them tilling the black soil on the Isle of Irothis." 

 "Fates can change, Lord Zakarian… your mundane life ended the night you took up the sword and knelt before my mother's throne to swear your fealty. You became a companion of the Black Wolves and even earned the respect of the Sworn Brotherhood. You've never set foot on that damn farmstead ever since and at this rate, you never will. While I am to succeed my mother's reign of Old Myria and take her crown, it won't happen a moment before her death. As I understand it, you cannot take Sahem's hand in marriage without bearing the title of lord. When I become the next Autumn Queen, my first action will be to gift you with the affluence of a Shaira noble, and a wealthy source of income worthy of it. I will seek to grant Sahem and you some deceased lord's estate or another, hopefully on the Isle of Irothis. Then, you can waste the rest of your days away together, raising your twin sons."    

    Azat's stony countenance softened at Hazan's alluring promise, knowing she had little reason to give such favor to him. Azat managed a weary smile, the expression betraying the immense burden he wore. He said, "You are kinder than most to promise me anything, and pure of heart to achieve any of those promises on my behalf, but… I fear Sahem has turned her back on what we've always dreamed of." 

 "Lord Zakarian, I cannot think of many who would swallow their pride to become the consort of a royal princess. You were craftier than I thought, gifting her two twins before she thought to take another noble's hand." 

    Azat sighed, "It wasn't intentional." 

 Hazan chuckled, "So I've been told, but the damage there is done. One cannot simply erase your status as the blood father of Sahem's children. Of course, you know the Autumn Queen would accept none of what we are speaking about, but I am not my mother. Sahem is my younger sister, and there is little chance she'd succeed the throne after me or the other elder siblings in line to be crowned before her. In a strange turn of events, I believe you're the only man she's ever truly cared for. I don't think a little lover's spat will change any of that. All you need to do is help our countrymen end this invasion, and come back home alive." 

 A glimmer of hope kindled within Azat's chest, but he dared not let the kindling ignite into a blaze. Leaving Ember Hearth behind would become even more difficult then. 

 He answered, "I will do all that I can, but I can make no promises." 

 Hazan nodded. "That should suffice. Jumanah has blessed you many times over for many deeds of lesser effort… I will have our stable hands remove the equipment from your horse." 

 Azat paused, looking to the noble mount waiting patiently by his side. 

 "You should take Mustaphen." 

    "That engine of war?" Azat chuckled, "there has never been a warrior who could ride him since his owner passed some half a decade ago." 

 Hazan nodded, "True. That is why I want you to take him. A noble mount like Mustaphen was never meant to be punished with isolation. He deserves another master who will ride him across distant lands and bring him glory on many battlefields. If you are riding into open war and battle, you'd be a fool not to even see if he'd take to you. No other horse in all the Autumn Realms would serve you better." 

 Azat considered her offer, sighing out of resignation. "Fine, Your Grace, have the stable hands bring him out. We will see if Mustaphen thinks I'm worthy. If so, then the Black Wolves will ride for Reaper's Lantern with the sun's zenith." 

~***~

Title: The Embers of The Past - And May the Golden Sun Reign - Rev. 10/9/21
Post by: Myen'Tal on October 7, 2021, 11:07:33 AM
This chapter isn't necessarily in chronological order... might be a chapter and a half away from where it should be. We will see.

And May the Golden Sun Reign

Summer, in the month of the Gaia Reborn
Year 857 A.H., in the Ascension of Kings
Tushik, the City of Grand Canals, in the province of Zurish of the Carth Dominion

 Shoushan watched the golden dawn break over the ruins of the forgotten eastern kingdoms. A cold desert wind came billowing from that direction, streaming through the lavender silk veil draped over the open entrance to the balcony. Glimmering rays of dawn light pierced the billowing folds of fabric, the silk blinds dancing in the soft rush of air streaming into the Royal Palace. From the high summit of the Golden Mountain, the city of Grand Canals spread out beneath her throughout the Valley of the Sun.

      Breathing in the fresh air, she caught the scent of blooming flora from the palace's hanging gardens, mixed with an alluring incense created from Gnarled Summeroot, Rosewood, and blackberries. Despite the entrancing aroma cloying the air, Shoushan could taste the acrid smog produced wholesale from the industrial centers of the Zar District, or slave quarter, she thought in the plainer terms of outsiders. 

      Golden light filtered into the Celestial Observatory, banishing the shadows hidden through the laboratory's concealed nooks. Birdsong called from the palace roofs, where the hanging gardens thrived beneath the open sky and a glaring sun. Entire flocks took to the skies, dancing through the wind like graceful creatures of light. 

      From within the observatory's heart, Grand Disciple Tabia whispered gentle words to the infant child cradled in her arms. In the spacious, quiet room occupied between the three of them, the Disciple of Heaven regaled her young daughter with the myths of the Ascended Pantheon. The ancient gods of humankind, that once tread the primordial realms of Thearus, and brought humanity out of their age of darkness. 

Shoushan's quiet voice dispelled the tranquility woven within the observatory's gold pleated walls. The wind carried every syllable across smooth sandstone floors, weaving every word through the odd contraptions housed within. Past the gallery of strange looking glasses, scrying mirrors, and gnarled oak desks drowning beneath scrawled over scrolls and elder tomes besides, the sound of her voice filled the void of silence.

Shoushan asked, "Aren't you tired of boring my dearest sister to death with your sermons? She cannot understand your overwrought parables. She can make no meaning out of the origins of this world… you should let my dear Voshki shut her eyes again and fall gently into the dreaming world.

"Gods know it is a kinder place than this monument of hubris."

Tabia answered, the zealous flame in her voice kindling even when lost within the moment's serenity. 

"Hubris lies with the audacity to deny the ancient traditions of your kindred, Shoushan. It is an alteration of thought. A change of heart that separates a woman from her siblings so thoroughly, she cannot look at those who would call her loved one or cherished family, unable to realize we all share the same blood in our veins."

A smirk pulled on Shoushan's lips until they tightened into a coy smile, feigning ignorance. She replied, "Am I marked by such vanity, dear Aunt-in-law? Have I sinned against the Children of the Sun and fallen into the snare of darkness?"

Tabia said, "Pray tell, Shoushan, that you could look me in the eye and say it isn't so? You're the daughter of a God King. An Heiress to the Sun Caller Kings of Old and the firstborn descendant of Erasyl himself… how many mere mortals are so fortunate to possess a father a millennium old? How many are so blessed with an undying life?"

Shoushan said, "none of them, I know… but what does any of that matter? Are you going to just sit there, cradling my youngest sister and your child, and tell me you won't have her shining light eclipse me, a Daughter of Darkness?"

A derisive snort echoed across the observatory, emanating from Tabia's direction from the other end of the ornate tower. 

Tabia confessed, "I've wished for something akin to your fears for many decades… but I am powerless before your father when speaking about you. He never listens to anyone's concerns about his firstborn daughter, not even when her soul is steeped in the darkness of something treacherous and dangerous. 

Shoushan said, "I'm surprised the irony behind your confession appears to be lost on you, Tabia. Do you think he called us here together because of anything I've had to say about you? Your husband and my father seems just as reluctant about any issues surrounding you, just as he ignores my transgressions."

Erasyl, Firstborn of Man, Sun Caller King of Tushik, and the God King of the Carth Dominion, filled the spacious observatory with the sound of his patient voice. He did not shout, Shoushan knew he never did. Not unless he found himself on some distant battlefield or another, crushing everything unworthy of Sirius, the Solar God, beneath a legion of slaves and noble-blooded warriors. 

"Should a father's undying love be called reluctance?" Erasyl interrupted, striding through the open oak doors leading into the observatory. "All I ever wish when I bring you two together, is for both of you to put aside your stark differences and aid me in my coming reign of the Carth Dominion."

Swiveling her head away from the breaking dawn toward her father, Shoushan noticed a heavy burden weighing upon Erasyl's shoulders. She replied, "So the rumors were true? Grandfather has finally met his end on the edge of an Old Myrian blade? How is that possible?"

Tabia paused in her gentle bouncing of the infant child in her arms. Before the swaddled baby could cry out, she hushed her back to sleep with a simple calling of her name.

"Hush, Voshki…" Tabia cooed, then fixed Erasyl with her usual demanding glare. "So this Azat Zakarian truly slew your father–an immortal God King with two thousand years to his glorious reign… the thought beggars belief."

"Azat Zakarian?" Shoushan asked, "who slew him? I'm ashamed that I've never heard his name spoken before by anyone. Who is this fabled Old Myrian hero?"

Tabia affirmed Shoushan's demand. "A mortal man possessed of some divine power, perhaps?"

Their questions nagged at Erasyl, Shoushan knew when the God King dismissed them with an irritable flick of his wrist. 

Erasyl inhaled, the deep intake of the morning air exhausting the fury building within him. After a moment, he continued, "It matters little who he is to anyone… I've heard several rumors about him. That he is some young Lord from the Isle of Irothis or some destitute farmer… Far be it from me to dishonor his origins after fighting with such valor. Should he be capable of laying an Avatar of Light like my father low, then the Children of the Sun should strive to match his great example."

Shoushan cocked her head without thinking. "You're just going to accept your father's death as if it were nothing?"

Erasyl nodded. "it was an end worthy of your grandfather, my daughter. His kindred should let him lie beneath Old Myrian soil with the honor he reaped throughout his life. Feuding over an honor-bound trial by combat would only dishonor the legacy of the Sun Caller Kings and all the Children of the Sun."

"A shame then," Shoushan sneered, "Of course, of all the injustices and mistakes of the past that you've always dreamed of correcting… and it is the greatest man I've ever known that you would let lie without any challenge."

Tabia interrupted, "A lost war cannot be won after the dust on the battlefield lies still, nor the blood of slain heroes is already spilled."

Erasyl agreed, "Tabia's words are wise, Shoushan… I won't waste anymore time on my father's hasty ambitions. The Dominion is strained from constant war and many internal issues of civil strife are becoming rife in certain areas of my conquered realms. It is time that the Dominion forgo the Solar God's wrathful aspect and become tranquil like the evening dusk."

Shoushan folded her arms, "Did you call Tabia and myself hear just to disappoint me?" 

Erasyl said, "one reason, but certainly not all of them." His hearty laughter resounded through the quiet observatory. "Come, Shoushan, why are the three of us standing here as if against one another? Take a seat by your younger sister, Voshki, and hold her in your arms for a while. Tabia, come rest beside me. A new epoch is being ushered into history even as we speak… and I will need wise council when determining the fate of my Dominion. It is time to look to the plight of the Zar caste and the decadence rotting within the heart of my realms… all shall change, and Carth will shed the vanities and frailties of its haunted past, and burn them like so much kindling. Out of the fires that will blaze from the sacrifices that we must make, the Dominion shall arise anew, like a burning phoenix…"

~***~
Title: The Embers of The Past - Though Long are the Shadows Cast Far From the Light Rev
Post by: Myen'Tal on October 9, 2021, 07:40:27 AM
Rev. 10/11/21

Though Long are the Shadows Cast Far From the Light
   
A flaming dawn came cresting over the Golden Mountain, distant on the eastern horizon. As the skies bled vivid colors, Kalb thought it symbolic of the lifeblood of Khios. The same blood that flowed through every mortal man, woman, and child upon the face of this mundane world.
   
A cursed bloodline, Kalb thought, humans were forever cursed with omens of their own creation.
   
As another contract of assassination unfolded in the palm of his hand, dangling in the wind, he wandered when the final dawn would come when he could fall gently into the gentle dark of death.
   
An assassin that did not understand the Hourglass Game with the Lady of Fortune made a poor killer.
   
Kalb traced the tattered parchment unraveled in front of him, piecing together the cryptic calligraphy into something sensible. Beneath the blinding glare of the open sun, he could hardly read anything. The breaking light of dawn proved too stark a contrast to the gentle dark of his homeland in Su'khan, straining his vision. An unbearable desert sun was nothing unfamiliar to him. The searing heat plaguing the Valley of the Sun paled in comparison to the infernal sands of the Southern Wastes, the barren sea of his birth.
   
At least, he thought, concealed beneath the shade of an empty hovel in an abandoned village, the strange, enigmatic peoples of the surface built their buildings to reach toward the skies. A man could find haven in the shadows cast by every settlement from the relentless golden light saturating everything above the underground.
   
Accumulating sweat dribbled down his heavy brow in a pattern of beads, pouring into recent scars until they stung like the bite of a scorpion's tail. A searing desert wind came coursing through the unblemished hovels created from sandstone and clay. The billowing breeze brought the stench of death straight to Kalb, it lingered over the entire village like a plague. Still, he continued decrypting the message scrawled over the parchment, unraveling the command sent from the Den of Vipers by one strange phrase at a time.
   
Take the Sudhari blade hidden within the forgotten well.
   
Claim the divine heads that reign behind the golden paradise of Tushik.
   
Break the chains that confine your actions… see it done before the next crescent shape of the moon.
   
Good hunting, Severed.

   
Kalb whistled into the billowing wind, beckoning the shadow waiting by the shallow oasis in the village's heart to him. Concentrating, he listened for the faint sound of hooves pounding the arid soil at the subtle command. Through the whispering wind and wandering sands, the quiet sound grew until the earth quaked beneath his feet. The hovel Kalb sat outside of shifted slightly, like a tremor in the earth caused its battered doorframe to splinter at the hinges, then collapse backward into the morbid dark housed within.
   
"Killmonger…" Kalb shouted before the gargantuan horse could storm by him. Like a demon of the storm, Killmonger came to a sliding halt, gouging great grooves in the parched earth beneath his hooves. Beneath the golden sun, the Sudhari mount's hide, blacker than volcanic soot, did not gleam in the shining light. Daylight appeared to dull around the wicked horse like a damp aura, obscuring Killmonger's physical presence until he flickered and faded like a dark miasma. The creature's eyes gleamed a bright hazel, weighed down underneath the same heavy scale mail barding draped over his imposing physique.
   
The stench of death lingered about the spectral horse, greeting Kalb the moment Killmonger came galloping from the dead village's heart. He heard the familiar sound of iron chains, ground against one another with every unrestful move the mount made, before he glimpsed the sound's source. Where the miasma grew weaker, thinning enough for mortal eyes to peer beyond its darkness, Kalb gleaned the grisly sight of a hundred human skulls in various stages of decay, impaled on the length of about twenty individual chains. Champions of many kingdoms and creeds, each a trophy added to the Severed's tally of successful contracts.
   
Killmonger neighed, the sound like a tyrannical warlord's blackest war cry.
   
Kalb said, "It is good to see you, old friend… I hope I was not absent overlong… Let us not linger in this place of death any longer. Come, show me the hidden well in the village."
   
A thick geyser of mist sprayed from Killmonger's snout when it snorted derisively, like the task was beneath it. Yet it obeyed without question. It's wild charge to come find his master had now calmed to a casual trot, making the earth rumble beneath them. Curious, Kalb set off after the beast, following in the Sudhari horse's wake from a respectful distance. His thick leather boots tread upon dirt roads, the blood once slathering the mud baked into a coagulated dirt. The bodies of the deceased littered the village like a dead plague of rats, all of them killed by some brutal raid Kalb had missed entirely by coincidence.
   
Venturing through the maze of humble squalor, a notion of regret kindled within Kalb's chest at the morbid graves, greeting him around every corner. He almost desired to take the Sudhari blade from the hidden well, and briefly pause his mission to ride down the bandits who had struck this place out of nowhere. Though he knew none of the people who called this backwater their home, Kalb couldn't escape the feeling that someone or another had put the village to the sword to send him a message.
   
Turn back, Ashen Blade, and never return…
   
Undeterred, he desired nothing more than to test his skill on would-be challengers. The Goddess of Sorrow knew all too well that her rotting trophies were finite treasures, made brittle in the scorching desert heat until they crumbled into dust in the hands of her disciples. It was almost time to reap more for Alastrine's collection, an endless mound of skulls stacked high before the Gates of Her Palace.
   
Killmonger's neighing cut through the whispering wind like an ominous warning, the dark steed glaring off into the eastern dawn. Kalb paused where he stood, craning his head toward the high dunes overlooking the dead village at the bottom of the nameless basin, where the foliage grew light at the village heart, lured into growing by the small oasis where the hidden well rested. A cavalcade of armed horsemen came cresting the high dunes, riding out of the shroud of dust created by the wind's passing. Observant, Kalb noticed their cream and crimson robing, draped over chain-mail and the padded silk armor that lay beneath.
   
Realization dawned on him after determining their attire as that of the Zar'qin Guard, that the chance for bloodshed may have already come not a moment too soon. Glancing to the wrist of each slave warrior sworn in service to the Dominion, Kalb noticed vermilion silk bands tied around the wrist of every warrior. He did not know them by the bands they wore, and he could tell none of them knew him either. A single glance from their inferior warhorses at the ominous sight of Killmonger halted the unit.
   
He mentally noted out of genuine surprise, when the war band of vermillion totting Zar'qin leaped out of their saddles and came storming toward Kalb and Killmonger anyway.
   
Kalb shouted above the wind as it swelled into a howling gust. "Are you arresting me on charges of mass murder, brethren of the Zar? I fear you've arrived far too late if you sought to bring anyone to justice for what has happened here."
   
A lithe warrior, covered from head to toe with scars so deep, Kalb spied patches of white bone exposed within, shouted back in answer. "And pray tell, my brother not of blood, why the Zar should think anything different of a lone Su'khanite, standing in the heart of one of their raided villages?"
   
Arching his brow, Severed asked, "this is one of your villages, brother? I did not realize the Zar were given reign to live their lives so free of their overlords?"
   
As the Zar'qin approached, the scarred warrior replied with a calm retort. "Well, you could hardly be a brother of mine, Su'khanite, if you know so little of the Zar and their ways… So why not begin with telling my friends and I who you are… and why you're hear at precisely the wrong hour, in precisely the wrong place. Depending on your answer, I may or may not have my righthand man here, literally tear you in half."
   
He gestured with a point of his chin toward a teetering tower of sinew and muscle, all pinkish, pallid skin and rough spun cloth decorated with intricate, swirling patterns. The Demi-giant stood seven and a half feet, entire heads and shoulders above anyone else present among Kalb. His hair was rough and unkempt, a golden blonde that seemed at odds with any lineage on Khios.    
   
His pallid skin, too, was like a complicated tapestry of scars, an entire history of battles won and wars fought from the front of every conflict.
   
Kalb acknowledged the Half-Giant of the Kharan clans with a subtle nod. To his surprise, the Demi-giant nodded back, the facial expression stoic enough to match Kalb's placid one.
   
He said, "Of the Kharan Tribes, I've only heard wild tales that have birthed many legends this far west. A strange thing to find that they may all be true."
   
The brutish barbarian hawked and spat, sneering with such weight behind his facial structure, Kalb thought it reminiscent of actual stone statues becoming animated with life. The Kharanite rasped, "Answer the question, assassin." His shoulders heaved with malignant laughter. "I swear you won't like the result if I must come over and pull your intestines asunder when I'm tearing you in halves."
   
"And what is your name, brother Kharanite?"
   
The giant shrugged, "what does it matter, Su'khanite? It won't mean anything when you're dead. And I won't care enough to remember you when you're crushed from this world."
   
"Perhaps at this rate, we should forget formalities, and cut to the point of the matter then."
   
The scarred over Zar'qin interrupted them both. "Gabhan, enough!" He shifted back to Kalb. "I am not in the habit of asking twice. Among the Zar, it is unbecoming if generosities must be requested twice from anyone, guest or even blood brothers, it matters little."
   
Kalb shrugged. "then we stand at an impasse, Zar'qin. If you desire information about the raiders who put this village to the sword, I'd be willing to help, maybe even offer my services. But if you're going to ignore the obvious and demand questions from me, then to the Gates of Her Palace with all of you…"
   
The Zar'qin leader glanced once to Killmonger, noticing the Sudhari horse's deathly stare upon his entire war band. Prying his gaze away from the unnatural horse, he turned back to Kalb. "A shame that formalities have to be forsaken this one time… brethren, claim this Su'khanite's head… bring it to me when you're done. Gabhan, crush that monstrosity of a steed into the dunes. Attack!"
Title: Re: The Embers of The Past - Though Long are the Shadows... Scene 1.5 10/11/21
Post by: Myen'Tal on October 11, 2021, 08:42:38 AM
They drew swords from their scabbards, glinting in the blinding light of the day. Shouting guttural cries, the Zar'qin came charging through the dune sand. A billowing gust came whipping around them, cloaking Kalb's foes behind an obscuring cloud of dust. Amid the chaos animating before him, Killmonger's black shadow danced throughout the choking tide. The Sudhari mount almost melded into the pollution, appearing and fading like some intangible apparition, desperately trying to break free into the physical world.
   
Kalb waited in silence, unmoving amid the tarnished gale lashing about him like the breath of some raging deity. As the wind surged again, loose sand became caught up in the current. At once, the burning skies over the dead village became bleak, the Dominion's golden sun blotted out by an all-consuming tsunami of wind-blown sand. Choked of daylight, the Ashen Blade waited, cloaked in the long shadow cast by his distant homeland.
   
From out of the windblown sands, a familiar voice called him by name, the same Zar'qin who had thought him a brother not of blood.
   
"Kalb of the Severed Hand, I remember your name now, Su'khanite…" He said, "I pray Alastrine will find your maggot-ridden corpse worthy, when it eventually washes up to the Gates of Her Palace - Encircle him, brethren, grant the Ashen Blade no respite! Run him down!"
   
Kalb answered, "A pity you possess no name to remember your legacy by, brother."
   
Hazed figures came bursting out of the darkness, taking shape amid the sandstorm like apparitions of the arid wastes. Glancing to the left and right of himself, Kalb counted nine black outlines closing with him, tying an invisible noose around his neck. Hand tensed around the sheathe dangling by his waist, the Severed Hand pushed off his back foot into a loping run. Thumb tucked beneath the edge of the sheathe, the Sarunite gladius housed within came loose by mere inches with a casual flick.
   
Kalb unveiled the hidden blade. A jarring impact upon the dark weapon's thrust into chain-mail, rattled the fingers beneath their black leather gauntlets. A hideous screaming deafened him upon twisting the gladius with abandon. A warm liquid pooled between his knuckles upon tearing the shortened blade free. Staggering, darkness sloughed away from the Zar'qin, near enough for the Ashen Blade to look him in the eye. Without warning, the Zar retaliated, parrying the gladius' whirling arc out of the air. A shoving hand connected with Kalb's chest, pushing him backward toward two other hazed shapes charging in from behind.
   
Becoming weightless, Kalb let the howling gale steer him aside of their hacking blows. Weaving between both opponents, he let the gale guide the direction of each sweeping cut upon passing them by. A jarring impact of Sarunite steel upon chain-linked mail rattled his fingers. Guided by his momentum, he heard the keening cry of armor sundered upon the razor edge of his blade. A hot liquid streamed down the length of his gauntlet. It flowed into the gaps of Kalb's armor, soaking through the robes beneath.
   
Kalb pried the blade loose, certain to stab back down into the vulnerable meat between the jaw and shoulders. A gurgling cry answered back, before the hazed outline crumpled to the arid earth. Still animated, Kalb retreated by a single step. He heard a blade hurtle by him, feeling the air come apart a hair's breadth from cutting his left eye out. Still locked in the movement, the Ashen Blade hacked downward. He heard the rattling gasp of breath upon the gladius' departure from living flesh. Swaying heavily, the other Zar toppled aside, hand clasped around the wicked wound sliced across his throat.
   
Kalb blinked. A third warrior stumbled backward and tripped. Leaking blood from the previous stab wound, the battered armor around the impact site came apart upon the second thrust, and the tearing force that followed upon the blade's exit.
   
The Severed Hand heard his brother not of blood screaming curses at the remaining warriors left to him.
   
"Fools, I said encircle him!" The Zar'qin shouted. "strike together and from separate -"
   
Kalb plucked one of the eight barbed javelins from out of the quiver fastened upon his back. He did not throw it, but rammed the hooked spear through the back of another Zar'qin's knee when he made to charge past. Locked into the movement, the slave warrior's machete struck Kalb dead in the chest. The honed edge split the black leather open, parting through the thick silk layers, cushioning the blow from underneath. Staggered, the Ashen Blade sank down onto his knees. Crippled, the Zar whom had struck him, crumpled down with him.
   
The Ashen Blade reversed the trajectory of his blade, slamming the Sarunite Gladius up straight through the fallen Zar's gullet. Winded, Kalb pushed the blade in deeper, until it sprouted out of the dead man's skull.
   
From somewhere out of the sandstorm, the earth itself quaked beneath the crushing strength of Killmonger's charge. Coming out of the bleak light, the Sudhari mount tackled another pair of oblivious Zar down to the arid sands. Horror marked their screams, just before Killmonger trampled them both underfoot. Kalb heard plain their bodies being reduced to gory sludge.
   
Mobilizing, he took advantage of the ensuing chaos. Defiant, the remaining Zar survivors, three, turned their blades to the demon in their midst. Recalling the Kharanite riding with the Zar'qin, he knew nothing about his whereabouts or his fate.
From out of the darkness, the Severed Hand's brother not of blood, called to his men.
   
He cried, "Enough! Fall back and withdraw from the area!"
   
Kalb had already plucked another barbed projectile from his quiver. From this distance, the retreating back of his brother not of blood became obscured, shrinking into the arid storm until it became difficult to align his aim. Without wasting another moment, the Ashen Blade cast the barbed weapon through the air, considering the dying gale, the billowing tides of sand lulled into a thick shroud of dust.
   
He studied the arced trajectory the javelin created, soaring through bleak skies, before descending onto his mark with unerring precision. Surprised, Kalb winced the moment the rounded blade of a gargantuan axe swatted the barbed javelin away from the Zar'qin unit's commander. Charging out of the choking miasma, Kalb could barely follow the Kharanite's beguiling speed until the giant was upon him…
Title: The Embers of The Past - Quality of Life Update - Map, Illustration, & Website
Post by: Myen'Tal on October 12, 2021, 08:53:05 PM
Hi 40k online :),

Quick update here!

I've kicked off the process on the map creation of Khios continent in particular - I thought I'd share what is happening during the process.

First here is the hand drawn map that I've created for Embers!

This is the baseline for the map creation process.

(https://i.ibb.co/S0DR6Xm/20211004-151053.png) (https://ibb.co/xGKJ2Sg)

The artist that I'm coordinating with is going to bring this style of art to my map, and will detail a lot of the special locations!

(https://i.ibb.co/pRr8jcQ/ferdinand-ladera-kingdomofamay-final.png) (https://ibb.co/0FVSyTK)

Also going through the vision and concept discussion for getting some illustrations done of my characters! I'm looking at getting some single character portraits and some group portraits done!

When I get a few of these illustrations and the map done, eventually going to get the branding and website for my series up and running!

Super excited to kick all of this off and finally announce it with you guys! Been some highs and lows since this point, but it's starting to come together  ;D
Title: Re: The Embers of The Past - Quality of Life Update - Map, Illustration, & Website
Post by: Alienscar on October 18, 2021, 06:03:21 AM
That map looks absolutely brilliant. Couldn't say for sure why, but I have always liked maps when they appear in books. Somehow they make the story more 'real' for me.

It is rare nowadays for a book to include illustrations of any kind, let alone character illustrations. I imagine including them will greatly increase both the printing and sales cost of the finished book. Is your book going to be a digital release?
Title: Re: The Embers of The Past - Announcement, A Glimpse, and a Ride to Battle!
Post by: Myen'Tal on October 18, 2021, 10:31:56 AM
That map looks absolutely brilliant. Couldn't say for sure why, but I have always liked maps when they appear in books. Somehow they make the story more real; for me.

It is rare nowadays for a book to include illustrations of any kind, let alone character illustrations. I imagine including them will greatly increase both the printing and sales cost of the finished book. Is your book going to be a digital release?

Hi Alienscar!

I'm glad you like the map so far  :), still a ways to go with it!

As for the illustrations, I am only planning to include the map in the book.

I am planning on using the illustrations for a website, once I start focusing on getting that up and running. Will also see how I can implement it into promotional material & other advertisement.

Maybe I can include some laminated, high-quality print-outs if someone decides to purchase a hardback through the website or something.

I am planning on supporting a kindle, hardback, and paperback release.

I've considered trying to get an audio book version as well, but I think that will come a ways after the initial launch. At that point I should be able to gauge if the expense would be worth all the cost of getting Embers into an audiobook format  :D.

Announcement!
Embers of the Past is entering another version cycle, as the narrative once again prepares to dial the timeline back by another 30 years.

The focus of this new narrative will be on the older generation of characters from Embers of the Past's current narrative - and feature some new ones.

A major reason behind this decision is so I can focus on the events of the past that set the current timeline of Embers into motion.

Such as the origins of God King Erasyl and the Children of the Gods

The Epoch of the Black Descent - where the Gods that reigned over Khios were defeated, slain, and their survivors scattered back into the celestial heavens by an enigmatic threat long forgotten to time by mankind, who was forced to climb out of the devastation alone.

Origins of Azat Zakarian - the Black Wolf of Irothis, Nishan the Scarred Child, Shoushan - Heiress of the Sun, etc, as well as a whole cast of additional characters - such as:

Mahir of the Severed Hand, Lucine, the Moon Maiden of Sarune, Heaven's Grand Disciple Tabia, Kalb of the Crimson Guard, Adofo of the Lavender Guard, and more...

As you can see, the last few chapters have been covering this era, I was just didn't want to announce it yet  ;D.

I am working on building the narrative, and I'm already coming across opportunities to expand into.

So, yeah, let's see where this road takes us  :).

Also, I will focus next on creating a prologue that focuses on the origins of our favorite God King of the Carth Dominion, Erasyl, and the ascension of the Children of the Sun across the decadent Carth Republic.

So, buckle in my dudes, here we go!

For the meantime, I leave you with this brief scene...

And, perhaps a gift, yet to be completed in full of one certain Daughter of the Goddess Alastrine...

(https://i.ibb.co/jGskY3n/sketch-wip.png)


And As the Fires Fade to Embers - 10/18/2021

A pale sun came to its zenith in the sky, billowing clouds of smoke that choked the Veiled Mountains taking on a symbolic aspect. Azat rode hard through the Southern Reaches, golden lances of light piercing the ashen gray smog, alight from within by dancing embers. Contrails of smoke roiled throughout the skies, coiling and fading to allow the sun's radiance to come shining through. Riding upon Mustaphen's back, the matte black engine of war that the horse was, galloped across the verdant hills with beguiling speed. Its speed was effortless, ironshod hooves quaking the earth underfoot, leaving a visible trail of disheveled Old Myrian soil where it came trailblazing across the verdant hills. Even weighed down beneath a heavy plate barding, the warhorse moved like weight and endurance were no impediment.

A dark tide of matte black armor, marked with chalky white accents that were sharp and angular upon them, the Black Wolves of Irothis rode alongside him. An amber gold lace interwove the iron scales creating their lamellar armor, ending in minute, ornate tassels that dangled with the wind's direction. Despite being twenty one in number, the Children of Irothis stole every gaze out in the southern fields. Hundreds of Old Myrians, garbed in pallid clothes to deflect the summer heat, tending the farmlands thriving on the empire's sparse frontier.

Azat could hardly call the Southern Reaches a land burgeoning with civilization. Even after centuries of prosperity, the greater whole of the Autumn Realms had long abandoned the region to build their great cities and monuments elsewhere. Centuries of intermittent warfare between the Carth Dominion and the Old Myrian Empire had seen these bountiful lands reduced to scorched earth repeatedly. Gazing eastward toward Cressa's Lantern hidden behind the Veiled Mountains, he realized that morbid piece of history was repeating yet again.

Yet the Southern Reaches still grew. Abundant grasslands and windswept valleys throughout the province provided opportunity for those humble in wealth, but diligent with their working hands. Year after year, a constant exodus of the destitute and laboring classes, alongside bands of lone hunters and other skilled workers of other dangerous trades besides, came to the last frontier to build their lives anew. For decades, the Southern Reaches have experienced rapid growth, villages springing up in the hills over yonder, until one gazed out toward the eastern horizon and saw nothing but prospering fields dotting the bountiful landscape.

Humble townships, founded in bygone years, burgeoned until they sprawled along the banks of the Alabaster River, a great trench from the Black Sea separating the Autumn Realms of Old Myria from the territories of the Carth Dominion. The Armada of the Royal Coalition, the Autumn Realm’s formidable navy, kept the Alabaster pure from the primitive warships of the other Khiosian powers.

Azat realized the Southern Reaches had created an enduring society, hardier than those found in any other corner of Old Myria. Though the bordering provinces burned from the fires of conquest, the Southerners watched the Black Wolves of Irothis galloping hard toward the near distant battlefield. Azat saw their stoic gazes, weary from honest toil, glinting with a pride and confidence he had not seen in the Shaira nobility since he swore his fealty to become the Autumn Queen's champion.

He supposed the Southern Reaches had seen the make and splendor of every Old Myrian army to march southward against the Carth Dominion. Her citizens remained defiant in the face of conquest, no matter how bleak the odds became. Children came racing through the fields in the wake of the Black Wolves' passing, their parents shouting their devotions to the Autumn Queen amid the prayers of others, hoping for another decisive victory to end the war.

The Children of Irothis forged ahead, pressing onward until the Southern Reaches became distant. Emerald and golden lands fecund with life withered, reduced on their approach to the Veiled Mountains, until the lands became the black soot of scorched earth. The Suranna plains churned like mud beneath the hooves of their steeds. In the near distance, the clamoring song of battle came within earshot.

Coming into the highlands at the foot of the Veiled Mountains, they crested the first outlying hills. Lord Zakarian brought Mustaphen to a sudden halt. The Black Wolves of Irothis came riding from behind him, reigning in their mounts to watch the battle unfolding before them. Spilling from the mouth of the Reaper's Lantern mountain pass, Azat saw only an ocean of cream and crimson, marked by innumerable battle standards of various designs and color. Azat realized the Zar'qin Legion must have numbered in the thousands, so endless in their ranks that their masters, the Children of the Sun, were absent from the ensuing battle.

Arrayed against the legion of slave warriors like a bulwark, the armies of the Autumn Realms coiled around the gate of the mountain pass. Embattled ranks from the Ardent Vigil, civilian warriors from the laboring class, closed upon the Zar'qin legion where it came flooding out of Reaper's Lantern. They contained the Dominion's flood from breaking farther into Old Myria like a dam. Behind the Ardent Vigil's bastion, rank upon rank of the Opal Sea Sentinels, marked by the lapis blue of their silk robes, scaled down lamellar for light armor, and flowing grayish-black plumed helmets. Arrayed behind them, the Knights of Old Myria gleamed beneath the pale sun, their polished plate steel gleaming like the Alabaster blades of the Black Wolves where it reinforced the black padded armor underneath.

Yet Azat could only bring himself to focus on the bloody quagmire at the forefront of the battle. Either opposing force dispatched embattled warriors on both sides, fought on in small pockets, between an ocean of the many dead, that threatened to swallow the survivors. Fresh formations from either army continued to march into the center ground, intent on forcing one another back.

The God King's proposal was nothing more than a lie
, Azat thought, steeling himself to enter the field, into the gaping maw of death itself. He would fight until this God King had no choice but to come forward in challenge.
Title: The Embers of the Past - Come Dawn From the Night, Rev 2.5
Post by: Myen'Tal on October 22, 2021, 11:29:30 AM
A brief glimpse of the eastern realms on Khios continent  ;D:

(https://i.ibb.co/S00jC81/Fantasy-Map-color-wip3.jpg)


Come Dawn From the Night - Rev 2.5 - 10/22/2021


Summer, Month of the Gaia Reborn 

Year 857, the Ascension of Kings 

Ember Hearth Palace in the city of Anahir, capital of the Old Myrian Empire
 

Amid black skies, a crescent moon shone brighter than its surrounding stars. Azat Zakarian kept his eyes to the heavens, every wink of light in the distance like beacons calling him into the gentle embrace of death. Somewhere in the tapestries of starlit voids and celestial bodies dwelled death's herald, a great raven said to blot out moon and stars to take away the souls of legends. An inescapable feeling that his end would come in battle lowered his spirits, but a defiance burned inside of him.

It could not be his time.

His twenty-fourth summer was coming to an end, and his fiance lounged beside him on the lone palanquin hidden in the garden. Her weight pressed into him, her head sinking into his chest like she sought to replace his heart with her own caring soul.

“Dreaming of the Hanging Gardens of Heaven again, my love?”

“You ask me as if you've never wondered what lies beyond this shining night sky?”

When she lifted her head to answer him, Azat could not quite bring himself to look her in the eye, and face the reality she believed in that twinkled there. She messaged his broad shoulder with a gentle hand, luring his gaze toward her anyway. Azat looked to her, and found the gaze of curious golden brown eyes. Bright like the precious gems found beneath the Amber Gold river, he thought, worth more than weight of the entire river's wealth.

Her skin was the shade of a lioness' burnished pelt, smooth and unblemished beneath his grazing fingers. Curiously, those same fingers coiled chestnut strands from the wavy coils of her hair.

“I cannot say the fate of something so distant concerns me at all. At least not in this moment. Should I be jealous of the goddess? You seem more interested in seeking her amid the stars than watching them with me.”

Azat smiled at her jest. He playfully dismissed her subtle accusation with a soft shrug. In response, Sameh wrapped the flowing sleeves of her lavender night gown around his neck. A subtle shift saw her head resting comfortably against his neck. She snaked a hand down the side of his neck to feel his heart beat within his chest.

High walls of trimmed hedgerows rustled like natural walls formed from branch and leaf. Secluded behind the gnarled barricade, the Sadoyan Sanctuary was almost hidden from sight. A scraping of leaves scattered on the cobblestone filled his ears. Azat studied them briefly, before turning back to the incredible vista behind the sanctuary's entrance. Without the burning dawn to reveal the countryside, Sameh and he continued to wait.

“I am not certain. Goddess Jumunah is said to be the most beautiful woman throughout all the Autumn Realms. One glance from her can reduce any man to throes of lust. Who could say if I could resist and remain loyal to you, if she had chosen me?”

The shrine was built of smooth granite floors and open alabaster stone archways. Natural light shined into its emptied space. Azat always came here to contemplate and brood to himself in solitude. Goddess Jumanah's monument, chiseled into breath-taking life by artisans forgotten to time, granted him a solace he could not find throughout all the Autumn Realms of the Old Myrian Empire.

In the sanctuary's heart, Azat watched the heavens from a palanquin of dark marble erected at its heart. It was built on a dais enclosed beneath the domed ceiling, behind the open archways. A hollowed opening at the dome's height let the crescent moon shine down on them. A soft wind ruffled his satin night robe. His Saroa was of similar black hues, baggy breeches of rougher and thicker material.

Sameh's laughter came more mocking this time. She sobered after a moment and her voice resumed its loving aspect. “Our Goddess is a stoic mother. You are a mere child compared to her, Azat, as are we all. If she had chosen you for anything, have you ever thought that your prize maybe right here in the Autumn Realms, right beside you?”

Overhead, the skies softened from black to the bluish hue of the dawn. Braziers burned from the archways, creating a halo of light around the sanctuary's perimeter. A marble fountain full of crystal water was outside, shining beneath the last rays of moonlight. Goddess Jumanah lounged upon her palanquin of stone built in the fountain's heart. The hems of her silk dress danced along the fountain water's surface.

Her monument in the fountain was symbolic. It represented the distant realms nearest to the Opal Sea, the Goddess of Portent & Omens unearthly domain. Where the laws of reality ceased to exist and heaven's realms flooded into the mortal sphere.

“I have thought about that many times. I know that is the truth behind the myth. If the goddess believes me a child, then I must be her favored son to be gifted her most treasured daughter's hand. But a man can dream, can't he? Of realms that cannot be seen by mortal eyes, and the eternal comfort rewarded to those who must endure on this benighted world of Thearus.

Crafted legends meant to inspire Old Myria's younger generations. Azat had gleaned as much from his ancient blood father Zulfiqar during his adolescent years. An inexplicable emotion stilled his unrestful heart for strange reasons he couldn't quite describe. He did not know why he found solace in coming to the sanctuary in the dead night. Something about praying beneath the Crescent Moon brought him comfort from death's constant threat. Hearing the mourning cries of the wind rustling through the Iryllian countryside, distanced him from grief. Jumanah's song of harmony overcame him like a blessing, delivered straight from her lips, even though her utterances were only silence.

Unspoken words remained the only language an absent deity could speak.

Lady Sahem Sadoyan's meek voice snapped him out of his reverie.

"Such a child, Zakarian." Sahem said, "always will you be."

Sahem's laughter mocked him playfully. A muse daring him to cast his burdens aside to focus his world on her. Azat wanted to mimic the emotion. A fervent desire to become several years younger burned inside his chest, though Azat admitted a child was the last thing he felt like.

A melancholy burdened his ability to smile. He could not banish his concerns away with another hearty laugh. From the subtle pause in her breathing, Sahem caught a glimpse of the weariness plaguing him. It threatened to break him down like a crumbling pile of stone. An embittered war with no end in sight had broken men far stronger than him. Warriors more capable and with legacies honored in the corridors of grand mausoleums.

"is it childish to find solace in the presence of something far greater than we are? Jumanah is far beyond my comprehension, born somewhere in the heavens beyond the reach of her mortal children. She is so ancient and enigmatic. How could such a creation of limitless power remain so benign and fair in her wisdom? Of anyone born on Old Myrian soil, you of all should appreciate the harmony Jumanah brings to the mundane world."

Sahem said, "It's not that, Azat. It's just that every time I come with you to this forgotten shrine, you sit there and watch the monument with such a glint of imagination in your eyes. It's like you're dreaming of some grand adventure waiting for you after your story comes to a final close.”

“Dying in the shadow of an absent god, I'm prepared to face any afterlife. The burden of never knowing fuels the imagination. Dreaming encourages me to hold fast onto the legends you believe are for children. A glimmer of truth hides inside of each and every legend known to man.”

Sahem's smile of innocence teased him further. “So, you really think that... what? You'll fall asleep on the night of your death and wake up on the shores of the Opal Sea? Do you think the Gates of Heaven are really waiting for us in the far eastern realms, beyond all civilization? Wake up, my love. Time to rise with the new morning. Your unborn children are almost here, any week now. You should cease your dreaming of the desolation and of some divine oasis hidden at its heart... Azat? Are you listening to me?"

"I wouldn't rather be anywhere else than here, beside you. But my elderly father, Zulfiqar, always used to tell me that believing in only what lies before you is to find despair. What lies before us is every reason humans have searched the stars for greater powers to begin with. Should I fall on the battlefields of Carth, far away from you, then it is my childish faith in crafted legends that will make my passing easier. For myself and each of my kin, who would grieve my death. Even if Jumanah and the Ascended Pantheon she is from is nothing more than a false myth... don't you think easing the burdens of those who must suffer in our stead is worth that alone?"

At that, Sahem said nothing for a moment.

Yet when she spoke, he found her answer like a key to the beating heart in his chest.

“It is worth a hundred lifetimes... it is the reason that I say nothing more than playful jests. I would rather you dream and live inspired, then hope for nothing and live embittered. Your sons will be the same way. I only hope they come to embrace more practical thoughts that can help the Autumn Realms we live in. One day, they may reign over all the Old Myrian Empire, and you'll have lived the life of a glorious king, retired by that time.”

“How do you know that our twins will be boys?” Azat arched his brow. “From what I know of House Sadoyan, male children have always been rare. Sometimes they are not seen for several generations.”

Sameh smiled, “I have only my intuition, but I believe Jumanah has gifted me with two boys... just to make you happy.”

He tried in vain to hide his knowing grin. “Of all the treasures I could reap in this life, I don't think anything else would make me happier aside from our marriage.”

Sameh looked up at him, grinning. “What do you think they will become in the future?”

Azat pretended not to know the answer. “I don't know... maybe one day they will become princes as you said. Men of wise intellect and fair in judgement.”

“Do you really believe a word of what you said? You know they will follow in your footsteps. Both will take up the sword to continue your legend and honor the Zakarian name.” She sighed. “so long as you are their father, Azat, that will be their destiny. I can feel that truth burning in my blood.”

“Does that truth frighten you, my love?” Azat asked. “it doesn't have to be so, should you wish that.”

“But it wouldn't make you happy, Azat, would it?” Her laughter returned, bright and cheerier than he had heard it before. “Else the Goddess would have given me daughters instead.”

“Our twins could still be daughters, Sameh.”

“Just promise me...” Sameh reached out to him, her open palm lifted out, almost to touch his face. “Promise that only you will teach them the way of the sword and of being men. Promise me that you'll oversee their lessons, no matter the education. Promise me that you won't let them set foot on a battlefield until the day you think them ready to fight by your side, and not a day sooner. Not even after the day they come of age... Azat?”

In silence, he returned her embrace, resting his head on her inviting palm. After a brief contemplation, he pledged his oath. “My duties as Ara and Aslan's father shall never tire, not when the dawn rises in the east and the sun sets in the west, and for every cycle to come afterward for the rest of our days. They shall not know war or death until their time has come when I know they have surpassed me in all things. Of this, I swear to you, my wife and love, until the day fate would declare my oath fulfilled.”

As dawn began to break over the Old Myrian Empire, Azat and his lover watched the sun crest the rolling hills in the east, where the spires of Annahir, the capital city, reached out toward the skies, dwarfed by the grand halls of Ember Hearth Palace, and the Sadoyan Sanctuary that overlooked it all from its great height, concealed by the hedgerow walls behind it.

Title: The Embers of the Past - Though Long are the Shadows Cast From the Golden Sun
Post by: Myen'Tal on November 1, 2021, 09:35:39 AM
Just a small update, not too much content right now as I am planning out the entire outline for this narrative  :).

Though Long are the Shadows Cast Far from the Golden Sun

Ember Hearth Palace

As the dead of night spread across the evening dusk, Lucine stood before an oaken door. A crescent moon came shining through the open arches lining the corridor. It was the only entrance at this end of the hall, hidden from the rest of Ember Hearth's guest wing. As she approached, her quickened heartbeat steadied and her breathing calmed. Palace Guard of House Sadoyan patrolled the halls in greater numbers than she had seen since her coming to Ember Hearth as a child. A remarkable event, considering she had spent her entire life in the royal family's shadow. 

Avoiding the many patrols proved an impossible task. Hidden in the shady nooks of the palace, Ember Hearth's guards maintained their vigils from sunrise to the evening dusk, only to be replaced by more of their brethren for the next coming cycle. 

Lucine had done all she could to avoid suspicion, since moving undetected proved impossible. Warriors from the palace guard often called out to her by name upon noticing her presence. All of them were young males she had known since her earliest memories. Born in the same generation, the royal family had raised them together behind Ember Hearth's walls. Colleagues and devoted friends, many who came by the temples and shrines she tended as Ember Hearth Palace's Shaira, a caretaker of the holy grounds. 

She reached out with delicate fingers, coiling them around the door handle so that it opened without a loud noise. Whispering voices came creeping through the cracked open door. Lucine became frozen in place where she stood, startled by the revelation. 

Gates of Her Palace, Lucine thought, how could they know already? 

A young male's light voice drew attention to her intrusion at once. "Was that someone at the door? Come forth and make yourself known.”

Releasing her grip on the door handle, Lucine made to turn on a heel and vanish the way she had come. A seasoned warrior's grizzled voice came barking at the door from the other side. Its commanding authority locked her limbs in place like invisible shackles. Except, it created these from her own paralyzing fear. A physical condition she had possessed since her childhood, occasional attacks that made her heart race with a panic that could shut her body down against her own will. 

His voice lanced straight through her, the heart in her chest about to explode. 

"Gods, Vahe, sounds like you may have killed her by surprise. Get out there and make sure she's all right."

Vahe asked, his question skipping an initial beat. "And... should she be well, commander?" 

"Then our interrogation can begin. Quickly now, there is much ground to cover and an uncertain amount of time before these schemes culminate."

Her muscles becoming tense like a clock's jammed cogs, Lucine collapsed onto one side like a toppled statue. A frail hand broke her fall, keeping her upper body from striking the cold marble floor with dazing force. A loud creak from the oaken door echoed farther into the corridor. The patient steps of steel-shod boots drowned out the noise on their approach.

Lucine recognized Vahe of Grand Damira's voice without looking him in the eye. Between the crushing waves of terror and her racing heart, she could hardly focus on him or his questions at all. Vahe's physical presence registered as nothing more than a blur. A comfortable shade that cloaked her when he kneeled, leaning over her like a hero from old tales. 

"Lucine... what in all the mortal spheres have you done?" 

Vahe did not wait for her answer, but pushed his leather gloved hands underneath her. Lucine's body lurched, swept up into Vahe's broad arms to carry her into the humble Moon Shrine, where the Old Watchtower guarding the eastern battlements used to be. 

"Arpriar, grab that flask hidden under the shrine altar. It's a sedative she keeps for her condition. Krikor, open the door, please."

Old Krikor's voice came rushing through the opening upon throwing the oaken door aside. "Damn piece of driftwood needs fixing again... has a habit of locking out anyone who closes it behind them." 

Clasped in an armor of interwoven iron scales and thick layers of silk underneath, the one called Krikor beckoned Vahe back inside. Hidden behind a silver mask with a demonic creature's visage, she glimpsed briefly one dark-colored eye. His other eye was nothing more than a milk white canvas, damaged from battle. Yet the deep shadow in what remained of his gaze held a cold disregard for the quarry he had snared. Lucine's terror flared up the moment it subsided. 

An Immortal of Anahir, House Sadoyan's most sacred guardians and champions, had come in person to see her questioned. 

Arpriar's voice came from a near distance, audible over the disturbance made by several other young warriors searching the secluded shrine. She had failed to notice their rummaging before approaching the door, but the Palace Guard were destroying the holy ground. Crashing thunder from wooden pews being overturned and the tearing of parchment from works tossed out of their shelves echoed in her ears. 

"Here." Arpriar spoke, somehow much nearer than he had been a moment before. 

A swashing of liquid from inside a thick leather flask came near to her ear, followed by the sound of something pulled free of its housing. The next thing she noticed was a warm liquid pressed gently to her lips. Vahe did not need to say anything. Lucine swallowed the entire flask in one drink. At once, her heartbeat steadied, and her concentration returned. Her muscles unwound the tension that had knotted them up into tight knots. 

Her world came back into focus over a few minutes until Vahe seemed convinced enough to sit her down on one pew, toward the back of the shrine. His familiar face became the first clear image she recognized. He dressed himself in the fatigues of his Palace Guard uniform, layers of lavender silk woven over a Saroa, baggy breeches of coarser material. He did not wear a helmet, letting his russet hair grow a little unkempt where it wavered around the chiseled side of his jaw. 

He loomed in front of her like an attentive healer, his searching green eyes like a dark forest. 

Vahe did not look at Krikor when he spoke. "She should see a healer, maybe? Or a physician?"

Krikor's ghastly voice rumbled like rolling thunder. "If my suspicions are true, then our Moon Maiden's next destination is a dark cell beneath the palace. Or a summary execution would do us one better? Back away from our suspect. You will not want to be seen so compassionate toward her if the Sadoyan family's accusations turn out to be real."

Vahe seemed ready to argue against his commander's point.

Lucine stopped him before he could transgress against the royal decree set against her. "Vahe, your superior may ask his questions." 

"A promising start." Krikor nodded. His apathetic tone took on a more gracious aspect at her sign of cooperation. "Vahe, I won't say it again."

Fuming once through the nose, Vahe relented. He removed himself, standing out of arm's reach of her to stand beside Arpriar. 

Krikor gestured around the ransacked shrine, tucked underneath the Old watchtower. He said, "I can see that I don't have to explain anything. You seem aware of why the palace guard are here. Though you appear surprised to find an Old Guard like me leading this band of unseasoned boys. Considering your origins from beyond the Autumn Realms, it comes as a surprise to no one who understands your true origins." 

Lucine arched her brow. "I've never seen Sarune since my earliest years. Not since my memories became more developed. It may as well be a hundred lifetimes away... I don't have any contacts in that part of Khios." 

"A fruitless lie promises a fruitless interrogation." Krikor dismissed her claim. "Arpriar, run over to the Chambers of the Royal Sisters, and ask after our young Lord Azat Zakarian. We will need his judgement before we can remove her head. Lady Lucine of Sarune, the city of the Crescent Moon in the Kingdom of Surathar, I place you under arrest for high treason and attempted regicide."

Arpriar interrupted, "With all due respect, Immortal, does Lord Zakarian need to be disturbed at all for this?"

"Depends on who you ask," Krikor shrugged. "A champion of the Autumn Queen should hear about anything related to the Sadoyan family's safe being. Whether he is from the Isle of Irothis or born with Anahiran blood in his veins makes no difference to me."

Lucine arched her brow. "Is there any evidence behind these accusations that you could present?"

She winced from the Immortal's withering glare. He said, "She has courage enough to ask, but does she have enough to look at the gruesome truth she seeks?" 

Curious as to his meaning, Lucine contemplated at breakneck speed about what Krikor thought was certain proof of his claim. 

Six years of constant letters, encrypted languages scribbled down on parchment, that she had dispatched across Khios. Lucine had wondered if the cryptic commands from the so-called Den of Vipers were even legitimate after the first two summers. As a humble caretaker of Ember Hearth's palace grounds, she had endured her adolescent and early adult years inside these walls and could name about every face. Often attending to the Sadoyan family's personal spiritual needs, Lucine had garnered and gleamed secrets beyond count. 

Secrets vital to the upper echelons of the Old Myrian Empire's society. Six years stealing information that seemed harmless to the impregnable defense of the northwestern realms across the Alabaster River. Lucine realized that for Krikor himself to make the accusations on behalf of House Sadoyan, that every letter had made the once forgotten threats on the Khiosian mainland a resurgent force dwelling behind every shady nook and crevice. 

Should Lucine's outlook on the matter prove to be the truth... then the time for her extraction was imminent. But that depended on the grace of vicious vipers, born in the light-less den, hidden deep beneath the arid earth in the south. 

Lucine nodded, her expression stoic. "Fine. Take me under arrest. Our goddess will shed light on the truth behind your accusations."

At Lucine's mention of her role as a Shaira Priestess, Krikor's conviction wavered for the briefest moment. Without another word, he gestured for Vahe to lead her into the dungeon. 
~***~
Title: A Sanctum of Swords - Title & Narrative Changes Announcement!
Post by: Myen'Tal on November 11, 2021, 12:20:59 PM
So, I've been really drilling down to the foundation of this narrative and discovered some interesting things about where this is all beginning in the timeline.

- Azat Zakarian is officially removed from the narrative. I am not certain what this will mean for Ara & Aslan in the future - but from what I am beginning to understand from my beta readers is that the Zakarians seem unlikable to them. This was my intention at first, as I wanted to create some characters with a good deal of flaws that they would grow past over the course of their character arcs. I will probably reintroduce them later in the series after thinking out how to change the characters and their narrative.

- I've reflected on almost two years of feedback from a variety of sources, since I began Embers of the Past sometime ago.
- I've found that upon starting with a clean slate, I can now implement everything I learned more freely.
- This means the narrative is going to change a lot, as I am kind of tilting everything into a new direction.
- I've written a short synopsis to help me better explain the plot. I should have done this a couple years ago, haha.

Synopsis:

It is the year 857 A.H. in the Ascension of Kings. The eastern realms on the continent of Khios have known a fragile peace for three centuries, since the Epoch of the Black Descent. A dark stain on the eastern realms of man, when the gods of the Ascended Pantheon were banished from the land or consumed by the Twin Deities of the Void. With the pantheon erased from the mortal histories of the realms, the disparate civilizations of Khios have arisen out of the ashes of their own desolation. Their destinies wayward and uncertain, the peoples of Khios restore a great measure of their former glory, the gods that forged their future nothing more than memories.

Yet the sands of mortal time dwindle in the hourglass, pouring through the cracks forming over the decades. The Cult of Golden Light spreads throughout the Khiosian Heartlands, searching for the means to resurrect their dead god of the sun, Sirius. Spearheaded by unyielding legions and fire-wielding missionaries of a civilization known only as the Children of the Sun and their Immortal God King - so does the threat of their desired dominion spread across the lands.

A new epoch is dawning over Khios, cruel tyrants and despots marching their armies to the four corners of the known world, consolidating the conquest of centuries' old rivals. A blighted era, where benevolent monarchs and enlightened sages sacrifice innocence amid the fires of war, hoping in vain that it will ensure their survival.

As the realms of man repeat the mistakes of the past, embers of hope smolder amid the abyss. The essence of dead and absent gods still saturates Khios, manifesting in pockets concealed in the primordial places of the world from mortal eyes. For Mahir, the Severed Hand of the Sanctum Queen, these places lie buried beneath Thearus' surface, shielded from knowledge by the labyrinthine cities of Khios' great empires and prospering kingdoms.

Altered from the wicked sharp and heroic man of his youth upon entering such an obscured place, known only as the Den of Vipers by the locals, Mahir is reborn in the image of the Goddess Alastrine, Sorrow's Child. Tasked to journey into the far flung realms of Khios for severed heads to place upon her altars, Mahir becomes the victim of conspiracy and treachery, slain in the attempt of fulfilling a contract with no chance of success.

Resurrected in the purgatories between life and death, Mahir offers a sacrifice in return for forbidden knowledge. Thus begins an arduous journey through the cycles of life and death to uncover the unraveling mysteries behind the Children of the Gods, and pass from oblivion's darkness into the light of absolution...


I am currently up to 17,000 words at the moment in A Sanctum of Swords.
Title: A Sanctum of Swords - Offering
Post by: Myen'Tal on November 12, 2021, 03:37:02 PM
Offering

Village on the U'skar Steppes

A hallowed crack came bursting from thunderhead clouds, an entire formation sweeping across the U'skaran Steppes. Gadara listened to the Cosmic Serpent thrash amid the heavens, spitting lightning from its unhooked jaws, nebulous and all-consuming. Those fangs embedded themselves in the heavens, dripping necrotic poison into the dusk. The skies over Thearus turned black, a constant hail of lightning accompanying a torrential rain.

Shielded from the gale by walls of hewed lumber layered over cobbled stone, she heard the Wailing Widow screaming. Her cries swept through the insignificant village, but Gadara remembered the legends the U'skarite people feared more than the bellows of blackened storms.

To hear the cries of the Wailing Widow is to be marked. An uncommon phenomenon out here in these backward and primal lands, but an omen promising the violence of death to those scarred by the nightmare of her curse.

A crackle of firewood burning in the hearth called Gadara back from her musings. Her kindred's familiar voices came distant at first, but swelled in volume upon craning her head from the small slit between shuddered windows. A warmth capable of healing wounded spirits could not banish death's icy grip on her chest. Gentle laughter born amid conversation did little to shut out the shrieks ringing inside her skull.

A male's voice, whisper-thin, called her name. "Ghosts are wailing outside these walls, Gadara. The dead would beckon us to join them tonight. Should we believe the local legend, that is."

A shadow came passing over Gadara, its distinct black hue softened in the firelight. Her comrade, Mahir, approached to seat himself in the rocking chair beside her. She heard the worn out wood creak in protest to his relatively light build. He was whipcord thin, his robust physique appearing to have withered since she had last seen him several years ago. Garbed in the midnight robes of the Akarian Blades, clothes once snug upon his frame became creased and bunched where his flesh had become absent. Dark hair snaked down past his ears, cut roughly where he had shaven the strands back every few months on the campaign trail.

Gadara steeled herself. She dared turn toward him, searching for his eyes underneath the coiled strands. He had shorn it short by just enough not to conceal his gaze. All she found in the hearth's glow were pockets of shadow where eyes should be visible. In the darkness that lurked there, she almost fell into them and into an abyss with no chance of escape. Illusions of shade-tendrils writhed within the pits, almost sucking in her entire sub-consciousness like a whirlpool found in the ocean's depths.

Mahir appeared to notice her discomfort and called her name again. He extended his left hand in offering, pressing an object into her own waiting hands. "Gadara. Here, take this and wake up."

Gadara blinked, and the illusion came undone. Quiet conversation created from debating voices filled her ears. Reduced firewood crumbled deeper into the hearth. She listened for the cries of the storm and heard only the bellows of rolling thunder in the distance. Breathing deep, she swallowed the liquid contents of her brother's offered mug in one gulp. Gasping, her throat burned like she had put back a draught of molten fire. It banished death's snare on her soul for another day.

"U'skarite Hellfire Mead…" Gadara choked out the words. "Gods, Mahir, do I look like an adolescent boy who needs hair on his chest?"

Her elder brother's amused chuckles came grim and quiet, much like his reclusive nature since his Trial of Blades. Gadara couldn't fight back the memories of the powerful, wicked-sharp man who had been Mahir in the years of his youth. He had buried those years of himself before his departure from their home in Suann Sanctuary, in his prime years.

"U'skarites often believe their draught kindles a burning light in their souls. Once the Wailing Widow screams her curses, a wise man shall often knock one of these back to remove the curse of her vengeance."

Slumped back into her seat, sweat beads formed on her brow. Her vision became sharper than a hawk's, where she had expected her world to descend into a haze. Her pulse thumped in her wrists and her heart sang inside her chest. Her thoughts became uncluttered, organized into a semblance of order that helped her snap back to the present with refreshed eyes.

She said nothing, but nodded once in thanks. "That feels better. Goddess of Sorrow, but I can feel the winter cold recede before me. How did you know?"

Her brother lifted his head to better look Gadara in the eye. In the firelight, she glimpsed his eyes - his actual eyes, and watched them shine like gold veins running through obsidian stone. Uncaring, Mahir mirrored his younger sibling's slumped posture in the rocking chair.

"U'skar is an ancient land. I know her secrets lie with those who have survived here for centuries upon centuries… who am I to turn aside the wisdom of those who walk hand-in-hand with death?"

"Brother," Gadara shook her head. "U'skar is not so bleak a place."

"U'skar is not bleak because of the scarcity of the land, Gadara. Her warlords and bandit raiders have sowed these steppes with blood enough to drown all the realms beneath crimson waves. You've never given thought to how a quaint village like this survives against those kinds of threats?"

Her blood simmered beneath her skin, rushing through her veins. She held Mahir's gaze and answered. "Are you going to tell me some manner of blood sacrifice provides for divine protection?"

Mahir shook his head. "No. I was going to tell you it simply does not."

"Gods, brother, must you be such a Child of Sorrow?" She accused. "The Mahir that I used to know…"

Her brother finished her words. "It's been many moons since either of us have seen him… You come searching for specters long fled from this world."

"That's not the truth." Gadara insisted. "And you know that. Look me in the eye and tell me you truly believe that you've shed all aspects of your past self. Can't you remember anything about our family before your departure?"

Mahir held her stare, furious eyes burning him from the inside. He answered, "It's an arduous task for anyone to remember such things upon entering the Den. I am not here to remind you of forgotten days… I am here to see that you and every warrior in your Akarian Blades, entrapped in this blighted land for six months, continue breathing to the next coming dawn."

"So much help you've been." Gadara cursed. "You're so great at your mission that no one has even come into danger. Do you believe some sudden threat is coming out of this storm?"

Her brother answered. "All I know is that the Wailing Widow screams for death tonight. But don't concern yourself with her disquiet songs… drink another draught of what I handed you, speak with your kindred, and rest well into the coming dawn. I will keep guard over you until sunrise."

"You aren't a lone warrior here."

Mahir turned his gaze away from her toward the hearth. "A week has passed since you first heard her screams and you've not shut your eyes since… Go to bed, sister. I would not want you to succumb to madness from delirious fear, and your lack of rest is compounding that. I shall keep watch."

Brow arched, Gadara studied the side of Mahir's face while he rocked back gently in the rocking chair. "Did you hear what I did before we started talking? Are you hearing it now?"

Her brother decided against responding.

"Does it not frighten or unsettle you at least?"

He broke his silence, after heaving his shoulders. "I remember the last time I was afraid, upon my descent into the Den… maybe one day I'll explain to you what I encountered and witnessed in those light-less depths, but take comfort in your elder brother's shadow. He has not truly known fear upon leaving that place."

A chill ran down the length of Gadara's spine, but she knew better than to ask him to elaborate further. She nodded once, climbing out of her chair to signal her brethren to rest while they could. As she stepped around her brother's rocking chair, she paused, glancing at him a last time. "Promise me you'll wake everyone if something happens. Don't go running out into the storm alone with your sword raised. Understand?"

Mahir did not return her stare, his eyes fixed on the embers belched from the hearth. "Should I run out into the pitch black night, no foe shall find me nor a blade gleaming. Oblivion will take them to the Gates of Her Palace, and the Goddess of Sorrow will take comfort in another offering given when due."

Sighing, Gadara walked toward her room at the far end of the house. She called out into the storm's wrath. "I hope your arrogance will not get us all killed. Only the foolish warrior believes himself strongest when alone…"

She heard a whisper-thin utterance at her back, almost inaudible.

"Fall gently into the gods embrace, dear sister, and dream of cherished times."

~***~

Amid the quiet cabin, Mahir rocked back in the rocking chair, and watched the hearth burn into the late hours of the night.

Another storm came soaring out of the northern sea. Coming ashore near the midnight hour, thunderhead clouds assailed the U'ral steppe village. The Cosmic Serpent thrashed amid the heavens, but its throes were all but spent before the morning's earliest hours. Rain, once torrential, had calmed into drizzling curtains dancing across the land. Thunder, once quaking, became gentle, rolling into the eastern lands over yonder as the storm pressed farther inland. Though her battering winds never ceased, the screams of a widow in mourning carried from the shore into the night.

As the hours continued to pass, he removed a scroll hidden in his robes. Clutched between scarred fingers, creased and wrinkled parchment unraveled, coming past his knees as one continuous letter. Diligent in his boredom, he poured over the encrypted language scrawled across the parchment for the forty-third time in the last six months. He plucked each coded word from his memories, matching them in the vicious calligraphic scrawl where they lay embedded.

Severed.


Take the Sudhari Blade hidden beneath the U'ral well.


Guard the sentries assigned to your station until the Southern Rain's first light.


Claim the Sudhari mount hidden in between life and death.


Listen for the Wailing Widow to guide you into that place.


Claim the head of your quarry and offer it to the abandoned shrine.


The Goddess of Sorrow shall know your due is paid.


Gadara and her unit of Akarian Blades had come to U'ral to cipher information coming through the U'skar-Gorum provincial borders. The kingdom of U’skar was harsh, ruled by warlords and their nomadic tribes. Great hordes of mounted warriors at their back, these warlords competed against one another commonly. As the cycles continued on and winter approached an end, the realms of Khios continent could see the change happening on these once neglected steppes.

From the Khiosian heartlands, the Cult of the Golden Sun spread enlightened thought among many chieftains and their tribes. Sworn to uphold the Commandments of Illumination, champions of the faith set aside their armies and kept their tribesmen about their tasks. The U'skarite leadership pitted themselves against one another in contests of martial strength and strategic cunning. Victors anointed themselves into positions of great consolidation, expanding their strength. Their defeated foes came to rest in the wilderness, the ancestral home of the U'skarites, never to be heard from again.

A sudden pounding on the cabin door tore Mahir out of his musings. Forgotten, the scroll slipped out of his hand when the door came crashing open from a stranger's broad shoulder. Climbing out of his rocking chair, his scarred fingers coiled around the hilt of the gladius sheathed upon his waist. A shortened blade came into Mahir's grip, locked into a coiling motion to cast the weapon from his palm.

A male of the U'ral tribe, middling of years, staggered over the toppled door. Garbed in thick layers of black silk under armor, he had a leather cuirass equipped over that. Mahir halted a hair's breadth from letting the gladius soar into the messenger's heart. If the U'ral warrior had noticed that Mahir had come mere seconds from killing him outright, he appeared too haggard to care.

A mask carved from the bones of a beast, primordial ferocity chiseled into its skeletal structure, concealed the warrior’s terror from a helmet of iron scales. He barked at Mahir. "Cavalcades riding across the eastern lands through the storm! Scouting parties have overtaken the watchtowers, their torching the outskirts!"

"How many?" Mahir sheathed his blade, thunder reaching a deafening crescendo.

The U'ral warrior shrugged, staggering back into the village beyond the cabin interior. "An endless sea of burning lights and mounted warriors…"

Mahir chased the U'ralite to the cabin doorway, but did not step beyond it. He shouted into the storm, his voice deadened amid lashing rain and wind. Urgent shouts and a clash of steel on steel answered him. Against the night, small lights blazed in U'ral's eastern outskirts. Several perished almost the moment he noticed them, their fires snuffed by the storm. Others continued to persist and consume, fanning higher and higher until the pyres became searing to the eye.

Gadara's voice came shouting at his back, followed by crashes and urgent commands in the Su'khanite tongue. "Mahir!? Damnable hell, what's going on?"

Gadara and her Akarian blades rushed into room, armed and organized around the hearth.

Mahir turned to her, shrugging. "Ensuing raid. Scouting parties have cleaned out the garrison watchtowers. Small skirmishes in the eastern outskirts."

Gadara looked her brother in the eye and nodded. "It's about time we took our leave then, brother?"

"About time your Akarian Blades head back south. I agree."

She caught the words he did not speak, that he did not intend to leave with them. Gadara stormed up to him, coming face to face when a lightning bolt fell from the heavens and struck the horizon over yonder with brutal force.

Her gaze burned the veil of shadow cloaked over his spirit. "Are you being called back to the Den of Vipers?"

"No." Mahir said, "I am commanded by their omniscient hand elsewhere."

"Gods, brother, tell me you're headed anywhere but into the spear tip of an entire army?"

His response did not come quick as he considered on what to tell her. Several moments passed before Mahir pointed his chin toward the rocking chair he had sat in throughout the night. "On the floor near the chair I claimed for the night. A weathered and scribbled over scroll should lay discarded near the hearth. Read through the encrypted orders for yourself. You'll have your answers then."

Gadara gestured to her unit of eight Akarian Blades, dressed in the same midnight silk uniforms, golden yellow sashes tied around their waists. She commanded them, "Don't let him take a step outside that door…"

He watched her retrace her steps back toward the hearth, sweeping the area Mahir had mentioned. Her eyes glew against the hearth’s flames, sharpened still from the Hellfire Draught she had knocked back before. Her eyes settled on the scroll, discarded where he said it would be, and snatched it up in her leather gloved fingers. She glanced over the encrypted contents once, twice, and another seven times, calm even in the face of bloodshed spilling nearer into U'ral's heart.

Her features became scrunched, her brows arched in askance. "I don't understand these orders, brother. Find the Sudhari mount between life and death? The screams of the Wailing Widow will guide you into that sacred place? Whose skull do you need to place on the abandoned shrine in offering?"

"Does it matter, Gadara?" He asked. "None mentioned you being involved in any of this, aside from needing my protection until this moment. I cannot leave with you, but wait another moment and you'll never leave this land alive. Head back south, sister. I shall buy you enough time to ensure your escape."

Gadara cursed, "To the Gates of Her Palace with your orders… You'll abandon your mission and come with us or the Akarian Blades stand their ground. Your orders are not a mission,. It's a resignation and an honorable mention of your self-sacrifice."

Despite himself, a smirk tugged on the edge of his lips. "An Ashen Blade should be more certain about her purpose… should I fall into death's gentle embrace, Alastrine shall light a beacon to guide my way to the Gates of Her Palace."

"And her children never languish in the halls of death for long." Gadara finished the Alastrinite phrase. "Faith aside, you cannot expect some reincarnation to come to your rescue. I've witnessed no one - Ashen Blade or no, somehow come back to haunt us from the dead as living flesh once more. Our Queen of the Severed Hand only benefits from that belief."

Overcome with a smug confidence, he fixed Gadara with a smile. Realization dawned in her eyes that she knew Mahir understood something about that relationship she wouldn't comprehend without his confession.

"Then show me." Gadara insisted. "I shall stand beside you against this horde."

Mahir's smile twisted into a frown. "Show you what?"

"You buried your past upon your descent into the Den," Gadara reminded. "You've said nothing of what changed you, not in all these several years. I need to understand the Mahir standing in front of me, and I will not accept no for an answer."

"We don't have time to debate this, Gadara." He heard himself become insistent. "I can hear the screams of the dying coming nearer to us."

Gadara gestured toward the first mounted warrior coming through the storm. He galloped hard through the winding roads, slicing a gore-soaked blade across the throat of an innocent woman attempting to flee.

"Our time to depart has past." Gadara declared. "Are we going or not?"

His hand forced into the direction he least desired, Mahir sighed through his nostrils, but consented with a brief nod. "Follow each command I give you and make sure your Akarian Blades follow them to the letter. Stragglers will be left to their fate, so don't fall behind. Our mission is not a simple task, but to claim the head of a warlord known by the name of Dikran."

Gadara winced upon hearing the name. "The Black Tiger of U'skar?"

"Second thoughts? You could always try your hand at leaving despite the growing odds."

"Please, I've claimed my share of skulls in my own time. We're following your lead here. So let's stop idling beside this burning hearth where everyone can see us."

Mahir gestured for them to trail behind with a beckon of his hand. "Gather near around me, and let the Goddess of Sorrow veil you behind night's shadow."

He planted one step forward, and the night lurched into life around the Ashen Blades. Behind him, he heard Gadara gasp in alarm. He swept his arm out in front of him before she could fight against the shadow’s writhing tendrils. His vision lurched once again, as the void between time and space yawned open, and the landscape of the physical world torn out from under them in a blur of all-consuming abyss.
Title: A Sanctum of Swords - Promotional Update - Finished Map of Khios
Post by: Myen'Tal on December 1, 2021, 01:09:12 PM
Morning 40konline  :)!

I have a special update for everyone today!

As mentioned some weeks ago, I've been coordinating with a professional illustrator I came across on the creation of a map for Khios. It's been an absolute pleasure working with him on this, and watching him take the original sketch I made and create all of this from scratch in a way that reflected my vision down to the gritty details. Couldn't be happier to share this promotional piece that I'll soon be sharing once I've taken a few steps to get the ball rolling on A Sanctum of Swords.

You can find Ferdinand's channel here if you would like to check out his portfolio :) . Mods, let me know if sharing the link to Artstation is okay. You can check out the artwork in more detail at his site, as the image I've shared here is a smaller thumbnail.

http://www.artstation.com/ferdinandladera (http://www.artstation.com/ferdinandladera)

(https://i.ibb.co/qpP1rpK/Fantasy-Map-1.jpg) (https://ibb.co/vkKzjkp)

So there you have it! Anyone who has ever wondered - "Where is Old Myria located?" "What sort of climates/biomes reside in the Carth Dominion?" And all sorts of other question are hopefully answered with this map. I wasn't able to include everything - there's a lot of locations, notable cities, etc that I obviously could not place on the map without making it super cluttered.

Still a little ways to go, but I'm another step nearer to getting A Sanctum of Swords out into the wilderness  :).
Title: A Sanctum of Swords - Cover Art WIP - Scene II, Legacies of Her Forebears
Post by: Myen'Tal on December 9, 2021, 05:04:24 PM
Hi 40k Online - another quick update here.

Here, I have the first initial thumbnail produced for the cover art of A Sanctum of Swords.

The process has only begun and most everything like the font and text are obviously placeholders until the art itself comes nearer to completion.

(https://i.ibb.co/fGxyn97/Capture.png)

The Zar District, on the Seventh Canal Between the Haven Quarter and Artifice Quarter

Adofo listened for the ferryman, cycling his oar in and out of the Seventh Canal. From each rotation of the oar, a mix of foam and crystalline droplets sprayed his face and hair. A breeze, cool like an oasis amid northern sands, passed over the ferryman’s raft. As the solar star fell across western skies, his Blood Sworn had sallied out of the High Quarter with little notice or fanfare. Qin’sar and their noble wives and daughters had paid the retinue of Zar’qin little heed, not in the Royal Palace’s sacred corridors.

In silence, the Zar’qin marched from one end of the Royal Palace to the other, provisioned for a mission into the Golden Valley. Hidden in the shadows of their masters, the curious gazes of other Zar tracked them and their descent down the Golden Mountain. Quiet whispers had assailed their footsteps, unnoticed by their overlords, until the Blood Sworn came aboard a raft headed into the far reaches of the lower city.

The Languid Mermaid, the ferryman called her, a slab of cobbled wood banded into a palanquin meant to tread open and shallow waters like Tushik’s canals. His honored siblings, both brothers and sisters, scattered themselves about the sturdy platform. Eccentric conversation bounced back and forth between their isolated pockets. Bouts of joyous merriment ended impassioned debates and raucous conversation. The Blood Sworn’s voices resounded from the floating palanquin, reaching a dozen other passing vessels built for shallow waters.

Shoushan’s calling from the Old Ruin had proven itself a reprieve from the Royal Palace intrigues. He inhaled, breathing in the ashen smoke billowing from the Artisan Quarter, mixed into a potent concoction when combined with the Golden Valley’s crisp air. As the ferryman guided his palanquin on the open canal, Adofo had removed his leather boots near the platform’s edge. Seated where the cobalt waters lapped onto the raft, he submerged his saora up past the calves, his knees soothed by cool winter waters.

Elmas’ quiet voice proceeded her shadow creeping up from behind. “Are you concerned for Lady Sar Amun, lord?”

Considerate, Adofo watched the Palanquin Floats of other Qin’sar nobles drift past formations of fishing canoes scattered about the canal. Shadows cast by greater vessels, slender and steered by a hundred oars on either flank, eclipsed everything on the Seventh Canal in their passing. The iconography of the Zar trade fleets marked their sails. Sky Tortoises, cargo ships laden with trade goods and raw materials gathered from foreign realms.

He said, “Gods know your birth parents raised you as a scholar, Elmas, wicked sharp, like the master’s whip. What do you think about the matter?” He waited, then resumed when Elmas remained quiet. “Such an obvious question is not usual for you, my Second.”

Elmas shrugged, but did not disagree. “Correct. You have a bad habit of concealing your emotions behind a flawed mask, Lord. You seem to choose the stoic ones, cracked from age or made from brittle glass. I broached the subject in case you needed to vent some frustration or fear before our descent into the Old Ruin. Now is the time while we are aboard the ferryman’s raft.”

Adofo tilted to meet her stoic gaze. A blaze kindled in her emerald stare, struck from the right angle by the waning sun in the west. “You make me curious, Elmas. Of the Blood Sworn, you’re the most aloof of their number. I’ve always presumed this stemmed from some apathetic disregard for your brethren, or perhaps your commander. We’ve known each other for a couple years now and I cannot remember the last time you ever asked about me.”

Elmas smirked, though a weight of burden in her gaze remained. “It’s never often I ask after anyone. All of us mortal children can only look to ourselves in the end, when our sands dwindle in the hourglass. As time continues its course, I’ve seen enough souls ushered into the Gates of Her Palace to not bind my fate with those who may not know that they are dead. Lest survivors like us inherit their dark curse, dragging us into the grave with their own failures. I asked you this one time to remind you of the sword sheathed on your waist, instead of dreaming of another night in Heaven’s Gate.”

Adofo considered the wisdom behind Elmas’ words, her call to action burning away the dream haze clouding his mind. “A commander can appreciate a Second that understands her task. Your words are wise, and I will not fault them. I will think of Lady Sar Amun no more until we’ve achieved our mission in the

Old Ruin and have returned to the Golden Mountain.” He sighed, “It occurs to me we have never known each other very well, have we, Elmas? Come sit with me, rest your tired feet in the canal’s waters, and tell me something about you.”

She cupped her hands out before her, locked in place. “I am a sibling of the Blood Sworn. I’ve nothing to add to that one truth.”

Blood Sworn. An elite unit among the Zar’qin, their members distinguished survivors from the Dominion’s greatest campaigns or champions awarded for a feat of valor in battles marked for the histories. Qin’sar cared little for trivialities such as length of service. Each member of the Zar’s sacred elite considered retired from the legion by their masters. Children of the Sun venerated courage at the moment’s heart, strength enough to match a champion of any creed, and the iron will to complete any mission when commanded. A reward worth more than its weight in literal gold awaited a Zar’s achievement for any of said feats.

“Nothing about the past that shaped you then?” He asked, “there has to be someone Elmas used to be in brighter times?”

Amused, her smirk grew into a brief smile, before disappearing like it had never been there. “Another girl from a place long forgotten by time, so much less in experience and wisdom, but the greater sum of myself without question… I was born in the lands of Eastern Ashara, in the city of Sumara, some sixteen years before its fall. My mother tailored clothes from satins and silks. Father cared for and maintained the Libraries of the Forgotten Lores for the royal house of Ashara.”

Adofo nodded, recognizing the name. “I’ve heard of that place. A wonder engineered in ancient times, said to rival the citadels of lesser kingdoms in that era.”

“Correct,” Elmas replied. “The libraries also housed the palace of the royal king, who reigned in eastern Ashara. Our Queen, meanwhile, governed the western realms of our land. During my adolescence, my parents considered me a scholar in practice. I studied enlightened thought in my father’s shadow for years, content with lessons and rewards they handed down to me as time wore on. I had no reason to complain or to be ungrateful for anything.” She paused, sighing into the breeze. “I’m rambling, and fear that I’ve said too much. Apologies, lord.”

Adofo chuckled, despite the serpent coiling inside his chest until he could feel its weight on him. “Your stories aren’t a problem for me. All the Zar bear similar tales, and keeping those memories burning in our hearts is important for our caste. I relish those tales in recent years. A constant reminder that there is no one person born into the Zar. Our blood comes from every corner of the Khiosian heartlands, and the legacies are forefathers still seeded in the soils where we once knew our homes. The Children of the Sun would say otherwise, but nothing can change that.”

“And here I thought you content with the honors you’ve reaped during your service in the legion. Lord, could I ask you about something?”

As Qalzirai dipped beneath the western horizon, Adofo noticed dusk coming in from the east. “Ask your question quick, Elmas, we should arrive at our destination soon.”

Elmas pondered in silence for a moment, before broaching the subject. “Should someone ever hand you a choice, which of these fates would you desire over the other? A declaration of freedom, and the breaking of your chains to pursue your own destiny beyond the Dominion, wherever you desired? Or… would any of that mean anything to you, without Lady Siham Sar Amun’s love to look forward to?”

Adofo scoffed, “that is a very personal question.”

“I know.” Elmas answered. “I’ve always wondered about your answer for many moons now. A scholar’s curiosity if you could think of it as that. I’ve no other intention with your answer, but understanding.”

“Honestly? I’m uncertain how to answer that.”

“An uncertain answer talks more about your decision than you apparently think.” Elmas said, “she is born of the Children of the Sun, Adofo. Are you choosing to ignore the fact that you are her possession, or do you believe that she truly desires you?”

“Well, what does that matter to you?” Adofo asked. “Siham’s decision is her own, and she has gone to great lengths to shield me from the worst consequences of our relationship. She treads upon a sword’s edge even when she knows that not only should she not for only my sake, but for her future in the royal family as well. Siham’s love for me may seem like nothing to you, but each hour of her devotion to me is a debt that I cannot easily repay.”

Elmas nodded, “It’s not my intention to pry, lord. I wonder, though, about what you will do if she ever changes her mind about you. All the consequences you’ve somehow outpaced could come crashing down on you before you notice. As a Blood Sworn, you could just walk away with your freedom in just a few years.”

A promotion into the ranks of the palace guard seemed nothing near to actual freedom. A Blood Sworn’s ascension up the Golden Mountain for their induction rites dispelled those illusions. A reward of peace and solitude upon the rites’ completion, and an assigned post granted to the honored Zar, irrevocable in times of uncertainty and war.

“As I asked.” He insisted, “What does it matter? You’ve no reason to reap the consequences haunting my mistakes. Chances are rare that you’d fall into that pit of serpents.”

“You desired to know something about me, didn’t you?” Elmas cocked her head. “Well, I wanted to know your thoughts on the matter. An imperfect understanding has taught me more about you than simple observation. You’ve given me a conclusion to wonder more about in the future.”

A collision of lumber against granite docks seized their attention. At once, the Ferryman bowed, taking his leave amid the darkness of night. All conversation turned absent of mirth, amused smiles

reverting into faceless granite. The Blood Sworn gathered around Adofo while he re-equipped his boots. Elmas kept a silent vigil over him, standing in wait for a command.

“Brethren,” Adofo clambered back to his feet, fingers grasping his sheathed blade’s pommel like the talons of a hawk. Amid the dead silence of the outer Zar District, he heard only himself amid the disquiet rhythm of the Seventh Canal. “I’m certain we’ve all heard the dark myths that must dwell in the Old Ruin. I would give no credence to superstition, but… I would rather none of us tempt fate tonight. Understood?”

Set deep into ancient colonnades of craggy stone, their surfaces like volcanic rock, a pair of torches burned against the night. Both colonnades marked the discreet pier like a gate, unbarred and left open. A hidden back road of grime, mud, and dirt awaited the Blood Sworn to embark upon its path. It snaked between a dense collection of utilitarian structures built from tarnished stone, still ablaze with industrial fires shrouding the path ahead with smoke and a heat that seared the skin.

Adofo listened, picking up the distant clamor of voices raised in an arduous dirge. Other voices came quieter from farther along the path, where the way turned out of sight. He looked toward the night skies, and found a patchwork tapestry of banners, silk blankets, and discarded battle standards billowing between the rooftops. Almost blotting out the stars and moon, the dome of fabrics fluttered with wild abandon. Occasionally, he spied a beautiful night sky where the wind created sizeable gaps throughout the tapestries.

Gazing into the descent that would take them into the Old Ruin, his heart quickened inside his chest for a reason he couldn’t name. Beyond the tapestries and solemn male voices chanting, he swore he heard women in the distance, a rapturous song on their lips, burning with a zealous hope to bring light into darkness. Their voices ebbed when their song lulled, only to wax in volume, the higher notes of their music drawn out until the very moment he thought each would pause for breath again.

Their music reminded him of the hymnals often sung by the Priestesses of the Golden Sun, around the Celestial Altars. A compassionate call to gaze into the sun’s brilliance, to banish one’s fears of the immortal night. An illusion the sisterhood wove around their children, blinding them to the truth behind their sins, he had always thought. An icy chill crept down his spine. The thought that even the women of the Zar sought to perform the same rites for those laboring inside the hellish industrial complex before them, gave him pause.

Gasping, Elmas’ breath came in shortened, gentle inhales. “Gods’ light in the void… but what is this place? A small measure of beauty lingers here, but caked in soot and ashes.”

From the Blood Sworn’s number, Kalb spoke up. “A hideousness also blights this place, should the women of the Zar sing their songs to ward those misfortunates who dwell here.”

Magar mentioned when Kalb fell silent. “Let’s not stand here frightened of our own shadows like the Children of the Sun would. I’ve no desire to follow their example and don’t fear some buried over hovels from some forgotten era. Commander, give us the word and we’ll set the Old Ruin to flame, compelled by your direction.”

Adofo loosened his muscles, popping his joints with a brief exercise to warm himself up. “Magar is right. What use is fear to the Blood Sworn if our summons calls us into the depths to face the horrors of the past, anyway? Form a tight formation, and guard the backs of your brethren. Keep your weapons readied and shields raised. I want one torchbearer at each corner of the unit. Be generous with the light once we have truly descended into the Old Ruin. Expect nothing, but prepare for anything…”

Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords - Cover Art Update & Scene II - Legacies of Her Forebears
Post by: Dread on December 9, 2021, 11:43:30 PM
Absolutely love the cover art. The story is strong as well. Glad your dream is becoming reality. 8)
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords - Cover Art Update & Scene II - Legacies of Her Forebears
Post by: Myen'Tal on December 9, 2021, 11:52:10 PM
Absolutely love the cover art. The story is strong as well. Glad your dream is becoming reality. 8)

Thank you, Dread, that means a lot!

Will share when I have another update!
Title: A Sanctum of Swords - Descent Into Timeless Eons - Action Scene Excerpt
Post by: Myen'Tal on December 27, 2021, 10:16:03 AM
Descent Into Timeless Eons

Scene Excerpt

Deep beneath the Southern Wastes, Enigma tread the abyss where mortal eyes feared to gaze. Amid the unnatural quiet buried far from light’s revelations, every graceful move made resounded upon the earthen bedrock. An invisible blade in the dark parted the stagnant air upon its removal from the scabbard. Each footfall committed by leather boots mimicked the alpha predator stalking about in the night. A quickened heart beat inside his chest like a ticking clock. The rhythmic pulses painted a target over him in the broken world’s unlit places.

Adrenaline coursing in the blood dialed up the internal temperature within him. A rush of heat saturated the insubstantial flesh underneath a flowing midnight silk uniform. Navigating forgotten passages bereft of warmth, Enigma tread upon craggy stone damp from waters trickling in from nearby flooded caverns.

An unfamiliar chill in the air stole away his breath. Each inhale came in shallow gasps, choked by a chilling, unseen fog.    

Enigma registered every brief disturbance within earshot. Subtle notes otherwise inaudible in near any other environment. A dozen leather boots on the earthen bedrock matched him for every step he dared make toward the Sanctum Gate. A chorus of hushed breathing betrayed his former brethren’s efforts to divide-and-conquer Enigma and his unseen master.

A quickened rush scrabbled up rugged bedrock from behind. He listened, hearing a wicked blade cutting through stagnant fog toward him. Enigma imagined the blade glinting beneath a bright sun. Yet no light revealed the weapon hurtling through the abyss–veiled by darkness until it hit home.

He feinted at the last moment. Tilting on the ball of his right foot, he slunk away beyond the Ashen Blade’s immediate reach. A lighter weapon, a dagger or Katar, lunged out of the abyss in front of him at that moment. Silken fabrics torn open by the reckless thrust filled the quiet depths. A shrill cry punctuated the sound, cut brutally short upon the reckless blade’s vicious exit through the Ashen Blade Assassin behind him.

He parried with an overhead deflection, spinning on the foe in front of him. Sparks kindled from their tested steel, blinding everyone unprepared enough to take advantage. Head cocked to the right of their deadlock, Enigma glimpsed a dozen Ashen Blades navigating the unlit realm like he did. Their movements lacked the innate certainty that came to him without too much effort.

Breaking the deadlock with a quick feint, Enigma leaped to one side. His opponent’s rapid counter lunged past him. Sweeping the blade out before him, he listened for the telltale sound of broken flesh. Cleaved open, the bleeding sinew and broken bones beneath the skin came neatly apart. Severed from the neckline, the Ashen Blade’s head toppled back behind the corpse.

A dull, wet thud hit the bedrock with the weight of a heavy quilted blanket. Enigma answered another foe with a sweeping blow. Sparks kindled again upon turning the pinpoint thrust aside. Sliding back again, the lethal counter that followed flew wide of him. He answered, driving the slender needle dancing between the fingers on his left hand straight between the Ashen Blade’s eyes.

He heard the Su’khanite seize up in violent reaction, picturing the corpse standing rigid in the dark. Enigma did not wait to hear the body collapse, intercepting a blade’s curved hook on the upward sweep to bring his own weapon back into a reactive position.

Enigma caught the blade by its curved hook. A beguiling counter to disarm the foe when using their own surprise against them. A shadow, somehow distinct against the light-less abyss, passed by both combatants. He noticed it flicker between existences, like a ghost trying to become substantial in the living world.

The Ashen Blade, disarmed by Enigma, had registered the unfamiliar presence too. He didn’t hesitate. He rammed the elegant blade in hand straight into the assassin’s chest, rupturing the heart beneath the skin and sinew.

He heard the rigid corpse in front of him crumble in a heap upon the bedrock. The Ashen Blade, impaled on the Sudhari sword beside him, sagged down onto both knees. The bleeding heart in the wounded kin’s chest beat a last time, before the body went slack.

Enigma removed the sword with a flick of the wrist. The Sanctum Gate lapsed back into quiet tranquility. He sighed, voice quiet out of reverence for the immortal night. “Four kills. A decent offering given up freely for Zahira’s blessing.”

Enigma waited for an answer. He registered a dozen merciful blows in the dark. One destined for each remaining Ashen Blade before the Sanctum Gate. His master, the Banished Blade, extinguished their lives with an unnatural efficiency. An old honor to Ashen Blades betrayed by their own kin–to be humbled by such a superior mastery over the Art of Death.

When the twelve remaining assassins lay dead before the Sanctum Gate, the Banished Blade finally answered. Enigma realized the dead had not even a chance to cry out before the master’s sword fell upon them.

“A living man should be honored with four deaths to mark one fight and a victory.”

Enigma snorted, “A living man? You’re not yet gone from this world, old man. One reason you’ve dragged me back into the Den of Vipers.”

“Are your wrists chained and bound to my will, Enigma? We’re not here to break the cycle over death and rebirth.”

Enigma quipped, “the Sanctum Queen made a gruesome display of your corpse at Zahira’s altar. I debated often when you had actually perished… you had become silent for days. Your breathing appeared imperceptible to anyone else, but I could tell there remained some glimmer of defiance within you… even if you could only dream it from the mind’s eye.”

The Banished Blade’s physical appearance appeared a corporeal, living human. The midnight silk robes of the Ashen Blades draped the scarred caramel skin upon the frame’s light build. Enigma observed the living specter before him, bright enough that the abyss could not swallow him.

His master smiled, a flicker passing through all of him upon a moment’s notice. Enigma watched the Banished Blade’s physical existence meld back into the divine void beyond the mortal sphere. The moment passed just as quick as it had come, and the bleak master of death asserted himself back into reality.

“I’ve taught you’ve better than to trust to hope. Hope is a weapon when wielded in the hands of an enemy who understands how to exploit it.”


Enigma considered what the Banished Blade did not confess. “Then you are not much longer in this world, are you?”

“If you’re searching for the truth, then neither of us have much time between your hourglass and my own.”

He made a shrug, the gesture almost weightless to him. “Well, I’ve signed my death contract upon heeding your warnings and coming back here to where it all began… It’s too late for either of us to turn back… especially you. I would see your soul cut loose from the Sanctum Queen’s snare.”

“And I’ve sworn to achieve the same for you and all your kin who may follow in your footsteps.” His master sighed. “You’re wondering if this is the only way?”


Enigma answered, “no… I’m only wondering if there is any way at all. We’re navigating an illusion… where your ghost lingers in the living world and I stand before the Sanctum Gate–between life and death. How could the Den of Vipers ensnare our souls even after death?”

“One reason I called you back here to face the Sanctum Queen. Her labyrinthine mind is ancient, having outlived entire empires, kingdoms, and the mortal generations whom built them. A Daughter of Shadows, sharing Goddess Zahira’s blood and an innate mastery over the immortal cycle of death and rebirth. Karyan is a dark phoenix… you must confront her to learn the truth that will change everything.”


Enigma affirmed him with a nod. “There isn’t much other option than death then.”

“Should you face Karyan, then correct. You’ll come to understand in your later years when I say that the pendulum won’t sway for you yet…”

Title: A Sanctum of Swords - Status Update & Ashes of Genesis Excerpt
Post by: Myen'Tal on January 2, 2022, 01:26:28 AM
Status Update:

Hey guys, another update here!

Status - A Sanctum of Swords has surpassed the 20,000 word mark. It sits around 25,000 words and I've about brought Act I to completion. It'll need one more visit, then onto Act II.

Cover Art creation is set to resume in early January.

Map is finished - but I've another illustration to have completed around mid-march.

I've an editor appointment scheduled - and it's a big one! More information on that nearer to the end of that session.

Next near term goal is to get a website created - which I believe will also begin happening in the coming months.

I'm rolling on towards completion!

Ashes of Genesis - Excerpt
   
Hidden behind tapestries of patchwork blankets, the full moon withered until Adofo could no longer track it in the heavens. A gust billowed through the silk fabric ceiling. Each blanket wavered amid the storm wind, convincing him the entire work of art might come apart at any moment. Yet in the hour long descent from the Artifice Quarter toward the Golden Valley’s outskirts, Adofo registered only a breeze stirring throughout the bowels of the lower Zar district.
   
Kalb broke the silence upon leaving the hymnals and dirges of the higher Artifice Quarter behind. “Some years have passed since our descent into the Ardent Spire. You remember that journey? The Crimson Guard ambushed us upon this lonely road. The darkness became so black–all the Spire towering into the heavens appeared nothing more than a twisted den of rearing serpents.”
   
Adofo grunted, chuckling despite the unease brought about by the memory. “How could I forget? You about lost your eye to their War Leader.”
   
Kalb snorted, but did not disagree. “And you took an arrow straight to your chest. They had you bedridden for over a month. I’ve always wondered how we fought our way out from those relentless wolves.”
   
Elmas interrupted their recollection. “A tale woven before our time in the Bloodsworn, Magar. You’ll often hear Kalb recall many moments of near failure and death. He’s always been fond of cheating Zahira for greater reward.”
   
“And I’ve reaped enough–more than anyone here,” Kalb replied. Adofo detected an unsubtle note of irritation in the Old Guard’s grizzled voice. “I only mentioned that old tale because nothing seems to have changed about this place. Several years have passed me by and I’m not my young self anymore. I’d wager if someone swept their torchlight near enough to the path, you’d still find all the blood spilled upon them.”
   
Against the night, burning torches fought back the darkness clouding the road ahead. Continuing on, the dark nooks of the Artifice Quarter writhed against Adofo’s perception. Hazed shadows took on an animated sentience, detaching from the surrounding night to test their steel against one another. An ichor, sleek like oil, spilled from the first wounded shadows across the cobblestones.
   
As quick as the illusion came, did the world shift back into normalcy. Adofo recalled the memory of every fallen shadow, remembering whom each had been before their demise. The dead had arisen once again, each fated to fall like they had those many moons ago.
   
Breaking the illusion, Adofo realized Kalb had won the wager before anyone could say otherwise. He had perceived the path ahead as the black ichor leaked from dead incorporeal shadows. Yet revealed by the torchlight, anyone could spy the decaying signs of an old battle. A great graffiti painted in the blood of the deceased–their intact bones still scattered about the place in every alcove and storm drain. Some skeletal corpses still wore their armor through all the oxidized filth eating through it.
   
Kalb continued, speaking at a lower volume. “Children of the Sun must rarely venture into the Ardent Spire for anything. They did not even have anyone clean up the bloodshed left in our wake–not even after all these years.”
   
Elmas shielded her features behind a silk sleeve. “It must have smelled like an abandoned butcher’s shop here for sometime. It reeks like death even now.”
   
“Whatever you do, Elmas,” Kalb replied. “Don’t ask about the past repeating itself. You’re going to jinx us this time, I know it.
   
Elmas shot back. “I’m too superstitious to even think about it.”
   
Magar interrupted, “Looks like you’ve jinxed us yourself, Kalb. Someone’s lantern approaches up ahead, from the left bend where the road forks before that old tower.”
   
Elmas pointed toward the tower with the map bundled in her grip. “Auspicious, maybe ominous, depending on our approaching guests. We’ve arrived at the Forlorn Eyrie, Lord.”

Adofo considered the great foundation of granite stone brickwork that came up to the height of two tall men. He lifted his gaze to better take in the crumbling avalanche of stone piled atop that broken foundation. The Forlorn Eyrie appeared nothing more than a tragic disaster, so great in scope that it buried entire leagues of the surrounding urban sprawl down with it.

He spoke into the dead quiet, hearing each word echo into Gorum’s bowels. “Are you certain of this? Hand the map over. This cannot be right.”

Elmas scoffed, but flicked her hand out in offering toward him, the bundled map clutched light in her fingers. “Lady Shoushan would never be that careless, lord. Our path into the Old Ruin leads through the abandoned tower before us.”

Kalb snorted, pacing back and forth between shadow pockets within reach of the Bloodsworn. “A tower? It is a crumbling ruin, broken down to its foundations. It would come down upon us the moment we fool ourselves into thinking the path is safe.”

Another Bloodsworn spoke hurriedly. “I’ll hasten to remind everyone that these approaching strangers haven’t noticed us yet. If you’re wanting to avoid a potential confrontation, we should decide now.”

Kalb retorted, “if they do not see us, brother, then these warriors must have a great sense of premonition about them.”

Magar interrupted, “There must be another route? The Old Ruin lies beneath the entire city. I’d say several passages should be nearby for each area of the Zar District we borrow deeper into.”

Adofo silenced the others with a brief whistle. He replied, “Kalb speaks the truth. The Forlorn Tower appears to be ruined and could come falling down on us if we took that way. Alas, we will not find an alternative in the next minute.”

Elmas finished the First Blade’s thought. “Then we take the risk that there will be a confrontation and blood spilled. We’ll figure another route out afterward.”

“Elmas,” he commanded, “Select five Bloodsworn for a unit. Hide yourselves in that stairwell, where it bends up to the higher outlook, out of sight. Magar, choose another five for your own team. Tuck yourselves back behind those colonnades on our left, deep in the alcove there.

“Kalb, call every torchbearer into your unit and any remaining warriors. You will stand your ground beside me. Have each bearer plant their torches somewhere they can remain upright on their own. I want one torch planted in each general direction, like a circle around our perimeter.”

Elmas made an elegant bow. “Your will, lord.”

Magar affirmed him with a nod. “At once, First Blade.”

Kalb failed to acknowledge the order, but kept his gaze focused on the distant lights approaching ahead. All the torchbearers and warriors in his unit went about their task without being told. Instead, the seasoned warrior turned back to Adofo after being left alone for a brief interlude.
Title: A Sanctum of Swords - Excerpt Revision 3.0
Post by: Myen'Tal on January 9, 2022, 10:36:01 PM
Hi guys, just a quick update here!

I'm currently backtracking and doing a full pass across Act I to tackle a number of issues.

The main problem that I'm seeking to address with this pass is purple prose & dialogue tags, etc.

Here is roughly the same excerpt I posted previously, but with all the implemented revisions made in the editing pass. It will read quite different.

Hoping to apply the entire revision to Act I before long.

I also have plans to break off the first scene in chapter one and make it a standalone chapter to expand upon. Same with the later two scenes in chapter one.

Thanks for reading!

An Oath of Blood

Hidden behind a patchwork blanket ceiling, the full moon became impossible for Adofo to track. The blankets wavered in the billowing gust, convincing him the entire work of art might come apart at any moment. Yet he registered only a breeze stir through the bowels of the Artifice Quarter.
   
Kalb broke the silence long after they left the dock on the Seventh Canal behind. He said, “Some years have passed since our descent into the Ardent Spire. You remember that journey? The Crimson Guard ambushed us on this lonely road. The darkness became so black–all the Spire appeared nothing more than a twisted den of serpents.”
   
Adofo chuckled despite the unease brought by the memory. He spoke, “how could I forget? You about lost your eye to their War Leader that night.”
   
Kalb did not disagree. He said, “and you took an arrow straight to your chest. They had you bedridden for over a month. I’ve always wondered how we fought our way out from those relentless wolves.”
   
Elmas spoke, “a tale woven before our time in the unit, Magar. You’ll often hear Kalb recall many moments of near failure and death. He’s always been fond of cheating Zahira for greater reward.”
   
“And I’ve reaped enough–more than anyone here,” Kalb said. A note of irritation came from the Old Guard. “I only mentioned that old tale because nothing changed about this place. Several years have passed. I’m not my young self anymore. I’d wager the faded traces of the blood spilled here still linger on the stone.”
   
Torches burned in the night, guiding them down the road ahead. Shadows in the nooks writhed against Adofo’s perception, taking on an animated sentience. Spectres detached themselves from their surroundings, testing their steel against one another. Ichor, sleek like spilled oil, sprayed from every wounded apparition onto the cobblestones.
   
As quick as the illusion came, the world shifted back into normalcy. He recalled the faces of some he knew before death. As fading ghosts, they had arisen, fated to die like they had those many moons ago.
   
Breaking the illusion, Adofo realized Kalb won the wager before anyone said otherwise. Revealed by torchlight, he spied the decayed remnants of an old battle. A mosaic painted in the deceased’s faded blood, their bones scattered about in every alcove and storm drain. Some skeletons still wore their armor, almost eaten through with an oxidized filth.
   
Kalb spoke. His voice came lower. “Children of the Sun must rarely venture into the Ardent Spire. They did not even clean up the bloodshed left in our wake, not even after all these years.”
   
Elmas shielded her features behind a silk sleeve. She said, “It must have smelled like an abandoned butcher’s shop here for sometime. It reeks like death even now.”
   
“Whatever you do, Elmas,” Kalb said, “don’t ask about the past repeating itself. You’re going to jinx us this time, I know it.”
   
Beside Adofo, Elmas didn’t spare Kalb a glance. She spoke, “I’m too superstitious to even think about it.”
   
Magar said, “Looks like you’ve jinxed us yourself, Kalb. Someone’s lantern approaches up ahead, from the left bend where the road forks before that old tower.”
   
Map bundled between her fingers, Elmas pointed toward the tower. “Auspicious, maybe ominous. It depends on our approaching guests. We’ve arrived at the Forlorn Eyrie.”
   
Adofo took in the crumbling stone avalanche piled atop the tower’s broken foundation. The Forlorn Eyrie appeared to be nothing more than a tragic disaster. Surrounding infrastructure lay demolished around it.
   
He spoke into the dead quiet, each word echoing into Gorum’s bowels. “Are you certain of this? Hand the map over. This cannot be right.”

Elmas flicked a hand out toward him. The weathered parchment bundled between her leather-gloved fingers. She said, “Lady Shoushan wouldn’t be so careless. Our path into the Old Ruin leads through the abandoned tower before us.”

Kalb paced back and forth between dark alcoves within arm’s reach of the unit. He said, “A tower? It is a crumbling ruin, broken down to its foundations. It would come down upon us the moment we fool ourselves into thinking the path is safe.”

Another Bloodsworn spoke. “I’ll hasten to remind everyone of these approaching strangers. They haven’t appeared to notice us yet. If you’re wanting to avoid a confrontation, we should decide now.”

Kalb said, “if they cannot see us, then these warriors must have a great sense of premonition about them.”

Magar spoke, “There must be another route. The Old Ruin lies beneath the entire city. Several passages should exist for every area of the Zar District we burrow into.”

Adofo whistled to silence the others. He said, “Kalb speaks the truth. The Forlorn Eyrie appears ruined and could fall down on us if we took that path. Alas, we will not have an alternative in the next minute.”

Elmas finished the First Blade’s thought. She spoke, “Then we take the risk. There will be a confrontation and spilled blood. We can seek an alternative route out afterward.”

“Elmas,” Adofo said, “assign five brethren to your unit. Hide yourselves in the stairwell where it bends up toward the higher outlook. Remain out of sight. Magar, choose another five for your team. Tuck yourselves back behind the colonnades on our left, deep in the alcove there.

“Kalb, you have command over every torchbearer and any remaining warriors. You will stand your ground beside me. Have each bearer plant their torches around us in a circle.”

Elmas spoke, “Your will.”

Magar confirmed, “At once, First Blade.”

Kalb failed to acknowledge the order. Adofo followed his gaze toward the approaching light in the dark. All the warriors in their unit went about their task without being told. Instead, the seasoned warrior turned back to Adofo upon being on their own. 

“A sound strategy,” Kalb said. “You’ve always had a better head on you. Did it shake you at all, walking through that haunted path?”

Adofo spoke, “I’ve the Bloodsworn to guide toward our destination. Memories won’t tear down my courage nor my will to live. It’s an abandoned path, Kalb, nothing more.”

“I didn’t mean the Spire, brother,” Kalb said. “You think we’ll ever leave the Golden Valley? Would the Children of the Sun truly hand us our freedom one day and tell us to never return?”

Adofo paused, hearing Kalb’s Bloodsworn returning out of the shadows to join them. In their wake, a dim firelight burned about the lone road. The world inside their lit sphere danced against the dark. Adofo looked back at Kalb before anyone came within earshot.

Adofo asked, “Are you afraid of death? You think the shadows will drag us screaming into the Old Ruin?”

“No,” Kalb stated. “All I want to avoid is dying in this cursed place. Something doesn’t feel right. You know I’m prepared to do so for any man or woman here, even Elmas. Gods spare me their cruelty. I just wanted to know what First Blade Adofo thought about my question. If the best of us cannot answer, there isn’t much reason to hope, is there?”

Adofo said, “I believe we’ll walk out of Gorum one day. Should the time ever come, we’ll have to endure in our current lives to see it.”

Kalb spoke, “I’ll trust your judgement. You have the better head, brother. Always have.”

Their brethren rushed back to the center of the road, falling into single rank and file to block the path. Kalb and Adofo anchored themselves at the unit’s center. In unison, the Bloodsworn unslung round shields, wide enough to protect the bearer from knees to collarbone. A metallic rim hardened each shield, complemented with a wicked spike embossed in the center.

He heard blades un-sheathed from their scabbards. Shields locked together from one flank to the next.

An authoritative Qin’sar, a noble blooded warrior born among the Children of the Sun, emerged out into the light. Scarred russet skin, draped with the same cream and crimson robes all Zar’qin wore into battle, shone beneath the sphere’s light. A heavy scale mail suit protected them further, complemented with a sapphire satin cloak, dancing out behind him. A sash and tabard of similar colored material lent him a greater air of royalty.

The Child of the Sun stood three heads over Kalb, the tallest in the unit. An imposing giant, Adofo had never seen his like before, rattling the cobblestone road underneath a purposeful stride. He didn’t share the appearance of any Kharanite, another race of giants possessed of similar height. His physical frame appeared to burgeon with muscle, as opposed to the gaunt bodies of the giants eking out an existence on the Kharan Badlands.

A heavy helm tucked under an arm, the sapphire plume brushing against the giant’s knee marked him as an Exalted–an officer for the Qin’sar. A bare head marked the Exalted, save a short mohawk running along the scalp. A vertical scar streaked down a granite face from hairline to chin, several lesser scars etched around the greatest.

The Exalted said, “Anahid’s lantern guide your way, brave wanderers. And you’ve wandered quite far, I’d wager. Though I’d be remiss not asking about the other Bloodsworn journeying into the Spire with you? A First Blade wouldn’t lose a warrior on a quiet track through this lone road. Shouldn’t a Zar understand his way through the district where the masters keep his kin?”

Kalb spoke, “The only man lost here is you, Exalted. A Child of the Sun wandering alone in this maze of ghosts? You should see you only tread farther into your own demise.”

“Kalb,” Adofo said. He turned back to the Exalted standing just beyond the unit’s reach. “Exalted, our journey through the forgotten places has left us anxious and weary. Forgive our asking, but why do you seek us out without warning?”

The Exalted spoke, “Your bloodhound speaks the truth. I know Kalb, and he is used to stepping beyond boundaries. I know you too, Adofo, but only in name. Honor compels me to ask only once. Lay down all weapons and reveal your compatriots hidden in ambush.”

Adofo said, “Are you asking us to surrender? Do you have some accusation behind your request?”

Adrenaline coursed underneath Adofo’s skin. A quickening heart beat inside of his chest like a war drum. He knew the Child of the Sun had noticed when the noble clutched a halberd in one heavy gauntlet.

The Exalted spoke, “So be it. May you all die as you have lived.”

Adofo commanded the Blood sworn and their formation tightened. They readied themselves to receive a charge. Yet the Exalted withheld himself. The Child of the Sun whistled, a brief musical note fading into the night.

In the distance, where the road forked to the left, a rustling sound growing ever louder could be heard. Suddenly, from around the bend, sixty Children of the Sun appeared rushing towards them. From the light of the lanterns Adofo could make out that the Children were much better equipped for war than his forces were.
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords
Post by: Alienscar on January 11, 2022, 07:07:13 AM
Quote from: myen'Tal
I'm currently backtracking and doing a full pass across Act I to tackle a number of issues.

The main problem that I'm seeking to address with this pass is purple prose & dialogue tags, etc.

Here is roughly the same excerpt I posted previously, but with all the implemented revisions made in the editing pass. It will read quite different.

Wow you certainly don't mind working hard that is for sure. How do you find the time?

I hope you don't mind, but I have to say that I find 'Ashes of Genesis' to be too contradictory to work. Ashes are the remains of something burnt whilst genesis is the origin of something.
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords
Post by: Myen'Tal on January 11, 2022, 01:10:10 PM
q[uote=myen'Tal]I'm currently backtracking and doing a full pass across Act I to tackle a number of issues.

The main problem that I'm seeking to address with this pass is purple prose & dialogue tags, etc.

Here is roughly the same excerpt I posted previously, but with all the implemented revisions made in the editing pass. It will read quite different.

Wow you certainly don't mind working hard that is for sure. How do you find the time?

I hope you don't mind, but I have to say that I find 'Ashes of Genesis' to be too contradictory to work. Ashes are the remains of something burnt whilst genesis is the origin of something.
[/quote]

Hi Alienscar,

Good to see you, it's been a bit  :). You ever get the leak in the water pipe fixed?

Well you get out of a project what you invest into it - that's why I don't mind  :). I try to put in about 2-3 hours of writing after work if I feel up to it or determine I have enough time to do it. Other than that, I try to get a lot done on weekends  ;D.

Thanks for your opinion on the chapter title. Do you think 'Fires of Genesis' will work better?

Thanks!
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords
Post by: Alienscar on January 12, 2022, 06:09:44 AM

Thanks for your opinion on the chapter title. Do you think 'Fires of Genesis' will work better?

Thanks!

To be honest, no I don't think Fires of Genesis would work better. Generally speaking a phrase requires a verb and a noun to work, so two nouns (fires & genesis') don't really work.

I think maybe you are trying to use the wrong word by using genesis.

Genesis means the origin, or beginning of something, so by writing 'Fires of genesis' you have said fires of beginning. I would hope you agree that this doesn't work. Also genesis is used to describe the beginning/origin of something, so by just using genesis on its own the reader is left hanging.

For example:

The genesis of life on earth.

The genesis of the civil rights movement.


Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords
Post by: Myen'Tal on January 12, 2022, 01:28:41 PM
Understood, I will cast that chapter name into the fire then.

Thanks for the feedback  :).
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords
Post by: Alienscar on January 13, 2022, 10:05:45 AM
Probably not a lot of help as you are working with a real editor now, but here are a few thoughts.

Quote
Leagues of urban sprawl lay demolished around it


A league is three mile in length, so now your description of the forked road and a tower becomes confused. Adofo and crew can see the tower clearly, but the tower is separated from the road by more than three miles of rubble!

Quote
We’ve arrived at the Forlorn Eyrie, Lord.
The Forlorn Tower appears ruined and could fall down on us

Forlorn Tower, or Forlorn Eyrie?

Quote
Several passages should exist for every area of the Zar District we borrow into.

Did you mean to write burrow?

Quote
Plant one torch in each general direction, like a circle around our perimeter

This doesn’t really describe anything as the expression ‘general direction’ is too vague to mean anything.

I think something more direct would be better: Set up the torches in a circle around us.


Quote
Hidden behind the bend at the forked road, rustling swept out of the night.

This is an incomplete sentence, or more precisely the thoughts aren’t connected enough to make sense.

Also I would say ‘behind’ is the wrong word to describe something out of sight around a bend. I also think you are making this one phrase work too hard. You are trying to describe something hidden and the road layout at the same time, and it doesn’t quite work. Additionally describing a sound as hidden doesn’t make sense as sound is invisible.

What about something like...

In the distance, where the road forked to the left, a rustling sound growing ever louder could be heard.

Quote
Sixty Children of the Sun, equipped in their superior arsenal of cataphract scale armor and satin clothing.

This is another sentence in which the thoughts aren't quite connected enough to make complete sense.

Quote
Adofo made out an oncoming horde. An entire patrol quaked the cobblestone path underfoot. Sixty Children of the Sun,

Describing the size of the opposing forces three times in such a small paragraph really slows the pace. As the aim of this paragraph appears to be the sudden appearance of a horde then I would say it needs to be more direct so as to provide more pace to the action.

For example:

In the distance, where the road forked to the left, a rustling sound growing ever louder could be heard. Suddenly, from around the bend, sixty Children of the Sun appeared rushing towards them. From the light of the lanterns Adofo could make out that the Children were much better equipped for war than his forces were.


Quote
Hidden behind the bend at the forked road, rustling swept out of the night. Another three burning spheres rushed out toward them, rivaling the speed of a running warrior. Unveiled by bright fires, Adofo made out an oncoming horde.

You have described the fork in the road as being close to the Eyrie, but you have described the Eyrie as being surrounded by three mile of rubble. This means the Children of the Sun are having to run for three mile before they engage Adofo.
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords
Post by: Myen'Tal on January 13, 2022, 12:42:58 PM
Hey Alienscar,

Thank you for the feedback. Appointment with the editor is still a little ways away, so I don't mind the suggestions at all. You made good points, so I'll definitely make those changes in the next writing session.
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords
Post by: Myen'Tal on January 18, 2022, 09:29:14 PM
Quick update - the Second Stage is set to begin!

(https://i.ibb.co/fttY5jS/18-01-2022-20-25-25-REC.png)
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords
Post by: Alienscar on January 19, 2022, 05:41:06 AM
Hi Myen'Tal I think abyssal is the wrong word to use in chapter 1.

The word abyssal refers to the deepest parts of the ocean, so the title 'An Abyssal Descent' is literally a descent to the bottom of the sea. Abyssal can also mean unfathomable/incomprehensible, but I doubt that you are meaning to say an 'Incomprehensible Descent'

Would I be right in thinking you are trying to say A Descent Into The Abyss, or maybe An Abysmal Descent?

Good luck with the second stage.
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords
Post by: Myen'Tal on January 19, 2022, 10:40:20 AM
Hi Alienscar,

Funny you mentioned that chapter name in particular - I had originally thought to name it 'A Descent into the Abyss' as you had mentioned. I thought the name might have been too long, but it does reflect the chapter's narrative much better. I think I'll change it back to that.
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords
Post by: Myen'Tal on January 21, 2022, 02:05:58 PM
Chapter 5: A Blade Severed from the Master’s Hand, Excerpt

   The outskirts of eastern U’ral village burned around Mahir. Steppe warriors of the U’skar Qi tested their steel against one another in desperate combat. Horses armored in iron scale barding churned the rain-soaked earth into a crimson quagmire. Mounted raiders loosed an endless hail of arrows against the garrison defenders, dwindling their numbers further. ground.

Gadara ordered her unit to arm themselves. Each took up a handheld crossbow in their hands. They knelt down into the mud together, gazes forward, and their weapons raised.

Mahir commanded, “We offer another tyrant’s head on Zahira’s altar tonight, cut them down!:

She smiled, then said, “Akarians, open fire!”

In practiced cohesion, the Ashen Blades readied their weapons, unleashing a silent hail from their crossbows.

A warrior king and his honor guard rode into the village’s ruined outskirts. Mahir watched their lances cutting through the defenders, reality around the warlord bursting with colorful vibrance. Dikran appeared a brute of a man, built of sinew and raw muscle. A lamellar armor crafted from iron scales and woven into a suit protected him from thighs to throat. Royal purple silk cushioned the armor from underneath, visible around the limbs and other vulnerable gaps in the lamellar.

A plumed helmet topped with wild, white-dyed horsehair weighed down on his shoulders. Black leather boots came up to the warrior king’s knees, already sullied with the blood of slain foes.

Indiscriminate death came to those slain by the sword or consumed by fire. Gadara and her Akarian Talons announced themselves–sending a silent hail of venom-coated bolts from handheld crossbows. His sister had trained her unit well–their cohesion honed to practiced precision. Their marksmanship remained true–neither wind nor rain able to hinder their ability to strike their payloads deep into mortal flesh.

Black Rot–a necrotic venom created in Suann Sanctuary. A weapon capable of killing the blood in a human’s veins and their muscle sinew. A rapid decay spreads through the victim until only a decrepit hole remains in the withered husk. A mere kiss from any tool, weapon, or sacrificial flesh coated in a couple drops remained the proven bane of any living creature–Demi-god and mere mortal alike.

Mahir heard their enemies choking on venom as the skirmish came apart before him. The wind carried their screams into the storm. Amid the chaos, several honor guards in Warlord Dikran’s retinue sagged in their saddles. One after another, each man toppled from their horses into the crimson mire.

Gadara cried out into the storm. She spoke, “I should have known better than to think we’d leave these primal steppes alive.”

Mahir had realized far before she had. Gaze locked ahead of him, he said, “you should have heeded my warnings. We’ve crossed a point of no return some moons ago.”

His sister ignored him to bark another command. She spoke, “Reload!”

The Ashen Blades plucked steel-tipped bolts from full quivers slung over their shoulders. Quick on the draw, her unit unleashed another hail into the oncoming retinue.

Mahir counted a dozen honor guard dead to the Black Rot–their number withered to twenty warriors. He braced against the remaining cavalry stampeding through the dead and wounded towards their position.

Gadara noticed him gazing in her direction. Mahir confessed a secret he had intended to say some weeks ago. He said, “For what it’s worth–our reunion here on the steppes is not lost on me. It’s been several years since you’ve last seen your wayward, altered brother. A predictable season of solitude with the last of my kin. Rare is the Sanctum Queen’s Severed Hand who could ask for an end so cherished.”

Gadara smiled before the expression reverted to stone. She leveled her crossbow toward the oncoming lancers. She spoke, “To die so near to winter’s end… it will not be as beautiful as I hoped. Should Zahira call us home, I’d rather perish by a sword than underneath an indiscriminate stampede. You have another trick up your sleeve to even the odds?”

Mahir said, “Are you prepared to vomit again?”

Gadara grimaced. She spoke, “I will choose the greater evil to live a moment longer. Get us near enough to grant our enemies the kiss of Suhari Steel.”

The sodden soil quaked underneath him, beaten like a war drum by the horde. Mahir swept an arm out–conjuring shadows on a whim. Animated by sentience, an abyss yawned open into the physical world. Its gaping maw closed in around them, tearing the Akarian Talons and himself out of the mortal sphere.

Safeguarded in the Sanctuary once more–Mahir still perceived the U’skar Qi through gradients of moonlit shadow. All the eastern outskirts appeared to him as a battle of specters–both clashing armies melding into an insubstantial mist when looking at them through the Sanctuary’s esoteric lens. As one, Warlord Dikran’s honor guard charged the abandoned spot the Ashen Blades had stood in the physical world. Mahir braced, the U’skarite nobles charging through his disembodied soul, giving him brief warmth in a dimension of chilling cold.

He waited–spectral cavalry galloping through him and the Ashen Blades. He heard their bewildered voices from beyond time and space–the U’skarite warriors searching for enemies no longer within reach. He dispelled the sanctuary with a thought, watching the shadows dissipate into the mortal sphere.

There would be no more respite until either the Ashen Blades triumphed in their contract–or Mahir coming to the end of his life.

He blinked–assailed by a frozen drizzle and lashing wind from out of nowhere. He heard keen sounds crying out behind him–honed steel slicing through winter air. Gadara shouted a command–ushering her Akarian Talons into combat before he could give the order. The Ashen Blades charged–their midnight robes melding in and out of the night.

Focused, Mahir stepped back into the spectral sanctuary. He found himself caught in an explosion of dark magic upon entering again, obliterating memories until they appeared in an un-chronological, faded blur. It crashed inside the boundaries of mind like tidal waves, ebbing his conscience until Mahir ceased existing.

The Akarian Talons sliced deep into the Black Tiger’s honor guard–venom-laced swords sowing death. Limbs came free of their owners. Stallions and geldings toppled their faces into the mire with sliced open throats. Warlord Dikran’s bellow commanded his honor guard into the fray.

Swift as wind, Gadara closed upon her quarry, intent on landing the killing blow.

Mahir expected his sister’s reckless charge for the kill. seated himself on the back of a massive ebon steed–a brutal beast more imposing than many warriors. The warlord noticed Gadara’s approach through the obscuring night storm. Sweeping his curved blade in a downward arc, Dikran made to dissect Gadara in twain upon meeting her head-long assault.

The sanctuary spat Mahir and what little remained of his mind, back out into the mortal sphere. Stepping between the Black Tiger of the U’skar Qi and Gadara, something stitched the essence of himself back together-memories, personality, and emotions. All the sentience carried in his living soul. An echo of steel blunted upon steel sang loudly upon his interception of the Steppe Lord’s fatal attack. A savage blow of such strength should have cut him down without effort. His physical strength had withered since the days of his youth.

Zahira, Goddess of Sorrow, spared her child once again. A hand once severed from its mistress surged with the power of once being whole. An inner strength rushed through his veins like an incredible adrenaline rush–coursing through every fiber of him.

Surprised, Dikran retracted his wicked sword–launching back into an immediate assault. The Black Tiger punched down toward Mahir with bone-breaking force. He weaved aside from the blow–his Mistress’ blessing emptying from his veins like a loss of remembered power.

Heart singing inside his chest, Mahir kept out of the warlord’s reach with graceful effort. Dikran guided his horse toward his quarry–lashing out by blade and fist. Avoidance became his strategy. He coiled around every sweeping blow and hack from Dikran’s jagged blade like a serpent. His movements came with graceful haste–every side-step, crouch, and convincing feint keeping him beyond his marked contract’s onslaught.

Gadara circled Dikran from behind–occasionally delving into the fray to land a mortal blow. Dikran warded them both away from his person by an endless storm of sweeping strikes.

Mahir raised his voice in audible challenge at the Lord of the U’skar Qi. He said, “A king seated so high on his horse proves a mastery over wind, maybe, but becomes blind when his head towers in the clouds. Will you continue to rage at nearby shadows? Or is the Black Tiger of the U’skar Qi courageous enough to dismount? Would he test his skill against an assassin of the Ashen Blades?”

Dikran wheeled his brutal mount about to face him. Surprised–Mahir slipped beyond the Steppe Lord’s reach–his every movement tracked by a predator oblivious to the fact it had become prey. Amusement glinted in the warlord’s burning gaze–confident in the face of his would-be slayer.

Dikran’s voice growled like the Lantern Beasts of the Steppes. He spoke, “Bold words for such a frail warrior–withered from some atrophic disease or some other ailment. Don’t let my words offend, when I say you appear more a cub than a challenger. You yelp with a courage born from ignorance. Not from a confidence born from strength. Stand aside, Ashen Blade, or maybe throw yourself on your sword. Both would have the same effect as you striking at me with your weakling blade.”

He held the Steppe Lord’s apathetic stare–un-phased. He said, “A shame–I didn’t want such a noble horse’s blood on my hands. So be it then.”

Gadara pounced out of the storm–each leap climbing her up the Black Tiger’s gargantuan mount onto the warlord’s back. His sister possessed no god-like powers, but her combat ability came nearer to Mahir’s than even she knew. To outsiders beyond the Southern Wastes–an Ashen Blade’s physical ability teetered on the inhuman. The Children of Su’khan considered such strength of body a basic achievement, gained in adolescence to outlive imminent death.

Armored boots stamped the quagmire–approaching from behind him. Mahir twisted–drawing a taut line across a steppe raider’s throat. He clove through the vocal cords–poisoned blood seeping from the wound in his throat. Again–the night folded in on him–stealing him back into the Sanctuary. Barbarous blades sliced into his disembodied soul, harmless.

The Severed Hand reappeared behind both warriors trying to strike him down. He swept his gladius out before him in a chained attack of two cuts. Guided by an unnatural hand–the shortened sword severed the heads of both warriors with gruesome strength. Mahir noticed a shudder in the wind–wailing as his foes tumbled into the quagmire at his feet.

A dread, born in the minds of those who feared death–haunted the Severed Hand’s enemies. He counted six other warriors surrounding him upon claiming the heads of their comrades. In fractured cohesion, each warrior vanished back into the melee – pretending they had not seen him.

Rolling into the mud, Mahir snatched a discarded dagger from its sheathe, sticking out from underneath a fallen U’ral defender. He let the weapon fly from his hand when coming back to his feet–aimed at the warrior king embattled against his kin. A ‘clink’ sound pierced the wailing wind. A telltale sign of steel embedded underneath iron scales–drawing blood from vulnerable flesh. Amused, he listened to the Black Tiger roaring into the storm.

Gadara straddled the Steppe Lord from behind, arms deadlocked around his thick throat. Dikran attempted in vain to strike himself free, forcing the blade out of her hand with a savage reverse of the elbow. The warlord didn’t realize the envenomed dagger clutched like an iron vice in her other hand.

Dagger raised, his sister stabbed down toward the Black Tiger’s chest without hesitation. The shortened blade thrust home–jammed beneath the iron scales until the steel snapped clean off the hilt. Gadara cursed. Then Mahir knew the protective fabric underneath Dikran’s armor blunted the blow.

An arrow soared out of the night–striking Gadara square in the left shoulder. Her immovable grip on the Steppe Lord faltered–then Dikran broke free upon spurring his horse into a wild gallop. Mahir burst into motion upon seeing her topple off the Black Tigers back into the mud.

He sidestepped out of Dikran’s warpath–picking up a spear discarded in a fallen warrior, then hurling the weapon at the midnight demon of a mount. A grotesque sound of flesh tearing underneath sharpened steel filled the ears. Dikran’s proud warhorse stormed past him by a hair’s breadth, spraying him with quagmire churned up in its passing.

The steppe horse didn’t ride on much farther before collapsing amid the village’s ruin, dragging Dikran down into the mud with it.

Mahir inhaled, glancing back toward where he saw Gadara fall. He spotted his sister pushing herself out of the mud onto her knees. A shaking hand clutched the feathered shaft embedded in her shoulder. She did not cry out in pain nor attempt to remove it.

Mahir called out to her. He said, “Will you live!?”

Gadara noticed him shouting, craning her head toward the sound of his voice. She nodded, despite the pain of her wound clouding her stare. She spoke, “I can still fight, but another moment and we’ll all be dead anyway.”

Mahir said, “Fight until the end! Another may deliver us out from our fate!”

Gadara snorted out of disbelief, but picked up a spear discarded in a steppe horse’s carcass. She twisted, rolling onto her back, ramming the spearhead through another U’skarite’s face-plate. The warrior staggered, stumbling past her before falling onto the battlefield.

Mahir turned away from Gadara, sweeping the area where the Black Tiger fell with cautious eyes. Among the dead, a shadow stirred out of the gruesome sight. He burst into a loping run toward the marked soul, closing quick enough to attempt a thrust straight through the Steppe Lord’s back.

Dikran burst from out of the dead piled around him without warning. He turned, intercepting the Severed Hand’s strike before Mahir could land the mortal wound. Their blades clashed once, twice, and then a third time before momentum pulled both opponents in the opposite direction. Mahir tilted on the ball of his foot, spinning round to meet the Black Tiger again.

Dikran widened his stance, saber sweeping down from overhead to turn aside the assassin’s blade. The Black Tiger followed through with a crushing fist, gnarled knuckles striking Mahir square in the teeth. His head pitching backward, an overwhelming force rattled him down to the spine’s core. Mahir tried to stabilize, boots sliding through the mud until he lost all balance.

The Black Tiger lunged for the Severed Hand’s throat, throwing Mahir back-first into the mud. Eager to claim the kill, the Steppe Lord fell upon him. Gladius clutched tight across his chest, the Ashen Blade thrust out. Cleansed amid constant rain, the envenomed blade appeared toothless. It bit deep into Dikran’s flesh beneath the ribs, warding the Steppe Lord back by sheer pain alone–not deadly venom.

Furious, the Black Tiger struck out with all the strength given to him, meant to cave the assassin’s skull into brittle bone.

Exhausted, Mahir called upon the Sanctuary with the last of his ebbing focus. A haven of moonlit darkness stole him out of the physical world, but brought Mahir into an unfamiliar place. All the Sanctuary appeared familiar, a second home amid a quiet dark, but the moon’s light appeared dim from where he stood. Shadows festered around him, writhing like they desired to consume him whole at a moment’s notice.

Yet Dikran’s spiritual essence never appeared out of arm’s reach–even as Mahir re-positioned himself behind the Black Tiger of the U’skar Qi. He dispelled the quiet realm in a fallout of shadow. He heard the northern storm howling, pelting rain turning his skin numb from its touch.

A tranquil silence marked the end of the raid on U’ral village. All the garrison defenders lay somewhere in these eastern fields, surrounded by an endless sea of dead raiders dragged into the grave with them. Of the Black Tiger’s scouting parties, the last remaining warriors still on horseback fled heedlessly back into the eastern Steppes.

Mahir considered where he stood amid hundreds slain alongside their steeds, their corpses packed into the burned-out remains of U’ral’s eastern outskirts. The defenders had taken their due, earning respite for those survivors fleeing into the western realms. Their foes would return with the coming sunrise and find nothing but death.

He turned back toward the Black Tiger before him, the warlord still on his knees in the mud. Mahir did not need to see the spot Dikran leaned over, knowing the Steppe Lord had punched an entire crater where he had been but a moment ago.

He said, “It appears the Black Tiger’s reign ends tonight.”

Dikran sagged deeper down toward the earth until Mahir thought the warlord would topple without another breath. Yet the U’skarite King pushed himself back up, erecting his posture, though still upon his knees. He spoke, “So, the serpent disguises himself behind the guise of a cub, sickened by atrophy. Yet you draw a vile strength from the poison that courses in your veins. A clever ruse, Ashen Blade–most deceitful. A golden sun blazes inside my soul. It denies me the right to ask for mercy, but the sweet kiss of an honorable death given quickly. Our gods would have it no other way.”

Mahir nodded in agreement, though he knew the Steppe Lord wouldn’t notice the gesture. He said, “A warrior king should not die on his knees, should he have the strength to stand.”

Dikran chortled. He spoke, “No, Sukhanite, he should not.”

Dikran leaped without warning, falling upon Mahir like a Black Tiger pouncing upon oblivious prey. He came at the Severed Hand with a last sweep of the wicked blade he wielded. Mahir countered in the blink of an eye, turning Dikran’s savage blow aside in a brief rain of sparks. The Black Tiger of the U’skar Qi found only the slender edge of a Suhari Blade, rammed straight through the Steppe Lord’s bellowing mouth.

Mahir, Severed Hand of the Sanctum Queen, pushed into the thrust, punching the sword through Dikran’s spine and out the other end of his skull. Gadara appeared beside him, thrusting her own blade deep through the warlord’s right eye. A pair of remaining Akarian Talons appeared behind Dikran. Karayan cleaved the upper half of the Steppe Lord’s skull clean off the corpse. Severed, the skull toppled into the patient hands of the last Ashen Blade, standing in wait for their trophy...

*Excerpt End*
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords
Post by: Alienscar on January 24, 2022, 08:03:18 AM
Those corrupted souls marked for death by Goddess Zahira’s hand are never easy quarries. Mahir understood that lesson long ago. Avaricious kings. Demented Priests of darker faiths. Oppressive tyrants. Notorious and blackened souls to the last man and woman recorded in the annals of time. Any soul committed to Zahira’s contract becomes an Ashen Blade’s sworn commitment to the Goddess of Death.

Each successful reaping steeped the Southern Wastes’ four corners further in the disdainful eyes of outsiders. Mahir understood the grim reality behind the sacrifice of his brethren in Su’khan–earning Khios another era of fragile peace and for themselves in the eternal slumber of death.

The Sanctum Queen had given such secrets to him, Mahir recalled. She had sworn him into the Ashen Blades by her own grim oath when he emerged from his Trial of Blades as victor. Several years since his triumph–the moment’s recollection had endured an entire span of years that had laid waste to older memories.

“As you have lived,

“As you have starved in the shadows,

“As you have killed in the abyss,

“You have sacrificed soul and limb,

“And offered each triumph for Sorrow’s blessing,

“Mahir shall remain your name, and you will serve as my omniscient dagger.

“An unseen weapon in the night, severed from your master’s hand.

“All I request from the wounded hand is the remembrance of once being whole.

“Long after the blade cleaves away a precious piece from me, always will I remember its absence.

“I trust you will remember your vow, Severed, and remind yourself that not even in death could you tear yourself free from the purpose of your mission.”


Personally I feel that the start of this chapter is too slow and chatty to mix well with what follows. That is, the transition from quiet remembrance to Mahir being right in the middle of a raging battle doesn’t sit well. You could easily lose the paragraphs about the Sanctum Queen.

Quote
His sister had trained her unit well–their cohesion honed to practiced precision.

The word precision is well enough defined. It doesn’t really need the embellishment of ‘practiced’

Quote
The Ashen Blades discarded their emptied weapons into the sodden mud. In practiced cohesion–each equipped a second handheld crossbow hidden on the small of their backs. Quick on the draw, Gadara’s assassins unleashed another hail into the Black Tiger of the U’skar Qi’s retinue.

Each to their own, but I can’t help thinking that crossbow users might just carry more bolts with them rather than carry another crossbow. I also think the whole ‘hidden on…’ is a bit of unnecessary melodrama. The ‘small of the back’ generally describes the lower part of the back that is smaller and narrower than the rest, and is usually considered to be below the hips. This seems uncomfortably low to carry something.

Quote
As a stampede, their mounts’ hooves trampled the dead and fading into the crimson quagmire toward them.

I don't really understand this sentence. It seems to be a mix of ideas, but none of them is prevalent. Are you trying to say the Steppe horde stampeded towards Mahir? If you are it has become lost in the dead and fading bit of the sentence.

Something simpler might be better.

Mahir braced himself beside his comrades as the twenty remaining honour guard stampeded their way through the dead and wounded towards their position.

Quote
Gadara’s breath caught in her lungs–noticing him gazing in her direction.

You have just described Mahir counting the dead of the honour guard, and now you have said he was gazing at Gadara. This inconsistency confuses the action.

Quote
She pointed her blade toward the oncoming lancers.

Isn’t she carrying a crossbow?

Quote
Around them–his Sanctuary perceived the mortal sphere as a two-dimensional plane trapped inside a three-dimensional realm between life and death.

This doesn’t make sense to me as it is just too difficult to understand.

Quote
An impulsive thought dispelled his sanctuary–collapsing in a fallout of shadowy mist.

Why describe Mahir’s thought as impulsive? Did he not mean to dispel the sanctuary?

Quote
Mahir refocused–stepping into the darkness opening out of the night, back into his sanctuary.

This is confusing as you have just previously described the sanctuary as collapsed.

Quote
Swift as wind, Gadara closed upon her oblivious quarry, before her marked victim would even notice.

This sentence is too late as you have already described Gadara shouting out commands.

Quote
Mahir expected his sister’s reckless charge for the kill. Emerging out of his sanctuary into the battle’s heart–he laid eyes upon his enemy.

Mahir emerged from his sanctuary a few paragraph’s above. Having him do so again is confusing.

Quote
Mahir, Severed Hand of the Sanctum Queen, stepped back into the mortal sphere–between the Black Tiger of the U’skar Qi and his sister.

Mahir has already been described as emerging from his sanctuary, so having him do so again confuses the action.

Quote
Heart singing inside his chest–Mahir answered the Steppe Lord’s tirade with precision-honed response time.

A tirade is a long angry speech. Did you mean to write barrage?

You don’t answer someone with a response time, and precision-honed doesn’t mean anything.

Something like this might be better (like this, but not this as I think it is still missing something)

Heart singing, Mahir parried the barrage of blows from the Black Tiger instinctively.

 

Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords
Post by: Myen'Tal on January 24, 2022, 10:24:32 AM
Hi Alienscar,

Thank you for the feedback, I appreciate the points you've made here.

So on your first point about the beginning starting too slow, I'm going to cut out the third paragraph about the Sanctum Queen.
I'm thinking I might cut the second one as well, what do you think?

About the crossbows, I agree after thinking on your suggestion, that discarding the weapons would be a waste. However, handheld crossbows I don't think would be so heavy, could be mistaken, but I guess in either case I'm going to remove that bit too. So moot point on my end.

Shouldn't be too difficult to make the rest of the changes, and should be straight forward to address.

I did make too many mentions of Mahir stepping out of the portal, will definitely clarify that. I did want Mahir to step back into the Sanctuary after 'dropping off' the Ashen Blades, and coming out nearer to Dikran.

I'll take another look at the first description of the sanctuary that you said was confusing. I think I can make it much easier to comprehend.

Thanks,
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords
Post by: Alienscar on January 25, 2022, 06:39:06 AM
So on your first point about the beginning starting too slow, I'm going to cut out the third paragraph about the Sanctum Queen.
I'm thinking I might cut the second one as well, what do you think?

Hi Myen'tal,

I think the chapter could/should start with the line 'The outskirts of eastern U’ral village burned around Mahir.'

I think this start would match what should be a fast paced chapter.

Quote
About the crossbows, I agree after thinking on your suggestion, that discarding the weapons would be a waste. However, handheld crossbows I don't think would be so heavy, could be mistaken, but I guess in either case I'm going to remove that bit too. So moot point on my end.

It is not the weight of the crossbow I have an issue with, but the fact you were describing it as hidden in the small of the back. The small of the back would place the crossbow on the owners buttocks, and this just doesn't seem a comfortable way of carrying something. Also a crossbow is 2.5-3 foot long so difficult to hide in such a small area as the small of the back.

As an aside modern crossbows manufactured from aluminium, and/or carbon fibre weigh between 7-12lb.

A medieval crossbow made of wood and iron was estimated to weigh 15-18lb.

Quote
I did make too many mentions of Mahir stepping out of the portal, will definitely clarify that. I did want Mahir to step back into the Sanctuary after 'dropping off' the Ashen Blades, and coming out nearer to Dikran.

I suppose the issue is one words. Because you initially described Mahir conjuring up the sanctuary it is difficult to understand how he can step in and out of the sanctuary when you have described it as collapsed.
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords
Post by: Myen'Tal on January 25, 2022, 08:24:23 PM
Thanks, Alienscar!

Will get around to revisions on the next session I can get to write.
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords
Post by: Myen'Tal on January 27, 2022, 08:35:05 PM
A brief glimpse of what awaits those willing to enter A Sanctum of Swords.

Temporary blurb on the back cover, that's still a work in progress.

(https://i.ibb.co/9bD9cTv/3d-mockup-a-sanctum-of-swords-5.jpg) (https://ibb.co/48qZKTf)
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords
Post by: Alienscar on January 28, 2022, 05:46:32 AM
Whoa that is cool. Is that an actual book, or a digital mock up?

I know it's only a temporary blurb, but there are two 'their' in the last sentence of the second paragraph.

If I were a potential buyer reading this synopsis I would probably stop reading at the third sentence, or fourth sentence.

I think the synopsis should start with the 'Upon his triumph in the Trial of Blades' bit as this is much more gripping and informative from the point of view of a casual reader.

Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords
Post by: Myen'Tal on January 28, 2022, 10:29:58 AM
Whoa that is cool. Is that an actual book, or a digital mock up?

I know it's only a temporary blurb, but there are two 'their' in the last sentence of the second paragraph.

If I were a potential buyer reading this synopsis I would probably stop reading at the third sentence, or fourth sentence.

I think the synopsis should start with the 'Upon his triumph in the Trial of Blades' bit as this is much more gripping and informative from the point of view of a casual reader.

Thanks, Alienscar!

It is a digital mockup - one of the Amazon 3D Mockups you would be able to see if the book was on amazon. Like when you're previewing the book.

Thank you for you opinion about the temp blurb, I know it definitely will need professional work, so taking in honest feedback will help on that front!

EDIT: Chapter, 3

Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords
Post by: Myen'Tal on February 1, 2022, 11:56:03 PM
Just a brief snippet of "An Illusion of Tranquility" tonight.

Also, if you have not noticed, I've made revisions to reflect suggestions on changes and a few others in addition to the feedback on the excerpt for A Blade Severed from the Master's Hand.

~***~

A golden light parted through the abyss, shining on Mahir’s disembodied soul. A lure of brilliance, guiding him into another world. An unconscious perception registered a change in atmosphere. Bright hues like daylight dimmed into a clouded gloom.
   
A drizzling rain pelted Mahir, turning the midnight fabric of… He couldn’t remember? Something important, enough to identify a gaping hole in the memory. He couldn’t remember what had brought him into the long sleep, nor what guided him through the Sanctuary.
   
He remembered only a name, given unto him on the day of his birth. Yet the memories remained, distant and altered. He thought the sensation similar to peering into a looking glass fixed on an unfocused object. Yet a name stuck with the object, steadfast at the fore of his mind’s eye.
   
He ached throughout every fiber of his being. An emptiness not weighted with burden, but neither absolution’s grace. Yet, Mahir awoke, trapped inside something similar to the physical body he kept before death. He opened his eyes, pelted by the constant drizzling from ashen skies.
   
Dazed, the Severed Hand gazed up into the heavens. Endless clouds broke against an open ceiling between ancient walls of engraved stone. He lied upon the earthen panels decayed over timeless eternity to a blighted jade.
   
A familiar voice called out to him. A whisper in the rain. An echo lacking physical presence, heard only inside his mind.

“As you have lived,

“As you have starved in the shadows,

“As you have killed in the abyss,

“And sacrificed soul and limb,

“And offered each triumph for Sorrow’s blessing,

“An unseen weapon in the night, severed from your master’s hand.

“Remember the Sanctum Queen’s oath. Remember who you were before death. You’ve not forgotten…”

   
A shadow flickered across his vision – disappearing from existence the next moment. 
   
An image of a hearth burning inside a cabin came to mind. He awoke – having slept on this broken labyrinth for too long. Mahir tested the fingers on each hand, gouging up chalky jade dirt between his scarred knuckles. Craning his head from left to right – an unending corridor stretched in both directions into a clouded veil.
   
Unadorned granite walls, cracked and crumbling through the passing eternities, he wagered, dwarfed him for leagues upon leagues. They vanished amid the clouds instead of ending, a faded semblance of ancient mosaics weathered beyond recognition. An endless veil of hanging vines, gargauntuan enough to rival the size of lesser trees, crept down and into the stone at random junctures.
   
Mahir clambered back to his feet, using muscles he hadn’t used since death had claimed him. Yet his movements came without the weight of something physically broken. Each gesture came to him with a fallen feather’s grace. He practiced a stance remembered upon waking, the memory still vague when he took up the form.
   
He flowed into the martial dance, muscles guided by memory instead of practiced precision. A quickened grace came with each step. He channeled every imagined strike with irresistible force, breaking a crater into the jade granite wall about three times the width of his fist.
   
Yet, something seemed different about the excercise even as he recreated the art.
   
A viciousness lurked behind every feint and counter. He guided each blow with an unconscious ease, compounding damage where he imagined his invisible opponent most vulnerable. Behind the fluid dance, a shadow in the mind manipulated everything he did. It subsumed thought and reaction, like a puppet master would commandeer unwitting toys.
   
The familiar voice calling out to him when he had woken, spoke from every direction. He said, “You move like an inanimate blade. Karyan must have used you for many years. Your movements lack free will. Do not fret. More time will pass before the muscles forget.”
   
He whirled around to confront the spectre behind him, but found only the corridor before him – stretching into the unknown.

**Excerpt End**

Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords
Post by: Alienscar on February 4, 2022, 08:42:21 AM
Quote
A golden light parted through the abyss, shining on Mahir’s disembodied soul.

A golden light parted through the abyss means that the light has split. I think you meant to write a golden light parted the dark of the abyss.

Quote
Bright hues like daylight dimmed into a clouded gloom.

Bright hues (plural) would indicate more than one colour, but daylight is only one colour.

Quote
A drizzling rain pelted Mahir, turning the midnight fabric of… He couldn’t remember?

The first sentence mentions Mahir’s soul, but you then change to rain pelting him physically. This makes the mention of his soul seem superfluous.

Quote
He couldn’t remember what had brought him into the long sleep, nor what guided him through the Sanctuary.


Nor is a conjunction that is used before the second or further of two or more alternatives (the first being introduced by a negative such as ‘neither’ or ‘not’) to indicate that they are each untrue or each do not happen. ‘Or’ would be the correct word here.

The setup is a bit confusing here as all I know at the moment is that Mahir is lying on the floor of an abyss. This makes the ‘guided’ bit confusing as he isn’t being guided anywhere.

Quote
An emptiness not weighted with burden, but neither absolution’s grace.

An emptiness not weighted with burden, but neither absolutions grace just doesn’t mean anything to me I am sorry to say Myen’Tal. Try as I might I just can’t understand what it is you are trying to say.

Quote
Yet, Mahir awoke, trapped inside something similar to the physical body he kept before death.

The second paragraph describes Mahir trying to remember something. As you can’t remember in your sleep a reader will think Mahir is awake, but not moving. Describing him here as just waking up is confusing.

Quote
He opened his eyes, pelted by the constant drizzling from ashen skies.

The ‘pelted by the constant drizzling’ part of the sentence doesn’t follow on smoothly enough to make sense I would say.
He opened his eyes, and raised a hand to shelter them from the drizzle would make a bit more sense of the situation I think.

Quote
Dazed, the Severed Hand gazed up into the heavens.

So now that he is gazing into the heavens the mention of pelting rain in the previous sentence makes less sense.

Quote
He lied upon the earthen panels decayed over timeless eternity to a blighted jade.

The word ‘lied’ only refers to making an untrue statement. ‘Lay’ would be the correct word here.

I am not sure what you are describing when you say 'earthen panels'

Quote
An image of a hearth burning inside a cabin came to mind.

As we have spoken about before a hearth does not burn. A hearth contains a fire it does not burn itself.

Quote
He awoke – having slept on this broken labyrinth for too long.

‘He awoke’ is confusing as he woke in the fourth paragraph.

Sleeping on a labyrinth? I don’t understand this concept as a labyrinth is a maze. Maybe ‘slept in this broken labyrinth’ would make more sense. As you haven’t informed the reader that Mahir is in a labyrinth until now though this sudden information is a bit confusing.

Quote
Endless clouds broke against an open ceiling between ancient walls of engraved stone.


Quote
Unadorned granite walls, cracked and crumbling through the passing eternities, he wagered, dwarfed him for leagues upon leagues.

Unadorned, or engraved as above?

Quote
They vanished amid the clouds instead of ending, a faded semblance of ancient mosaics weathered beyond recognition.

The walls are that high they reach the clouds!

Faded mosaics on the wall, or unadorned as above.
 
Quote
Yet his movements came without the weight of something physically broken.

I think the word ‘weight’ is the wrong word here. Also if something were broken how can it move? The imagery you are trying to create becomes confused because of this juxtaposition.

Quote
Each gesture came to him with a fallen feather’s grace.

A fallen feather is the wrong tense I would say as something that has fallen is no longer moving. That is, Mahir can’t move gracefully like something that is no longer moving.

Quote
He practiced a stance remembered upon waking, the memory still vague when he took up the form.

This might just be me, but I find the sudden urge to practice a kata a bit jarring seeing as he is just recovering from dying.

Quote
He flowed into the martial dance, muscles guided by memory instead of practiced precision.

For me memory and practise is the same thing.

Quote
He channeled every imagined strike with irresistible force, breaking a crater into the jade granite wall about three times the width of his fist.

A strike shouldn’t be described as imaginary when it produces a hole in a granite wall.

The word jade on its own does not mean green, so the term jade granite is confusing. It would be better to write ‘…the jade green granite wall.’

Quote
Yet, something seemed different about the excercise even as he recreated the art.

There is only one ‘c’ in exercise.

Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords
Post by: Myen'Tal on February 4, 2022, 11:52:01 AM
Hi Alienscar - thank you for the feedback!

That's why I posted this scene as I had a feeling it's going to need some work lol.

But I will say though:

Quote
This might just be me, but I find the sudden urge to practice a kata a bit jarring seeing as he is just recovering from dying.

This maybe the reason that reading this scene is so confusing from a narrative stand point. Mahir isn't recovering from dying - he is dead - and trapped in a dimension between life and death. Long story short its a purgatory that is important to the actual narrative.

This is why he cannot recall memories at first, and why he is also not burdened with the pain from injuries suffered in life. It's also the reason he wakes up in this place, but he knows wherever he's ended up is not an absolution either, definitely not an afterlife promised or described to mortals.

I will work on your advice and make sure this comes across clearer.

Thanks!
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords
Post by: Alienscar on February 7, 2022, 04:55:18 AM
Oh right! Dead is dead though, and I think I would still find it odd that the first thing Mahir does after 'waking up' is to practice a kata. I would say he is still recovering from dying whether he is 'waking' in a purgatory, or not.

I am not sure about purgatory as a place, but I think the mention of drizzle, clouds, earthen panels & granite walls makes it sound too real.

Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords
Post by: Myen'Tal on February 7, 2022, 08:25:11 PM
Oh right! Dead is dead though, and I think I would still find it odd that the first thing Mahir does after 'waking up' is to practice a kata. I would say he is still recovering from dying whether he is 'waking' in a purgatory, or not.

I am not sure about purgatory as a place, but I think the mention of drizzle, clouds, earthen panels & granite walls makes it sound too real.


That is fair - I agree that maybe the kata wasn't the most narrative driven idea in hindsight, haha!

I will probably redesign this entire beginning when I revisit this chapter to complete it. So now I have some goals!

Post Merge: February  7, 2022, 10:16:31 PM
In the future, please use the modify button. Double posting is against the forum rules, and for that reason, the system merged your posts.

The Last of His Blood - Scene Excerpt
Tushik, the City of Grand Canals
The Royal Palace on the Golden Mountain’s Summit, in a Guest Chamber in the Heaven’s Gate Wing

A faint light in the guest chamber smoldered from inside the hearth. The dying fires cast shadows across the quiet room, clawing across the tanned pelts of ferocious beasts and up walls built from sandstone. Alabaster pillars jutted from the chamber’s four corners, hearth, and around the doorway leading back into the hallowed halls beyond the room into the greater Heaven’s Gate Guest Wing.

An impulse sparked inside Siham Sar Amun’s mind. A brief thought, nothing more. It came to her like a command, her fingers eager to grab a sharp object, like a warrior’s sword. The temptation lured her into more unfamiliar thoughts - brief glimpses of Siham falling upon the blade so vividly it almost felt like an actual memory. Just like that, her dreaming faded, ushering her back into the mundane world of the secluded room she sat in.

Like an apparition bound to the source of their torment, she languished here, seated down by the hearth on a palanquin draped in silk blankets. A dim atmosphere lingered about the room, its weight oppressing.

Her newly betrothed of foreign royalty, hailing from the neighboring steppe-lands of the U’skar Qi, had attempted to ease her fears many times. A firstborn prince by the name of Sarkis, a descendant of the notorious Dikran, the Black Tiger.

Siham glanced toward the other end of the room, where the U’skarite prince leaned forward in an ornate chair, unable to find peace in the chamber’s comforts. A quick look into the prince’s bright hazel eyes, seeing them burning in the fire’s light. She knew he desired to leave Gorum, the Golden Valley, at once. Chiseled into a face of blemished granite, she noted a deep scar streaking diagonally across his features like a lightning bolt.

Matte black hair, unkempt, flourished around him like a wave crashing down on a round pillar of stone. Scars similar to the one carved into his face ran up the length of both arms, their pattern random and asymmetrical.

Appearing lost in thought, Sarkis perceived the notion someone watched him. He lifted his head, meeting Siham’s cautious eyes. He didn’t waver from her hesitant searching, channeling something akin to fire inside her chest by staring alone.

Sarkis’ smile kept a ferocious quality to it, though not quite the violent kind. She guessed him a wild soul, untamed and primal, just like the lands that forged him. Behind the prince’s roguish smile, she noticed an empathy bordering on caring - strong enough to guilt her even when maintaining her silence.

Sarkis said, “Are you going to say anything, Siham? You summoned your betrothed behind shut doors, and here I am by your call. I’d rather not watch the hours fade into the evening dusk, but yet we’re standing still while time continues on around us.”

Siham considered lying, then lashing out with a barbed tirade. After a moment’s thought, she settled on sharing a simple truth about her.

Her answer resounded inside the quiet chamber, sounding loud enough that anyone nearby would hear. She spoke, “I would refuse your hand.” She continued, “you’re an honorable man, warrior prince. A noble-minded and kind soul, but I would refuse your hand.”

Stunned, the U’skarite prince tilted his head into an almost vertical angle. His leaning posture in the ornate chair extended him an appearance of a sculptor’s subject striking a pose.

Sarkis didn’t reply immediately, considerate about weighing his response. Again, he noticed Siham’s eyes upon him. He made a warm smile, banishing the fear and anxiety he must’ve seen there.

The prince corrected his posture, sweeping his arms out in an opening gesture. The kind one made when desiring understanding.

“My burning heart,” the prince said. “We’re behind closed doors, alone in the haven carved out for us. Your parents aren’t here to judge you nor your kindred, the Children of the Sun - here to misjudge you. You can be honest with your betrothed if there is something you’re seeking or wanting. You only need to tell me what I can do to be worthy of your hand. Your offered hand, not bought with treasure or courageous deeds, like your immediate kin appeared to be too interested in.”

Somehow, Siham hid a brief laughter beneath her scoff. She spoke, “Isn’t that the only currencies available to a warrior prince?”

Sarkis barked with laughter, but didn’t disagree. Instead, he countered. He said, “Maybe if you consider something like devotion given over time? Or a commitment to fulfill whatever wishes that could resolve your hesitation? I won’t deny my warrior heritage, but I’ve found that the trust of kin and oath-bound brothers don’t need a command. My father often reminds me that the truth is often the opposite.”

Siham didn’t answer him for a lengthened amount of time. She spoke, “And if the truth behind my secret was… that there could be nothing you could do? What would be your answer then, Sarkis?”

Amused, the prince shrugged, thoughtful. He said, “You’re telling me your heart beats for another then? I suppose I should have guessed from the way your parents attempted to sell your hand to me. For what it’s worth, I will pay a fortune in a way you’d never quite comprehend.”

Her heart skipped a beat, and she paused, uncertain of the prince’s meaning.

Sarkis interrupted before she could ask. He said, “Yet it doesn’t matter anymore, does it? I wouldn’t trouble yourself for deeds left unspoken, but I even promised your kin that I’d aim to impress you more than anyone.”

Siham gasped, breath locked inside her lungs. She said nothing.

Prince Sarkis of the U’skar Qi climbed out of the ornate chair. The fact he appeared more bear than man became more clear when his shadow fell over her. He seemed like a giant in that moment to her, an undefeatable warrior. Maybe indefatigable too, she wondered in the deepest reaches of her mind.

He said, “A prince doesn’t need to grind all the world to a halt for just a betrothed. Not even for the greatest beauty said to be in all the Golden Valley. A thousand women wait to compete for the Black Tiger prince, but I hope before I must choose another - that Lady Siham Sar Amun might change her mind.”

Sarkis cradled their wedding wing between a pair of fingers, the sapphire gem encrusted on top, allowing him to slip the treasure free. Without hesitation, he cast the gem into the hearth’s smoldering flames. The act appeared to calm him, though Siham knew the reason lied with the uncertainty of his proposal having reached a conclusion.

The prince looked to her a last time and confessed. Upon approaching the chamber door, but before opening it to step out into the hall, he said, “I hope you won’t come to despise me for making my offer. Another prince or monarch would have conquered kingdoms and razed cities to grant them a realm worthy enough for you to reign beside them. Mark these words, Lady Siham, and sleep well into the coming dawn.”

Sarkis pried the door open, stepping out into the greater Heaven’s Gate Wing. Stunned, Siham waited without looking back at the warrior prince again. She watched the burning hearth until she heard the chamber door close itself shut behind Sarkis, the prince of the U’skar Qi.
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords
Post by: Myen'Tal on February 10, 2022, 12:06:23 PM
A quick update & progress summary:

First off: I've shared an update here a couple days ago that was merged into the previous post, instead of being made a new and separate one. I figured that would happen, but wanted to take the opportunity to point out that there is a new update in the last post made.

With that being said, onto the other news:

Update: I'm working to get a website fast-tracked to establishment - the process is set to begin soon in the new few months here. Will have updates once things are underway. Cover Art is now completed with other related materials. As you all know the map of Khios is also completed.

After website establishment - I have one more illustration scheduled, by the same illustrator who worked on my cover art. This will be a landscape illustration of a location depicted in some of these shared scenes more than once - and I'm certain you guys will be pleasantly surprised!

I may have already actually said what the art will be depicting lol, but in case I haven't - stayed tuned, my friends.

Progress Update:

I've been slaving away on A Sanctum of Sword's First Act - I last reported on the self-editing passes I was working on throughout all the first act's established chapters, in reverse. I am happy and proud to announce that I've completed each pass on all of my established chapters.

Hopefully you can see the difference in some of the more recent scenes I've shared. There is still work to be done on some of them I've not completed yet - like Illusion of Tranquility's opening. But there is always work to be done - for the moment I am more than content with how each completed chapter now stands.

I've simplified character dialogues and have worked really hard to make each character more unique, and giving their storylines, perspectives, and dialogues a much greater contrast between one another.

I've streamlined the entire text - removing wordiness, confusion, and overwrought portions, in combination with the removal of all irrelevant text and descriptions where necessary.

I've also taken the time to enhance some of the narrative elements where I thought them weakest when performing these editing passes. Character descriptions have been buffed / enhanced, scene setting & grounding more fleshed out, character introductions re-written, all dialogue recreated, streamlined, and made more unique.

In a few instances, I basically had to recreate / rewrite four different scenes to smooth out the narrative transitions and bring much more comprehensive and easier to follow narrative to make connections from DOT A to DOT B in the overall story arc.

This now means that Act I is almost finished - I am now in the position to start working on Chapter One again, and the new chapter two that I've determined will need to follow afterward.

Hope you guys are excited by the news, and always, thanks for everyone who comes by this thread - whoever ye' all may be  :).
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords - Art & First Chapter Excerpt Update
Post by: Myen'Tal on February 14, 2022, 08:51:09 AM
Some updates of the artwork I've had commissioned via artstation - working with Puffet69 & Ferdinand Ladera, both are great artists and wonderful people  :) !

Ferdinand left his watermark on the map and my name along with the novel's name too. Puffet didn't add those, but those are clearly his works as you can see in the artstation page. If anyone has any questions about the legitimacy of Puffet's artwork for me - you can feel free to reach out to him and confirm!

https://ferdinandladera.artstation.com/

(https://cdnb.artstation.com/p/assets/images/images/043/783/595/4k/ferdinand-ladera-fantasymap-2.jpg?1638253954)

https://puffet69.artstation.com/

(https://cdnb.artstation.com/p/assets/images/images/042/813/347/large/puffet69-shaushan-completed.jpg?1635503534)

(https://cdna.artstation.com/p/assets/images/images/043/693/290/large/puffet69-voshki-illustration-final.jpg?1638007126)

1
At the Gates of Her Palace - Scene I

Souls marked for death by divine hands rarely assumed the guise of simple prey. Enigma understood that lesson long ago, in a decade since faded to time. Avaricious kings and demented priests. Tyrannical Demi-gods and notorious seekers of forbidden lore. All blackened souls to the last man and woman recorded throughout time’s annals.

Enigma reaped their souls, building a mythical legend out of a personal menagerie of severed skulls–all given in offering upon Goddess Zahira’s altar.

Goddess Zahira, Gatekeeper of the Mortal Sands and the Final Judge, committed each of their names to a contract given in due time. Her whispers attracted the spirits of the dead roaming the light-less depths underneath the continent of Khios. Handing down contracts written by her own hand, these enduring souls passed her every decree to her mortal disciples.

The Ashen Blades of Sukhan Kingdom, Enigma’s order of penitent assassins, devoted to their goddess’ grim creed–their mission to pay penance in the lives of those more wicked than themselves.

He heard his master, the Banished Blade, calling through the Southern Wastes’ haunting wails. Like that of a mourning widow, Enigma thought, as the nightly gust sifted through the pallid dune sea.

His master spoke, “I’ve counted seven cycles of the moon in the desert sky since our departure from Suann Sanctuary. You’ve done well to avoid the blistering sun of the Southern Wastes, but don’t you ever tire?”

Enigma intentionally failed to register the Banished Blade’s politely guised suggestion. Garbed in the midnight black silk uniform of the Ashen Blades, both of them appeared near invisible beneath the cover of night. He paused, sparing a moment to take in their surroundings from any horizon to the other.

Beneath a black sky teeming with countless thousands of twinkling starlight scattered about its vastness, the dunes of the Southern Wastes appeared like a secluded valley in the near distance, forgotten by mother nature. Farther toward the unending horizons, the same wasteland arose out of the earth like much smaller mountains.

An endless sea of sand, pallid and tranquil, like a forgotten beach a man could stumble across along more northern shores. Searching, Enigma failed to find even traces of stone scattered amid the dunes–nor signs of any life in immediate reach.

Enigma answered his master with a silent shrug. He said, “Should I sleep on the dunes then, Banished One? I’ve little reason to stop our journey for the night… you said that Azzar Sanctuary wouldn’t be too far a couple nights before this one.”

A pleasant laughter followed Enigma the moment he made to journey onward. His master spoke, “So you’ll just run into the Den of Vipers, sword raised, and hope you’ll match each one of the Sanctuary Guardians without effort?”

He continued, “You were always talented, Enigma, a masterful pupil and wielder of the Art of Death. Yet I fear even you’d fall beneath the swords of your peers before you descended too far into that sun-less realm.”

Enigma turned back toward the rail-thin figure standing gracefully upon an overlooking dune’s height. Clothed in nothing but black silk, Enigma almost thought him a reaper, waiting for him to notice and submit himself to Zahira’s last call. Matted hair, an oily black and barely tamed like it had grown unchecked for months, shrouded the specter of a man’s eyes.

He recalled his master’s piercing stare of luster-less amber, something he hadn’t seen in person since their final years of training together.

Enigma sighed, trying in vain to find an answer that would both satisfy his master and let him continue on toward the Sanctuary in peace. Eventually, he said, “Let us find an oasis nearby–should there be any in the near distance. I suppose all of our brethren in the Ashen Blades could wait until the wane hours of the morning.”

The Banished Blade didn’t make the slightest move in response, save for a subtle nod of approval. He pointed with a gaunt chin toward the northwest. He spoke, “Follow the sound of your memories, my apprentice. You remember the path–there doesn’t exist an Ashen Blade that has truly forgotten.”

Enigma scoffed aloud, waving off the old apparition with a flick of the wrist. He turned toward the path picked out by his mentor, resuming the arduous trek to escape the secluded valley of dunes. He said, “Some decades have passed us both since you taught me the way. We’ve never returned to the Sanctum through this route in all the years since.”

A woman’s voice interrupted him, blown by the wind across the sands from scant feet away. She asked, “But a son of Sukhan should always remember the way home, no matter the length of the journey or time’s passing.”

Enigma registered the stranger’s familiar tone, recalling her name from a list committed to memory long ago. He recognized her enigmatic accent–one of incredible rarity throughout all the continent. Turning around on a heel, Enigma came face to face with a woman seated on the same dune he meant to surmount.

Unusually sunny eyes, nearer to granite’s hue than any other color, watched him, their shape almost feline. Oily black veins spread through much of the white ringing the irises. She looked up, sitting near enough that Enigma could lean in and tap her on the shoulder.

A woman of middling years, Enigma noticed, though her youth had endured time passing a good amount better than even he had. A handful of old scars ran down the length of her face and bare limbs in serpentine patterns, their color a fleshy shade of cerise. Upon a greater canvas of light taupe skin, each outlived wound stood out like dark wine spilled into brightly colored silk.

Falls of combed hair, lustrous like cocoa if one could pour its essence into a precious stone, cascaded past her shoulders, ending upon her chest. Like the Southern Wastes’ pallid sands, a wardrobe tailored from thick sand beige silk wove itself around her chest like a partial warrior’s robe. Her silk covered only her left chest, revealing a satin tunic of the deepest velvet underneath, emblazoned with a minute scrawl of an ancient language forgotten in the entire world of Thearus.

Both articles of silk clothing vanished underneath an emerald satin sash tied around her midriff. A midnight black saora, heavy loose trousers fashioned from silk, dressed her from the waistline down to the sandals fastened around her ankles.

Enigma’s head tilted at an angle, taking in her beauty but for a moment. He said, “Amunet. Fate must conspire against me again for you to wait on me. Patient of you, daughter of the forgotten empire, but you come at an urgent time.”

Amunet’s stare didn’t waver, her granite eyes catching enough of the moon’s light to make them gleam eerily. She spoke, “Your crossing out of the dunes struck me more as tire-less rather than urgent, but we understand enough about one another, Enigma, that you could save yourself from many perils just by sparring me a moment.”

She said, “I’ve advised a select few of the Ashen Blades’ most storied legends during my time. I admit for the first time that you’re the only warrior I’ve ever noticed speaking with your own thoughts. It’s a strange sight, hearing your reaction to every lengthened period of silence. Like a chronological argument between two souls, but with all the words of the second individual written with an invisible ink on a page, otherwise written plain.”

Enigma didn’t turn back to where he knew the Banished Blade stood upon the dune behind them. He heard his master call out to him, able to hear the prophetess’ curious remark as if she had spoken to him. The Banished Blade said, “It isn’t the time for indulging in forgotten desires, my apprentice. We should press on toward the sanctuary, lest we may never reach the Den of Vipers at all.”

Enigma ignored the warning, but didn’t appear to make his desire to idle any further, either. He spoke, “I’ve time for a lesson given with haste, but nothing more.”

Amunet didn’t withhold her answer, her given truth a blunt disillusionment. She said, “Your master won’t tell you that entering the Den of Vipers will be the end of your life. Fear the Sanctum Guardians if you wish, but you know as well as I do–none of them will halt your approach to the Sanctum Queen’s throne.”

Enigma blinked, head still locked at a subtle tilt. He spoke, “Maybe he only believes that your opinion isn’t the truth?”

Amunet looked away from him, taking in the dusting of sand dancing along the wind’s current. Clucking her tongue once, she said, “You maybe a master in your own art of death, Enigma, but remember that Karyan made you in every aspect of your legend. Upon approaching her throne in the Den, your transgression will force a conflict–one you cannot simply take back, not for any future generations that may follow in the Ashen Blades.”

Enigma didn’t respond before Amunet could ask. She spoke, “Does your master not realize that his death is permanent due to what you are trying to do now? Maybe you could say the Banished Blade is less than dead, cursed to linger between life and death, until oblivion comes crawling to swallow him into nothingness.”

Enigma asked, “So you can see my master standing on the dune behind me?”

She said, “No, I cannot, but I see a burning candlelight in the area you describe where there should be nothing. What is the old man telling you?”

The Banished Blade’s voice spiked in volume, almost until it roared inside Enigma’s skull. “She speaks about me being less than dead, but wanders the world of the living like a specter, outliving every meaning of her existence!”

Enigma said, “My master believes that the three of us are perhaps the same so far as our immortal fates go…” He continued, “But that aside, you cannot simply ask me to step aside without understanding the truth the Sanctum Queen keeps locked away in her head. I believe her immortality is a lie, something not granted by Goddess Zahira as she would to an actual daughter.”

Amunet shrugged, then spoke, “Are you certain you’re prepared to face the horror behind that truth? You think your own queen an anathema to your order’s creed to the Art of Death and Zahira’s mandate… you believe the Goddess of Death will hand you a contract for the Sanctum Queen’s skull?”

Enigma mirrored the way she heaved her shoulders, considering the implications behind the question. He said, “I believe Zahira has desired Karyan’s head for many countless moons… if human histories have any weight to their truth, then she has lived in that sun-less realm beneath the surface since time immemorial. If you cannot reveal the answer, Amunet, then I will face that inevitably in coming to terms with the truth behind what grants our queen of shades such forbidden strength. Are you going to stand between Karyan and me?”

She scoffed aloud, almost choking on her mocking laugh. She said, “I won’t stand between you and your true master, Enigma. Karyan will just snap her fingers, then watch you dance to her every impulse like a puppet propped up on her strings. The moment she tires, she’ll sever those strings, and you’ll collapse into your grave, useless without life… Are you willing to turn away after hearing the inevitable?”

Enigma didn’t respond too quickly, realizing that not even the Banished Blade dared blind him to the reality behind Amunet’s prophecy. After a period of silence, he shook his head in refusal. He said, “I cannot step aside. Not to avoid an inescapable curse that will rear its hideous head at me at some point or another…” He trailed off, then asked. “Are you coming with me?”

Amunet spoke, “For what it’s worth, I actually thought about saying yes when I realized you would ask. Instead, for an eldest friend and a forgotten lover of mine, I will aid your descent into the Den with but an offered gift. When you reach the passage leading into Akara Sanctuary–take the offering abandoned upon the altar in the Mausoleum of Shades. You will come to understand its use when you are meant to.”

Enigma turned back toward the Banished Blade, meeting the old mentor’s gaze, hidden underneath a dark shroud. His master didn’t answer in any meaningful way, not even after a moment of thought. He turned back toward the Raven Soul, blinking upon realizing he stared at nothing but the dunes of the Southern Wastes.

The Banished Blade spoke again, then, quick to ask after his apprentice’s opinion. He said, “Maybe your words came nearer to the truth than she realized. Do you think Amunet maybe dead in how I am cursed to be?”

Enigma made a light scoff, turning back toward the hidden route before him. He resumed the arduous journey toward Azzar Sanctuary. Knowing the Banished Blade followed him always, he spoke, “Amunet? No–she certainly lives, Banished One. She just has a few more ways of tapping into the plane of the mortal sphere than you do. I suppose it doesn’t matter, but I’ve an inkling she maybe watching us despite saying she wouldn’t.”

His master said, “Azzar shouldn’t be much farther. Focus less on missed opportunities and more on the art of death you mastered. You will need all the storied skills whispered about by those inspired by the legend that is Enigma.”
~***~
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords - 1 - Gates of Her Palace - Part 1/2
Post by: Myen'Tal on February 22, 2022, 10:55:00 PM
Act I is about two more scenes toward completion - coming up to 34,000 words. Just need a little more done and then finished. There will probably need to be some reorganization afterward - as I'm hitting past the 25% of the manuscript mark that I'm aiming for at this point.

Still, a huge cause of celebration!

To celebrate, I thought it would be a good time to share A Sanctum of Swords' first chapter in its entirety - pre-editor, but post a number of self-edits. I hope you guys enjoy!

1
Gates of Her Palace

Souls marked for death by the divine rarely assumed the guise of simple prey. Enigma understood that lesson long ago, in a decade since faded to time. Avaricious kings and demented priests. Tyrannical Demi-gods and notorious seekers of forbidden lore. All blackened souls to the last man and woman recorded throughout time’s annals.
   
Enigma reaped their souls, building a mythical legend out of a personal menagerie of severed skulls–all given in offering upon Goddess Zahira’s altar.
   
Goddess Zahira, Gatekeeper of the Mortal Sands and the Final Judge, committed each of their names to a contract given in due time. Her whispers attracted the spirits of the dead roaming the light-less depths underneath the continent of Khios. Handing down contracts written by her own hand, these enduring souls passed her every decree to her mortal disciples.
   
The Ashen Blades of Sukhan Kingdom, Enigma’s order of penitent assassins, devoted to their goddess’ grim creed–their mission to pay penance in the lives of those more wicked than themselves.
   
He heard his master, the Banished Blade, calling through the Southern Wastes’ haunting wails. Like that of a mourning widow, Enigma thought, as the nightly gust sifted through the pallid dune sea.
   
His master spoke, “I’ve counted seven cycles of the moon in the desert sky since our departure from Suann Sanctuary. You’ve done well to avoid the blistering sun of the Southern Wastes, but don’t you ever tire?”
   
Enigma intentionally failed to register the Banished Blade’s politely guised suggestion. Garbed in the midnight black silk uniform of the Ashen Blades, both of them appeared near invisible beneath the cover of night. He paused, sparing a moment to take in their surroundings from any horizon to the other.
   
Beneath a black sky teeming with countless thousands of twinkling starlight scattered about its vastness, the dunes of the Southern Wastes appeared like a secluded valley in the near distance, forgotten by mother nature. Farther toward the unending horizons, the same wasteland arose out of the earth like much smaller mountains.
   
An endless sea of sand, pallid and tranquil, like a forgotten beach a man could stumble across along more northern shores. Searching, Enigma failed to find even traces of stone scattered amid the dunes–nor signs of any life in immediate reach.
   
Enigma answered his master with a silent shrug. He said, “Should I sleep on the dunes then, Banished One? I’ve little reason to stop our journey for the night… you said that Azzar Sanctuary wouldn’t be too far a couple nights before this one.”
   
A pleasant laughter followed Enigma the moment he made to journey onward. His master spoke, “So you’ll just run into the Den of Vipers, sword raised, and hope you’ll match each one of the Sanctuary Guardians without effort?”
   
He continued, “You were always talented, Enigma, a masterful pupil and wielder of the Art of Death. Yet I fear even you’d fall beneath the swords of your peers before you descended too far into that sun-less realm.”
   
Enigma turned back toward the rail-thin figure standing gracefully upon an overlooking dune’s height. Clothed in nothing but black silk, Enigma almost thought him a reaper, waiting for him to notice and submit himself to Zahira’s last call. Matted hair, an oily black and barely tamed like it had grown unchecked for months, shrouded the specter of a man’s eyes.
   
He recalled his master’s piercing stare of luster-less amber, something he hadn’t seen in person since their final years of training together.
   
Enigma sighed, trying in vain to find an answer that would both satisfy his master and let him continue on toward the Sanctuary in peace. Eventually, he said, “Let us find an oasis nearby–should there be any in the near distance. I suppose all of our brethren in the Ashen Blades could wait until the wane hours of the morning.”
   
The Banished Blade didn’t make the slightest move in response, save for a subtle nod of approval. He pointed with a gaunt chin toward the northwest. He spoke, “Follow the sound of your memories, my apprentice. You remember the path–there doesn’t exist an Ashen Blade that has truly forgotten.”
   
Enigma scoffed aloud, waving off the old apparition with a flick of the wrist. He turned toward the path picked out by his mentor, resuming the arduous trek to escape the secluded valley of dunes. He said, “Some decades have passed us both since you taught me the way. We’ve never returned to the Sanctum through this route in all the years since.”
   
A woman’s voice interrupted him, blown by the wind across the sands from scant feet away. She asked, “But a son of Sukhan should always remember the way home, no matter the length of the journey or time’s passing.”
   
Enigma registered the stranger’s familiar tone, recalling her name from a list committed to memory long ago. He recognized her enigmatic accent–one of incredible rarity throughout all the continent. Turning around on a heel, Enigma came face to face with a woman seated on the same dune he meant to surmount.
   
Unusually sunny eyes, nearer to granite’s hue than any other color, watched him, their shape almost feline. Oily black veins spread through much of the white ringing the irises. She looked up, sitting near enough that Enigma could lean in and tap her on the shoulder.
   
A woman of middling years, Enigma noticed, though her youth had endured time passing a good amount better than even he had. A handful of old scars ran down the length of her face and bare limbs in serpentine patterns, their color a fleshy shade of cerise. Upon a greater canvas of light taupe skin, each outlived wound stood out like dark wine spilled into brightly colored silk.
   
Falls of combed hair, lustrous like cocoa if one could pour its essence into a precious stone, cascaded past her shoulders, ending upon her chest. Like the Southern Wastes’ pallid sands, a wardrobe tailored from thick sand beige silk wove itself around her chest like a partial warrior’s robe.    Her silk covered only her left chest, revealing a satin tunic of the deepest velvet underneath, emblazoned with a minute scrawl of an ancient language forgotten in the entire world of Thearus.
   
Both articles of silk clothing vanished underneath an emerald satin sash tied around her midriff. A midnight black saora, heavy loose trousers fashioned from silk, dressed her from the waistline down to the sandals fastened around her ankles.
   
Enigma’s head tilted at an angle, taking in her beauty but for a moment. He said, “Amunet. Fate must conspire against me again for you to wait on me. Patient of you, daughter of the forgotten empire, but you come at an urgent time.”
   
Amunet’s stare didn’t waver, her granite eyes catching enough of the moon’s light to make them gleam eerily. She spoke, “Your crossing out of the dunes struck me more as tire-less rather than urgent, but we understand enough about one another, Enigma, that you could save yourself from many perils just by sparing me a moment.”

She said, “I’ve advised a select few of the Ashen Blades’ most storied legends during my time. I admit for the first time that you’re the only warrior I’ve ever noticed speaking with your own thoughts. It’s a strange sight, hearing your reaction to every lengthened period of silence. Like a chronological argument between two souls, but with all the words of the second individual written with an invisible ink on a page, otherwise unwritten.”

Enigma didn’t turn back to where he knew the Banished Blade stood upon the dune behind them. He heard his master call out to him, able to hear the prophetess’ curious remark as if she had spoken to him. The Banished Blade said, “It isn’t the time for indulging in forgotten desires, my apprentice. We should press on toward the sanctuary, lest we may never reach the Den of Vipers at all.”

Enigma ignored the warning, but made apparent his undesire to idle any further, either. He spoke, “I’ve time for a lesson given with haste, but nothing more.”

Amunet didn’t withhold her answer, her given truth a blunt disillusionment. She said, “Your master won’t tell you that entering the Den of Vipers will be the end of your life. Fear the Sanctum Guardians if you wish, but you know as well as I do–none of them will halt your approach to the Sanctum Queen’s throne.”
   
Enigma blinked, head still locked at a subtle tilt. He spoke, “Maybe he only believes that your opinion isn’t the truth?”
   
Amunet looked away from him, taking in the dusting of sand dancing along the wind’s current. Clucking her tongue once, she said, “You maybe a master in your own art of death, Enigma, but remember that Karyan made you in every aspect of your legend. Upon approaching her throne in the Den, your transgression will force a conflict–one you cannot simply take back, not for any future generations that may follow in the Ashen Blades.”
   
Enigma didn’t respond before Amunet could ask. She spoke, “Does your master not realize that his death is permanent due to what you are trying to do now? Maybe you could say the Banished Blade is less than dead, cursed to linger between life and death, until oblivion comes crawling to swallow him into nothingness.”
   
Enigma asked, “So you can see my master standing on the dune behind me?”

She said, “No, I cannot, but I see a burning candlelight in the area you describe where there should be nothing. What is the old man telling you?”

The Banished Blade’s voice spiked in volume, almost until it roared inside Enigma’s skull. “She speaks about me being less than dead, but wanders the world of the living like a specter, outliving every meaning of her existence!”

Enigma said, “My master believes that the three of us are perhaps the same so far as our immortal fates go…” He continued, “But that aside, you cannot simply ask me to step aside without understanding the truth the Sanctum Queen keeps locked away in her head. I believe her immortality is a lie, something not granted by Goddess Zahira as she would to an actual daughter.”

Amunet shrugged, then spoke, “Are you certain you’re prepared to face the horror behind that truth? You think your own queen an anathema to your order’s creed to the Art of Death and Zahira’s mandate… you believe the Goddess of Death will hand you a contract for the Sanctum Queen’s skull?”

Enigma mirrored the way she heaved her shoulders, considering the implications behind the question. He said, “I believe Zahira has desired Karyan’s head for many countless moons… if human histories have any weight to their truth, then she has lived in that sun-less realm beneath the surface since time immemorial. If you cannot reveal the answer, Amunet, then I will face that inevitable coming to terms with the truth behind what grants our queen of shades such forbidden strength. Are you going to stand between Karyan and me?”

She scoffed aloud, almost choking on her mocking laugh. She said, “I won’t stand between you and your true master, Enigma. Karyan will just snap her fingers, then watch you dance to her every impulse like a puppet propped up on her strings. The moment she tires, she’ll sever those strings, and you’ll collapse into your grave, useless without life… Are you willing to turn away after hearing the inevitable?”

Enigma didn’t respond too quickly, realizing that not even the Banished Blade dared blind him to the reality behind Amunet’s prophecy. After a period of silence, he shook his head in refusal. He said, “I cannot step aside. Not to avoid an inescapable curse that will rear its hideous head at me at some point or another…” He trailed off, then asked. “Are you coming with me?”

Amunet spoke, “For what it’s worth, I actually thought about saying yes when I realized you would ask. Instead, for an eldest friend and a forgotten lover of mine, I will aid your descent into the Den with but an offered gift. When you reach the passage leading into Akara Sanctuary–take the offering abandoned upon the altar in the Mausoleum of Shades. You will come to understand its use when you most need to.”

Enigma turned back toward the Banished Blade, meeting the old mentor’s gaze, hidden underneath a dark shroud. His master didn’t answer in any meaningful way, not even after a moment of thought. He turned back toward the Raven Soul, blinking upon realizing he stared at nothing but the dunes of the Southern Wastes.

The Banished Blade spoke again, quick to ask after his apprentice’s opinion. He said, “Maybe your words came nearer to the truth than she realized. Do you think Amunet maybe dead in the same way I am cursed to be?”

Enigma made a light scoff, turning back toward the hidden route before him. He resumed the arduous journey toward Azzar Sanctuary. Knowing the Banished Blade followed him always, he spoke, “Amunet? No–she certainly lives, Banished One. She just has a few more ways of tapping into the plane of the mortal sphere than you do. I suppose it doesn’t matter, but I’ve an inkling she maybe watching us despite saying she wouldn’t.”
   
His master said, “Azzar shouldn’t be much farther. Focus less on missed opportunities and more on the art of death you mastered. You will need all the storied skills whispered about by those inspired by the legend that is Enigma.”

~***~

Akara Sanctuary, of all the havens hidden throughout the Southern Wastes, looked nothing out of the ordinary upon Enigma approaching the disguised gateway. He had spent another two hours trekking across the dunes, stumbling across an oasis where the wasteland became flat like an arid plain.

   He found the natural fountain a welcome moment of respite, a crystalline pool of turquoise water, surrounded by an overgrown field of emerald grass and thick crimson reeds. Choosing to heed the Banished Blade’s advice, he came to rest by the placid oasis for another hour.

   Seated amid a sea of grass and red reeds, Enigma listened to the chitterling sound of birdsong upon the night wind. A chilling breeze pushed through the thriving oasis, bending the foliage until the land droned constantly in his ears.

   Surrounded by life, Enigma took little comfort from the illusion of peace it offered for the weary. He could think of nothing else whenever glancing through the open gates of Akara Sanctuary. A decrepit wound hollowed into Thearus’ surface, running deep into the heart of the broken world.

He had almost failed to discern the metallic gateway jutting out both the chasm mouth’s flanks, visible by only a small fraction beneath the moonlight. He stared into that deep descent, spotting a solitary light burning from much farther inside the passage itself.

It appeared comfortable to Enigma, like returning home after an uncertain altercation meant to steal away a moment before it’s coming. 

Enigma glanced back toward the Banished Blade, watching him preoccupy himself with meditation amid the red reeds and fluttering groups of bright-feathered birds. He said, “You were right to suggest we rest while we could. An hour has come and gone, but a brief reflection appears to have restored the mind and body.”

His master spoke, “Even before reaching the Den of Vipers, Akara Sanctuary has its own share of perils. Are you prepared to face them in one continuous trial? You won’t be given the fortune of respite or haven once the Ashen Blades understand your purpose.”

Enigma gracefully stood out of the knee-length grass, coming back to his feet. A sheathed blade–a gladius by the name of Dominion’s End, he kept clutched between gentle fingers. With reverence, he fastened the scabbard and the weapon at rest within it, back onto the raven black sash tied around the Ashen Blade’s midriff.

Nodding once, he said, “We’ve wasted enough time playing around the inevitable. I’d just like to see our destiny played out and the deed finished. I will take lead, just aid me in any way you think useful.”

Approaching the sanctuary’s gates, the cavern entrance awaited them both, unbarred and without guardians. From inside the cavern’s mouth, Enigma heard gentle subterranean streams flowing deeper below. Combined, the rushing waters almost sounded like music to combat the silence of emptiness.

Groves of blooming cerulean petals attached to leafy emerald stalks dangled from the cavern walls. Enigma passed through the sanctuary gate into the morbid darkness before him. Yet something about Akara’s morbid atmosphere appeared unfamiliar. An eerie turquoise glowing from the Lantern Stalks’ every blooming petal. Pulsating, all the groves produced a gentle natural illumination throughout the descent.

A quake from deep underneath the cavern gave Enigma pause. A subtle disturbance at first thought, growing until the entire passage shook with violence. Out of the dark, a tremulous breath deafened him, inhuman in the way it shuddered with undisguised aggression. Enigma fell into a combat stance, the approaching creature’s every anxiety-inducing breath rattling the bones underneath his skin.

A pulse, usually undetected, became noticeable beneath each wrist. A quickening in heart beat thrummed in the chest, but Enigma ignored the warning. He kept an un-moving stance, one hand clutched around Dominion’s End by its leather wrapped hilt. Head bowed, he calculated an estimated distance between the approaching foe and himself.

His master spoke. “And so the gauntlet begins. Show me you remember your training and what has become of Enigma’s myth during my absence.”

Enigma answered the Banished Blade with a silent nod, leveling his gaze into the dark. For the approaching doomed challenger, he said, “honor my blade with your skill.”
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords - 1 - Gates of Her Palace - Part (2/2)
Post by: Myen'Tal on February 24, 2022, 10:44:02 PM
At the Gates of Her Palace - Part 2/2

An eruption of molten fire burst out of the dark, landing just shy of where he stood. Its brilliance seared the eyes, rendering him temporarily blinded. Its molten heat seared the flesh underneath his midnight robes, near blistering even without touching him.

Enigma backpedaled beyond the gushing torrent of fire with a pair of leaping steps made in reverse. Undeterred, the billowing flames hunted for him, leaving the same soil he had tread upon a sundered earth, blackened and cracked by volcanic heat.

Sensing a moment’s weakness, a dark figure emerged out of the same inferno raging out of its bellowing mouth, unhooked to mirror that of a serpent. A feminine shape, slender beyond human standards, raised a pair of curved scimitar blades above its magma spewing skull in predestined triumph. A creature rippling with muscular definition underneath golden bronze skin, natural patterns of dark and lighter shades appearing like an ancient war paint once worn by those long lost to time.

Raven black hair of a lustrous shade, well-kempt enough to appear at odds with its inhuman anatomy, cloaked her features behind a constant veil. Her every movement, graceful like the dancer, but doing little to disguise the foe’s unrestrained bloodlust. Thickened silk robes draped its torso, dangling between slender legs in the form of a tabard. Her clothes, dyed in Akara Sanctuary’s vermillion and snow white shades, flowed around like the silk uniforms of the Ashen Blades.

He recognized the familiar creature by name. An Azzaran, known by the warriors who defended Azzar Sanctuary as Guardian Souls.

Enigma craned his head to look higher up, meeting the Azzaran’s gaze. Her eyes appeared like large spheres, ablaze from within by bruised fires. He noticed the same oily black veins he had seen in Amunet’s just before arriving at the Azzar gate. The only difference appeared to be an inversion of colors between Amunet and that of the Guardian Soul.

He pushed hesitation aside, bursting into a darting run through the widening gaps created in the dying flames. Quicker than he could ever remember, he sprinted around the creature, followed by the Azzaran’s pursuing eyes. It tracked him like mechanical clockwork, turning to keep face with him, but appeared hesitant to strike out.

Taking a chance, Enigma pivoted on the ball of his right foot, straight into the towering beast. A gleaming streak answered the aggressive act, its keening wails through the smoking air almost deafening. Dominion’s End came free of the scabbard, striking the cursed Azzaran blade aside in an unnatural rain of sparks.

An ordinary human could never have turned such a blow aside, a fate difficult to escape upon being threatened by its peril. Enigma turned aside an inhuman limb, its compact shape burgeoning with densely layered muscle–without effort. An eerie chill wrapped the length of his other arm–a smoky blue cloud of shadow blanketing it from fingers to elbow.

Uncaring, the Guardian Soul thrust her other blade without warning. A diabolical chortling rattled between the creature’s shuddering breaths upon running Enigma straight through the midriff. The Azzaran channeled overwhelming strength into the blow to sever the Ashen Blade in twain. The blade cleaved through Enigma, the shade essence knitting the ruined flesh back together just as quickly.

An explosion of the same smoking cloud essence streamed out of the storming gauntlet that whirled around his arm. A gentle smoke filled the subterranean passage, obscuring the Azzaran’s vision even as Enigma slipped clean off the blood-specked edge of its sword. A pain, intense and haunting, ached throughout him upon tearing free from the cursed weapon.

Every tendril of bluish-gray smoke coalesced out of the bracelet clasped around his arm. It writhed like an actual apparition, taking on Enigma’s physical appearance in every aspect. Like a specter breaking free of its prison–the shadow-mirror, an ancient form of forbidden magic, tore itself out of Enigma’s own shadow. A play of mirrors kept secret among other dimensions beyond the mortal sphere–all too real save their unnatural appearance.

Instinctively, the Guardian Soul swiveled its head round toward the mirror-twin. Again, the Azzaran unhooked its jaws, vomiting up a magmatic geyser at the apparition. Enigma didn’t watch the mirror image’s destruction, raising an arm to shield him from the blazing heat.

He pushed off the back of his right foot, Dominion’s End parrying another downward thrust from the Azzaran’s second blade. Sliding to the left, Enigma dodged another sweeping strike to cleave him open from shoulder blade to waist. Pushing forward again, he stole the Guardian Soul’s momentum with a successful thrust through the creature’s near naked thigh.

Its howling filled the subterranean passage from the open gate to the unfathomable depths awaiting Enigma below. A terror-inducing cry, like that of a siren bred from an ancient demon of old. It took all concentration to blot out the sound and push the advantage a little more in the Ashen Blade’s favor. Pushing again a last time, he drove Dominion’s End through the burnished flesh–letting the blade drink deeply of it scolding fiery blood.

Staggering back, the Azzaran lashed out with a reckless kick straight to Enigma’s chest. An impact, like a hammer flung into his sternum at moderate speed, would have crumpled him immediately, but the creature bowled him over without effort. He blinked, registering the sensation of being hurled farther down the passage to Azzar Sanctuary.

Another impact, the sound like a muffled thump even inside the narrow cavern, jarred his world to an utter halt. An aching pain swelled inside his chest, but he preferred pain over death. He struggled to turn himself over onto all his outstretched limbs, staggering back onto his feet after several moments.

He realized the Azzaran hadn’t pursued him, despite having her moment to end their struggle. Enigma turned around on a heel, back toward the inferno roaring in the Azzaran’s furious wake. There the creature stood amid the flames with blades outstretched overhead in triumph. Or so it appeared, just before the Guardian Soul brought both blades down upon something dancing through the flames around its cleaving blows.

His mirror-twin, created from the shade essence of another dimension, fought the Azzaran amid the flames unhindered. Just like the Banished Blade had taught Enigma, the mirror image weaved between the Guardian Soul’s sweeping attacks. It lunged forward to thrust a clean strike home at just the right opportunity–leaving several seeping wounds across the Azzaran’s thighs and midriff.

Bloodied and beaten back under the mirror-twin’s assault, the Azzaran at last staggered back from her opponent–seeking a moment’s respite from their duel. At once, Enigma pieced together the chained events about to create the immediate future. He pushed off the back of his foot again, breaking into a loping sprint back toward the embattled entities.

Triumphant, the mirror-twin juked past the Azzaran’s reckless attempt to cut its head clear off the shoulders. It kicked off its back foot like Enigma so often did, diving into the creature’s guard the moment it staggered again, coming down to kneel before the apparition.

Enigma channeled all the endurance he could summon at a moment’s notice, pushing himself to pace alongside the wind streaming into the tunnel itself. Gaze fixed upon the Azzaran, the creature dropped its second blade the moment his mirror image drove its smoking weapon of shadow straight into the foe’s chest.

Enigma witnessed the Azzaran ensnare the mirror image by the rear of its neck.; Upon squeezing, the creature pulped the shade-twin between its fingers in an explosion of phantasmal gore. Yet he spied the shadow blade, driven deep into one of the Azzaran’s lungs. It continued to crush the shadow puppet caught in its grip until nothing but evaporating coils of smoking vapor remained.

Enigma channeled the thoughts in his mind to still, calling upon the sanctuary–another dimension where the gate between the mortal world and the underworld domain of Zahira–the Gates of Her Palace. A gaping wound burst into reality, swallowing Enigma whole into an inter-dimensional rift between two celestial worlds.

He continued to perceive the mortal sphere–the passage leading into Azzar Sanctuary–before him. Yet looking into the mortal world where he had languished a moment ago, appeared to him like peering through a clouded lens–obscured by an eerie darkness, the moon’s subtle glow granting it just enough light to see with some hindrance.

Inside the sanctuary, Enigma’s every step came with a feather-light grace. He raced across space and time–still running through the same passage he fought the Azzaran in, but without the impediments of gravity. He leaped up toward the cavern ceiling upon coming into the creature’s reach, the passage still burning with hellfire.

Enigma dispelled the forbidden conjuration with a thought command–tearing him out of the realm of moonlit darkness and shadow. He emerged back into the burning cavern, coming down from the gravity defying leap he made when still in the sanctuary. The Azzaran made to climb back onto its feet, the strange residue of Enigma’s mirror twin splattered across each of its limbs. He landed feet-first on the back of the creature’s shoulders.

Upon impact, he flipped Dominion’s End to point its blade tip down toward the mythical creature destined to fall beneath its steel. Without warning, Enigma dug the sandals on his feet deep into the Azzaran’s back,, driving it facedown into the blackened grime covering the cavern floor.

He lunged, attempting to thrust Dominion’s End clean through the spinal cord. Spewing liquid fire from its mouth again, the Azzaran lurched back onto its knees, almost flinging Enigma clean off her back and into a cavern wall. Yet the Ashen Blade had already reacted, leaping back off the foe’s shoulders just before it could take him by surprise.

Enigma took Dominion’s End into one hand, wrapping his other around the Guardian Soul’s broad neck, rippling with swollen muscle. He straddled himself against the Azzaran’s near naked skin even as the creature fought back onto its feet, already locked in the motion of delivering a savage elbow to free herself of the assassin in her midst.

It mattered little in the end. The moment gained in the Guardian Soul’s confusion proved the key to triumphing over their arduous struggle. Enigma swung upward with the Dominion’s End–driving the gladius clean through the Azzaran’s flame-spewing throat up to the hilt. Laced with the perilous venom known to Ashen Blades as Lavender Night–Dominion’s End drank deep of the creature’s blood, the venom spreading through the veins like wildfire.

The Azzaran staggered again, falling down onto its knees. Her inner strength continued to wane, its eyes–burning with hateful endurance only a moment ago, now dimmed with weariness. By the time it collapsed onto its hands seconds later, Enigma uncurled his arm around the creature’s neck, falling back to the cavern floor beside it.

Curious, the Azzaran gradually craned its head over to its silent killer. She gazed down at him with exhausted eyes, longing for oblivion’s bliss, before fluttering them shut once and forever.

Enigma came out of his combat stance, executing a deep bow before the Azzaran’s corpse when her strength finally failed. She came to rest on the embers of her dying inferno, at peace in a bed of ashes gathered upon black earth.

A tranquil quiet settled back into the underground passage, blown by a wind coming through the sanctuary gate. Enigma didn’t move for a brief period, processing the perilous altercation that should have probably ended his life there and then.

The Banished Blade spoke, “A promising beginning to our trial by blade and fire. You’ve learned much after my death–that much is apparent. Well done.”

Enigma didn’t make any mention of the praise, unable to feel even a kindling of pride. He said, “I am an inanimate weapon — nothing more. Just a blade desiring to be severed clean from its master’s hand. Let us continue onward then. If this is the first surprise that Karyan had waiting for us, it maybe better to take advantage of discretion and avoid what obstacles we can.”

The Banished Blade didn’t disagree, but offered Enigma an affirming nod. Neither of them waited to command the other, but turned back toward the path ahead of them. As Enigma raced farther into the dark, he wondered how high his legend truly stood above all others in the Ashen Blades.

Did that mean anything to a queen of shadows like Karyan? He recalled Amunet’s warning of caution. That perhaps he made no moves of his own accord at all, but only those set in place by the Sanctum Queen herself. Should Zahira truly be guiding her devoted disciple, Enigma wagered there could be a way to sever the master’s puppet strings without her knowing.

Enigma thought about the last of his kin – Lucine of Suann and her pair of prodigal children. Mahir and Gadara, adolescent siblings kept hidden in Suann’s quiet darkness – their souls such a brilliance it almost gave that secluded township a light of its own. He recalled Amunet’s memory – a lover back in the earlier years of his career, disappearing out of his life during the mission that had changed the entire course of his life – claiming the skull of Parounag, the Spear of Dusk & High King of Ashara Kingdom before its collapse into civil strife.

He looked to the Banished Blade – the phantom’s image about as hale and accurate since the days leading up to his death. Enigma considered the old mentor’s fate – wondering if the apparition that dwelled in his mind could possibly be real or merely a trick of longing – or something far more sinister.

Enigma supposed it mattered little in the end. For all those who dwelled in the protection of the dark shadow he cast, nothing could sway him off the path to confrontation with Karyan. By Zahira’s decree – Enigma would sever the ties that bound the Ashen Blades to their queen of Shadows. Or he would fail and find peace in the long sleep of death, before waking again before the Gates of Her Palace. His purpose to seek penance slaying those far more wicked than himself, brought him to the final mission of his life.

Like a serpent, he would ensnare the greatest tyrant’s hand – crushing Karyan’s limb until she relinquished all control. Enigma remained the Goddess’ most feared weapon, wielding him like divine intervention to bring deliverance to the Children of the Southern Wastes…
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords - 9 - Distant from the Lantern's Light - Scene II
Post by: Myen'Tal on March 8, 2022, 09:13:32 AM
A Most Cherished Dream…
   
A mechanical ticking filled the observatory of the Amber Gold Sanctum, letting Shoushan count away every passing second idling away the afternoon. A chamber for the Celestial Oracles to practice their science, reading the veil of futures for omens. A billowing wind swept through the open marble arches, nothing beyond them but the snow-capped peaks of the Golden Mountain and the crystal skies blanketing all of Gorum, the Golden Valley.
   
That same wind came blowing across a floor of golden-amber stone, worked by masterful stonemasons from centuries past into a pattern of tiles laid out in a sprawling mosaic. Specific calligraphic letters marked each gold panel inside the round chamber, placed beside adjacent panels to spell the names of forgotten gods.
   
Her father, God King Erasyl of the Children of the Sun, called out from behind her. His authoritative voice, unusually gentle, parted the billowing wind without effort. Shoushan heard him plain above the dwimmer of birdsong coming out of the Hanging Gardens, just beyond the sanctum gates.
   
Glancing up from the clockwork mechanism sitting on her desk, Shoushan looked at Erasyl the moment he rounded the corner, coming out of a minor stair to reach her in the observatory’s lower tier. An inescapable weight made the gesture more purposeful than she wanted, but knew her father would notice like he always did.
   
He said, “Do you know who created that wonder sitting on your desk, my daughter?”
   
Young Shoushan blinked at him, puzzled by the strange question. Turning back to the ticking device, it appeared to be some manner of true artwork. A combination of standard cogs and pointing arrows magically placed together, telling someone a small semblance of time in passing.
   
She spoke, “Maybe Tabia? I always imagined her mind may work in similar ways. Remember what you used to tell me when my lecturer would often scold me for being… too dense?”
   
Her godly father nodded, chuckling at the memory. He said, “A gifted mind often reads to the narrow-minded like something incorrect. Some will never devote enough time to understanding all the higher lessons a good life can teach us. Others will come to refuse that knowledge altogether. You aren’t dull-witted because another cannot precisely understand that you may know more than them.”
   
The God King continued. He spoke, “A council created that device on your desk. A council of thirteen Architect-Kings known as the Pillars of Heaven, whom hail from the distant lands of Akopia.
   
Shoushan said, “I’ve never heard of them. You’ve shared no tales or lessons about that place. Am I supposed to know everything now?”
   
Her father shook his head in disagreement, shrugging. He spoke, “Maybe not during the days of your youth, that you ought to exhaust joy out of. A time will come when your people will look to you, expecting the omniscient mind of a benevolent deity. That day won’t arrive until I have departed the mortal sphere, and my firstborn daughter will succeed me in everything that I build and create out of the ashes of our shrouded pasts.”
   
He changed the subject. “Would you change anything about the Children of the Sun when you climb into the Throne of the Sun Caller Kings for the first time? Maybe abolishing the enslavement of others? Would you still honor the tenets of our faith? Or maybe it might be you, who would cast aside our ancient traditions, that have structured our civilization for many thousands of years?”
   
Chuckling without mirth, Shoushan mirrored her father’s previous shrug. She said, “Would any decision I make even matter? You always call me your firstborn when you come to see me, but none of my kindred will acknowledge a bastard seated on the Sun Caller’s throne.”
   
Curious, Erasyl cocked his head at an odd angle, considering the implications behind the remark. Upon realization, his posture straightened, though she noticed the God King’s benign benevolence faltering from irritation.
   
Sighing, he turned toward the open archways facing toward all the City of Grand Canals. He asked, “Did Tabia choose to share that truth with you already?”
   
Flustered, Shoushan fluttered her eyes closed, trying in vain to forget that confrontation. A moment of silence passed between father and daughter before she took another breath. Her father stood before her still, patiently folding his arms, intent on waiting for her to speak with her voice and not through quiet gestures.
   
Forcing a reply out of her mouth, Shoushan spoke, “You know what she said. You know Tabia more than anyone could ever hope to. I was only thinking about if you were ever planning on telling me.”
   
Wordlessly, Erasyl stepped around her flank, turning her with a gentle pat on the shoulder to face him. He loomed over her like one of the ancient monuments, depicting warrior kings of old. The God King stooped down, planting a hand on both knees until they both came eye-to-eye with one another.
   
He said, “The truth, my daughter? I had planned to tell you upon a distant day, when you and I could sit around a hearth across from one another and speak as equals. You’d know about everything I ever learned about life and only more besides. Such was my intention, because by then such a revelation would be meaningless. Inheritance of blood ties and lineage aren’t all that make Children of the Sun.
   
“You’re far too young to learn about the Faith of Inheritance, but remember, a divine strength courses through your veins. Our eldest mythical tales often recite of the gods, granting their immortal children powers relevant to their truest natures. Our dreams, desires, and even our doubts. Have you ever dreamed about anything you truly desired to change about the world? Do you understand why I had asked you about anything you would change among the Children of the Sun? Tell me a truth I don’t know about you. Just one truth.”
   
Shoushan scoffed, turning her head back toward the horizon beyond the archways. She spoke, “I’ve reached my sixteenth summer and you think there’s something about me you don’t know?”
   
Her father smiled that knowing smile he always made for her. Shrugging, he said, “that truth is only inevitable, my daughter. You’ll soon learn that not even after a mortal lifetime, will you come near to understanding the hidden concepts and truths that govern all mortal kind–from a societal perspective down to the lonely individual. Go ahead, tell me about one thing you would change about our people.”
   
Hesitant, Shoushan risked a glance into her father’s bright hazel eyes, finding turning away again all but impossible. At last, a great relief carried her burden of sorrow away, far from her weakened shoulders.
   
She spoke, “Should the time ever come that I inherited all the empire you built for the Children of the Sun… your throne would lie empty. I cannot change the only truth about our existence that I care about… you and I aren’t alike, father. Purists like Tabia maybe speak the truth about me… you rule beneath the divine light of a golden sun, untouched by darkness.
   
“Maybe I don’t know the mother that birthed me, but I can only find a solace similar to knowing amid the quiet places of the Golden Valley–far beyond where sunlight may blind or reveal the dark shadow cast over my birth. And I fear that upon a distant day, that will come to make us mortal enemies.”
   
Her father stood before her still, the golden sun striking his back at such an angle that he cast a dark shadow over her. He nodded, listening to every word given sound by her voice. Whatever Shoushan predicted about the God King’s reaction to her confession, Erasyl banished with an act of understanding.
   
He said, “And when I am gone from Thearus and the Throne of the Sun Caller Kings remains abandoned and empty… maybe concepts such as deities and devotion may perish. Should that ever come to pass, humankind will birth new ideals and other ideologies besides. I’ve always understood that you are going to walk your own path to find peace for yourself.    

“Remember, my daughter, that you could never be an enemy of mine for seeking all that I cannot give you myself. Should our paths bring us into conflict with one another, know that I stand in your path as another obstacle to conquer, an arduous trial the likes of which you won’t experience for the rest of your life. If you cannot find victory, the Golden Valley shall be here upon your return–even should you arrive with your head bowed in defeat. It would only be another education for us both that you still have much to learn.”
   
In lightness, Shoushan scoffed, not quite knowing how to display her thankfulness in a way her father would understand. Instead, Shoushan asked, “but in the event I should triumph over your Children of the Sun? And everyone in the Golden Valley bends their knee to the Heiress of the Carth Dominion?”
   
A chortling filled the quiet observatory, deafening enough in volume that the birds dancing about the open arches took flight for safer heights.
   
Erasyl smiled that knowing smile he so often made. He said, “I will not be there to see your victory in blood and flesh, but know that a father’s insurmountable pride will be here, waiting for you throughout all this Golden Valley. You shall understand that I speak the truth, when you find all the City of Grand Canals as I had left it during my reign. Just as I had left it, if not much improved.”
   
He executed an elegant bow before her, stepping away to take his leave upon straightening. Shoushan watched him take the same minor stairwell leading back toward the entrance of the Amber Gold Sanctum. She heard the echoes of his voice gradually fade upon him, falling out of sight. “It will be up to the Sun Caller Queen that succeeds me in what to do with all that her predecessor created from there. Inheritance of blood isn’t all that makes a Child of the Sun, just the essence of the soul and the wisdoms of the mind…”
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords - 9 - Distant from the Lantern's Light - Scene II
Post by: Alienscar on March 10, 2022, 08:10:07 AM
Quote
A mechanical ticking filled the observatory of the Amber Gold Sanctum, letting Shoushan count away every passing second idling away the afternoon.

This is one disadvantage, I feel, of not having read the whole of your story. Reading your story in snippets hasn't allowed me to form any real idea as to the technological capability of your world. Based on the scenes you have shared you would appear to have set your story in the Middle Ages.

This being the case the sudden appearance of a small clock confuses me, as does the mention of seconds.

Instead of me pointing out why I think this is wrong I am going to ask you a few questions for a change.

How do you think the clockwork mechanism is powered?

What techniques have been used to manufacture the various components of the clock?


Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords - 9 - Distant from the Lantern's Light - Scene II
Post by: Myen'Tal on March 10, 2022, 12:37:32 PM
Hi Alienscar,

That's a fair question and a good one to ask. I admit that I haven't thought all the details out about that specifically, but here is the answer I concluded on.

Looking into some initial research told me there were a lot of versions of the clock invented before the modern concept we know of today - that relies on electricity. That being said, you are right in that the way I described the clock doesn't match those earlier methods - which does make me think that I'll need to change that function.

However, I guess I thought of the parts coming together like how a medieval windmill might function with a break lever. Also keep in mind this clock is a protype - which I should have mentioned, a recent invention and probably one of the two or three ever produced.

In terms of time period, Khios and its sister continents across Thearus are kind of at different stages in their technological eras - much like earth has been throughout much of its history. My concept with Khios was creating a classical-era inspired world that just continued on to new heights, but it also has medieval influences as well, which is something that stems more from the western continent as an influencer I haven't covered in too much detail yet. I plan to delve into the western and southern continents a bit more with future novellas, but we will see how that goes :).

I think you're right though in saying the device is too small, as that indicates a really advanced technology to streamline something like that.

I might try something like the candle clock instead. Or probably that and the hourglass, as I often refer to the ladder method of keeping time as well.
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords - Chapter 10 Progress Update
Post by: Myen'Tal on March 13, 2022, 10:31:15 PM
A quick update here.

A Sanctum of Swords has officially crossed the 40,000 word mark, after multiple self-edit passes that obliterated the previous word count, which would be much higher than this at this point, but with a lot of bloat mixed in. I think I made a lot of good changes to streamline the text and turn around a lot of initial problems into something more nearer to strengths. It's not perfect, of course, and nothing ever is - but I'm happy with where the manuscript is sitting at the moment.

Website creation will be underway soon, more on that in the near future  ;).

Still working on getting another appointment with the editor, but am wanting to finish one thing at a time - so I will continue to work with my web designer & admin on the site creation.

I did have to cancel the illustration I had planned in June, since it looks going through the full edit process is a *bit* more expensive than I imagined it would be, but one day!  :)

Here is an overall look at the current Table of Contents - where you can see that the current chapters I'm focused on overall are complete versus which I'm still working on or have yet to begin work on. Currently - I am on Chapter 10 - A Moment's Peace, which will shift the perspective from Shoushan + some of the Ashen Blades, back onto Adofo's Bloodsworn, as they return back to the Royal Palace after a harrowing encounter against an entire patrol of their Qin'sar masters.

You might be wondering how anyone could have survived such an assault on realistic grounds - well, I can't reveal everything about the surprises  ;).

(https://i.ibb.co/jgdsxf9/13-03-2022-21-17-40-REC.png)
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords - Chapter 10 Progress Update
Post by: Alienscar on March 14, 2022, 06:19:53 AM
Quote
Looking into some initial research told me there were a lot of versions of the clock invented before the modern concept we know of today

I suppose that is the crux of my issue. There were indeed lots of clocks (& clock like devices) produced before the mechanical clock we are all used to today.

In the Middle Ages though none of them had hands. Early clocks just chimed the hour.
 
It wasn't until nearly the end of the Middle Ages that clocks had hands, and even then they only had a hour hand after the fashion of water clocks and sundials.
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords - Chapter 10 Progress Update
Post by: Myen'Tal on March 14, 2022, 02:31:27 PM
You are correct, Alienscar, that's an oversight on my part.

I will revisit that scene and make changes to that clock device and how it's functional design.

Thanks,
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords - Chapter 10 Progress Update
Post by: Alienscar on March 15, 2022, 06:15:56 AM
Quote
I think I made a lot of good changes to streamline the text and turn around a lot of initial problems into something more nearer to strengths. It's not perfect, of course, and nothing ever is

I wholeheartedly agree with you here Myen'Tal. Since you started working with an editor last year there has definitely been a change in your writing. The last couple of scenes especially have been a lot easier to read than some of your earlier work. You must be chuffed that all your hard work is finally paying off.
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords - Chapter 10 Progress Update
Post by: Myen'Tal on March 15, 2022, 05:37:44 PM
Thanks, Alienscar!

That means a lot! And yeah, really stoked to see this all coming together the way it is  8) ;D.

Working on a surprise over the next couple months or so - got a cool illustration coming down the pipeline by my cover artist!

Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords - Chapter 10, A Moment's Peace - Scene III
Post by: Myen'Tal on March 22, 2022, 09:35:53 PM
Approaching 50,000 word mark  8).

Also - new back cover blurb!

(https://i.ibb.co/dL3mqvH/Cover-Art-Back-Cover.png) (https://ibb.co/2sLZQrp)

CH: 10, A Moment's Peace - Scene III

      Upon emerging from his room, Adofo noticed an unfamiliar change about Heaven’s Gate. He stepped through the open door into the greater wing beyond the guest room, shutting the entrance behind him. A plaguing silence lingered about the corridors, near abandoned, save for Elmas and himself.

      Without the usual fanfare created by the milling crowds, the animated debates made by tense nobility, or even Zar’qin patrols to extend order throughout the day, Heaven’s Gate appeared nothing more than a shell. An abandoned palace in its own right, cloaked in darkness with no one to tend the flames keeping the corridors burning bright.

      Adofo looked to Elmas, leaning back against the sandstone colonnade flanking the door on to his right. He said, “I suppose it doesn’t take a Wiseman to notice something different about this place. What could have happened during our absence for the Heaven’s Gate to appear so abandoned?”

      Elmas sighed, ill-at-ease amid the abandoned halls, haunted by an eerie hollowness. She spoke, “I don’t know, but once I heard the Qin’sar had assigned your quarters to here, I came at once. You’d literally would’ve awoken alone, eventually, stepping out into the quiet stillness puzzled and likely alarmed.”

      Adofo brushed aside her comment. He said, “Please, I’ve a calmer head and a heart more courageous than that. You’re not speaking about an innocent bystander, remember?”

      Elmas shrugged, “Honestly, Adofo? I wasn’t certain about your state of mind until our reunion just a moment ago. That being said, it’s a damned-good sight to find you, hale and well in thought. Even if your heart bleeds and a sickness festers in your spirit, I think time can heal both those wounds well enough.”

      Adofo made a grateful nod, but asked a question relevant to the greater Heaven’s Gate around them. He said, “A strange decision to assign my quarters to such an abandoned place. You must be located nearer to the Throne of the Sun Caller Kings, but what of our brethren in the Bloodsworn?”

      Elmas spoke, “The Amber Gold Sanctum. Our God King decreed that none may tend to our wounded save the Oracle-Priestesses who dwell there above the palace.”

      He sighed, puzzled beyond words. He said, “I don’t understand. Why would he place you away from the others, and then myself here amid all this silence?”

      A male’s unfamiliar voice echoed through the quiet emptiness, coming from a conjunction farther down, where the corridor met an adjacent counterpart some ways down.

      The male stood about the hall, nothing more than a looming shadow from this distance, created by his sheer height and physical presence. He said, “Maybe the Qin’sar aren’t aware that you’re here, Zar’qin. Or Bloodsworn maybe the better title. I suppose whichever one takes preference for you.”

      Adofo called back, annoyed by the stranger’s headstrong tone already. He spoke, “Your words lack the authority that comes with our masters and their tongues, but you’re clearly neither a warrior among the Zar or even a servant? What has brought you into this place? State your name and purpose, traveler.”

      He signaled Elmas with a nod, and together, both of them approached the stranger in their midst. After the first couple steps toward their quarry, Adofo realized the stranger mirrored their cautious approach with both hands hidden amid the silk fabrics used to tailor his warrior robes.

      The unknown warrior stepped out from the shadows, coming into a waning light produced by a couple of braziers, still lit. Gradually, Adofo made out the stranger’s features upon both groups closing the distance between them.

   A prince from a realm beyond the Dominion, possessed of cruel, brooding eyes, black like the raven’s. Coal black hair, once abundant on his head, appeared cut back into its combed, wavy state. A dark umber skin like Adofo’s marked the stranger as a countryman. He looked into the traveler’s statuesque features, noting each ill-mended scar’s severity, the most noticeable making the right eye squint. A subtle gaunt in the cheeks like Adofo, and of similar height and build, though a moment passed before realizing he stared into the face of an immediate kin.

      An Akopian prince, Adofo thought, his heart skipping a sudden beat to interrupt his thoughts. A snow white warrior’s robe cloaked the warrior noble from the neck down. It naturally parted at the chest, dancing around a leather brown saora fixed to his waist by a broad belt fashioned from tanned leather and intricately carved authentic gold.

      Underneath the brilliance white sheen emanating from the Akopian prince’s silk robes, he spied a familiar armor piece shielding the kin’s chest. An expensive leather armor, a ruddy mixture of red and brown hues, emblazoned with an infamous Siren of the Black Sea across his chest with a silver filigree.

      He shook his head, disbelieving the apparition standing before him. He said, “Ascended Gods, but this cannot be right. I watched you die on the Crimson Bluffs. A sun blazing spear struck you down, running through your chest. Are you going to tell me you are dead?”

      Elmas proved quick to interrupt, heading Adofo off before their acquaintance and he could come within striking distance of each other. “Adofo, it might not be the time for foolish aggression. Are you familiar with this Akopian?”

      “Calm down, Asharite. Well, who am I? Our kindred back home call me Nishan, Scarred Child of the Akopian Republic. Also, an elder sibling to my younger brother, Adofo Akopian, royal prince among House Akopian back in the western heartlands.”

      A quiet moment passed, making the dead silence plaguing Heaven’s Gate sound deafening. Hesitant, Elmas stepped out from between them, keeping a respectful distance enough that they both could speak face-to-face.

      Stunned, Adofo could only watch Nishan’s approach, taking in the Scarred Child’s image after all this time. His elder brother searched Adofo for anything, marking many changes with calculative eyes. Nishan patted his younger brother’s shoulders, almost toppling Adofo from the sheer force.

      His elder brother caught Adofo before he fell, gripping him with a lion’s hug that made it hard to breathe.

      Nishan said, “By all gods dead and buried, it is a grand occasion to find my brother alive and in good health, no less!” He broke the lion’s grip, stepping back to inspect him more. “I didn’t think this God King had the courage to keep you hale and alive, Zar’qin Guard or whatever manner of auxiliary warrior they’re seeking to deploy into the western lands.”

      Adofo blew off the shock, uncertain how to continue their conversation without turning the reunion into an interrogative onslaught. Instead, he played on the fact that his elder brother stood before him, alive and hale, but scarred a great manner further than their last time together.

      Adofo spoke, “It takes more than several grueling campaigns to take me down, brother. You’ve always known that yourself, when we competed against each other as children, in just about everything. I remember you often lost to soothe a younger brother’s voracious ego.”

      A chortling slipped Nishan’s throat. His rasping voice boomed throughout the quiet halls upon pitching his head back to unleash it. He said, “And as an elder brother, I couldn’t be prouder of all those soft scars on your face, Adofo. You’re a survivor, just like I’ve always said.

      “After all these many moons believing you fell, I’d have thought it impossible to discover such a truth upon arriving in the Golden Valley.”

      Adofo shrugged. “Now that you thought to mention that, what could possibly have brought you into your nemesis’ dominion? Tell me you haven’t come alone, Nishan.”

      The Scarred Child smiled, grim and callous, despite hope burning in both eyes. He said, “You haven’t heard? You’d think anyone would figure Children of the Sun ones for idle gossip beside every hearth and fountain. Stop fretting so much, brother. I journeyed here alongside a royal procession of Akopian elite, accompanied by our Sarunite allies. Grand warriors and monarchs to a man and woman, and our warriors... your masters will think twice before reaching for their weapons tonight.”

      Adofo narrowed both eyes at Nishan, puzzled. “What? Is this the reason that Heaven’s Gate has shut its doors and abandoned its halls? Such measures are exceedingly rare.. unless the Dominion’s diplomatic measures have failed.”

      His brother interrupted before Adofo inquired further. He said, “Why bother asking all these questions when you can discover everything for yourself? Our conclave with the Children of the Sun will begin at tomorrow’s daybreak. You should attend. We’ll need to secure your freedom in either case...

      Adofo balked, taken aback like Nishan had rammed a blade through his ribs. “Freedom? Wait, are you talking about-”

      “Yes, yes!” Nishan barked aloud, growing impatient. He said, “Just hand me a list of who you need bought from your masters and I’ll see their freedom gained alongside yours. Straightforward, then we all can ride for Akopia with the coming sun a few days ahead of this one.”

      The Scarred Child chuckled at Adofo’s shocked silence. He spoke, “Gods, brother, I understand all these revelations are sudden. By the Ascended quiet graves, you shirk like you’re appalled at even thinking about having these shackles cast off you! Should there be something I don’t know about?”

      Adofo scoffed aloud, waving a dismissive hand. “Enough, brother, a few minutes and I’m already reminded of how thick your skull is. No, there’s nothing. You should return to wherever the Qin’sar assigned you, before someone notices you barking and chortling aloud where no one should even be.”

      Chuckling in a low, guttural voice, Nishan shrugged Adofo off. He turned back the way he had come, marching back that way with no subtle disregard for urgency. He said, “It’s still good to see you, brother, but even after several years apart, a kindred spirit can see that something you’re unwilling to speak about might bind you to this place. I’m not the man to rush another soul to tend to their last tasks, but should you desire to leave back for Akopia, you finish whatever you need to before the night ends...”

      Elmas approached, coming to stand beside Adofo. Watching the Scarred Child depart, she said, “How could he have known you’re alive, just out of nowhere?”

      Adofo shrugged. “We’ve always had friends in high places, Elmas. I’m certain this maybe Lady Shoushan Sar Amun’s doing.”

      Elmas interrupted, quick to point out an unspoken fact. “She does the Bloodsworn the kindest deed and a great favor.”

      Adofo nodded, knowing Elmas noticed already how distracted he appeared upon answering. He said, “Of course, I understand that, but we still have an obligation and a task to see to completion, at her request, I might add.”

      Elmas scoffed, “An excuse to find Lady Siham, you mean?”

      Adofo paused, shutting his eyelids closed, but not disagreeing. After a moment’s silence, he answered. “You don’t have to accompany me, my Second. You’ve done too much already. I could hardly request you throw yourself into harm’s way a last time, especially when the Bloodsworn’s freedom has come this near within our grasp. You should head back...”

      Elmas said, “I won’t let you stand before the God King alone. You’re my First Blade, Adofo... I don’t know how that will change a couple nights from now, when we’re all leaving Tu’shik with our freedom in hand. But, for the time being...”

      Adofo smiled at her, appreciative. He spoke, “Then let’s not idle any longer, and hope my elder brother doesn’t come back to invite us to a chess game or anywhere he can talk us into our open graves. Let us meet the God King, Lord Erasyl Sar Amun, and pray that he might be the righteous soul Shoushan described him to be. It should take a half hour to get there.”

      Elmas spoke, “Our appointment to meet him is nearer to the Bell of Seasons’ toll.”

      Adofo cursed aloud, “To the Gates of Her Palace with an appointment, Elmas. There’s too little time and Siham isn’t anywhere in sight. Let’s just see if he’d be willing to speak with us. He’s likely worried about the Heiress of the Sun to begin with.”

      Elmas didn’t reply that time, just nodding her consent, before striding forth toward the Throne of the Sun Caller Kings.

      Adofo spared her a last nod of gratitude, before setting off to make the journey beside her…
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords
Post by: Myen'Tal on March 31, 2022, 06:40:47 PM
(https://i.ibb.co/dt6ps7r/30-03-2022-23-47-11-REC.png) (https://ibb.co/Sc0mDJP)
(https://i.ibb.co/MkQn64b/30-03-2022-23-47-33-REC.png) (https://ibb.co/4R3WdGc)
(https://i.ibb.co/G0T2HmM/30-03-2022-23-48-32-REC.png) (https://ibb.co/R9y0j86)


Update time - crossed the 50,000 word count mark.

Laid out the manuscript's final chapter additions - as you can see from the table of contents, I am currently working on 'Insidious Deliverance' - which I'm also sharing a scene from as well in this very post  :).

Website continues to progress.

Still moving ever onward  :).

Insidious Deliverance, Scene II

A black wound in reality spat Shoushan out into another dimensional plane, beyond the sanctuary’s cursed mist and shadow. Her world was nothing but a blur, toppling out from thin air. She tucked into herself, rolling to break her fall upon a hall's dark cobalt stonework.

A dead silence, shattered by an occasional burst of droning music, resounded into the abandoned space’s every nook and crevice. At a glance, she took in her surroundings, finding herself stranded alone amid a dungeon’s maze.

An obsidian stone created the utilitarian structure’s every aspect, pure rainwater soaking about every inch. Upon taking a step forward, more water sloshed around about her leather boots. A nearer inspection in the dim, cobalt lighting emanating through the crumbling cracks and holes in the ceiling told her the dungeon had flooded farther ahead. Or behind her, she couldn’t tell with any certainty.

Shoushan sighed, listening to that sudden musical droning, like a multitude joining their voices in a rapturous chorus. She wouldn’t deny this place kept an eeriness about it, but the music possessed beautiful undertones. It had little need for words to grant understanding.

It sounded like nothing more than a lullaby for the condemned, a curse meant to lure the tormented to an oblivious rest. Shoushan knew better than to fall into its lure.

A subtle sound, like silk-wrapped feet creeping up quickly behind her, came light above the sound of pouring waters. Her heart skipping a beat, she stepped back, turning around to drive back the aggressor.

Another pair of footfalls, uncaring in their hastened approach, darted around from behind her. A gleaming gladius’ shortened blade parried a coiling shadow’s essence, leaping out toward her. A cloud created from sentient shade, moulded into a jagged weapon’s shape. Wielding the living shadow weapon, a slender man garbed in the Ashen Blades’ midnight silk uniform sighed out his frustration.

Shoushan recoiled from the ailing assassin, noticing his black robes in tatters, splattered with crimson swathes. His spirit bore the same mortal scars that had killed him. His eyes, nothing remained but hollowed pits, somehow naturally open without eyes to fill them.

Distracted, her would-be assassin stepped back, parrying a quick thrust from her savior’s shortened blade. Shoushan noticed her enigmatic guardian for the first time. Another slender man, perhaps inhuman when compared to even his Ashen Blade compatriots, matched her assailant’s lightning assault, blow for blow. His coal black hair wavered around his head, growing unchecked into wavy locks that shrouded his eyes. His caramel skin bore scars, but nothing near to the fallen assassin he battled against–the latter appearing raised from the literal dead.

Where was she?

Her protector garbed himself in snow-white robes, midnight satin taking a sheen underneath that pallid, naturally parted fabric. Against all reason, the Su’khanite fought in sandals, but his grace came unmatched when compared to even that possessed by even his embattled opponent.

Shoushan watched their blades clash with matchless skill until both combatants became too quick for her to keep up with. A sound, like a blade cutting through flesh and bone, resounded throughout the hollowed emptiness.

The fallen assassin’s keening scream ripped through the silence, causing her heart to skip another time. She watched his ruined body take a knee, cradling the wound gouged into his chest with a trembling hand, before falling into the gods’ embrace another time.

Shoushan looked back to the white-robed Su’khanite, who merely cleaned his blade, before making a respectful bow toward his fallen opponent.

She spoke, “A timely intervention, spirit, if that’s what you are. Forgive my idleness. I can defend myself with little trouble, but my arrival here appears to have kept me off-balance.”

Her savior looked at her, swiveling his head to take in the stranger in his midst. He appeared to see without hindrance, despite all the hair coiling around his darkened stare. He nodded, a knowing smile his only offering.

He said, “A Child of the Sun? Here in this cursed labyrinth? Decades have come and gone since I last crossed paths with your kindred. A blessing in disguise, maybe? In truth, I could use the golden sun to light the path ahead."

Despite herself, Shoushan spared the assassin an amused smile. “You mean this somber dungeon doesn’t shine holy enough for you, Ashen Blade?”

His smile broadened, knowing Shoushan made the remark as a jest, and not a slight. “And a strange Child of the Sun, you seem to an inanimate blade. Your kindred’s temperaments are hot-blooded, made mirthless by their martial culture.”

Her brow arched. Shoushan said, “a devoted disciple to the Goddess of Death would strike me in similar ways, but I discourage such general remarks. You don’t seem like an ignorant man to me, Ashen Blade.”

He said, “Call me Korian, though my kindred in the Southern Wastes have always known me as Enigma. Use the two interchangeably should you wish. I’ve no preference for titles or names. Both remain my equal parts, in either case.”

Shoushan paused, considerate. “Enigma, then. Should I be honored to make friends with an Ashen Blade?”

Enigma shrugged. “few born into the Children of the Sun could hope to say such a thing. Take that for what you will, but…” He trailed off, wiping the mirthful smile from his features. “You didn’t come here through the Penitent’s Sanctuary. I watched a moonlit realm spit you out into this place–the black emptiness guiding souls to the Gates of Her Palace. There can be only one explanation. Amunet brought you into this place, but where did she enter?”

Shoushan shook her head, becoming impatient. “Amunet apparently has her own ambitions, despite the sacrifices required by others to see them fulfilled. She didn’t think to explain too much before taking her leave–”

Enigma interrupted, his tone taking on a soothing aspect. “Amunet’s ambitions are driven by a purpose that us mere mortals don’t understand. Not yet, at least, until she deigns to unveil them. She has a habit of explaining what her allies need to know, precisely when she believes our fates will align to make the most of her truth.”

Shoushan didn’t reply for a time, allowing an interlude between their conversation. She heard only that beautiful choir interrupting their silence. “Do you believe anything Amunet claims about herself? That her civilization warred against the Ascended Pantheon and won?”

Enigma said, “I know nothing about past or future, except that most deities are dead. Something nearer to the scale of Amunet’s tale about the ruined places buried deep into the broken world… it would make a certain sense if the mythical tales proved themselves true.”

A mortal soul’s furious war cry echoed through the dungeon’s emptied halls, carrying down the path from far ahead. Craning her head alongside Enigma, she found nothing more than the ominous cobalt luminescence giving light to this decrepit place.

Enigma ended their conversation. “Sounds like a battle is about to ensue.”

Shoushan spoke, “Allies of yours?”

Enigma didn’t shrug or nod, but merely said. “Maybe allies, if we can keep them out of death’s embrace.”

Shoushan said, “I suppose answers about all this will have to wait. Lead the way, Su’khanite.”

Enigma didn’t reply, breaking into a darting run that Shoushan matched, headed into a storm created by clashing swords and broken steel…
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords
Post by: Myen'Tal on April 8, 2022, 10:49:06 AM
Hi guys :)!

Just a quick, but pretty revolutionary update here - the website is now finished and has gone live!

Link in signature!

Thanks,
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords - Website Live & Link!
Post by: Dread on April 8, 2022, 04:32:08 PM
Very cool! Congratulations. Ill get signed up soon.
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords - Website Live & Link!
Post by: Sir_Godspeed on April 8, 2022, 09:12:09 PM
Congrats, man! The website looks great, I'm really impressed.
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords - Website Live & Link!
Post by: Myen'Tal on April 8, 2022, 09:21:14 PM
Thanks guys!!

The website will continue to grow as future content is added!
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords - Website Live & Link!
Post by: Dread on April 8, 2022, 10:56:23 PM
It does look great. Now to visit it.
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords
Post by: Grizzlykin on April 12, 2022, 04:51:34 AM
The website looks slick :D kinda feel like reading everything now. I will probably give it a shot when looking for some fantasy thing to read :D
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords
Post by: Myen'Tal on April 12, 2022, 08:53:07 PM
The website looks slick :D kinda feel like reading everything now. I will probably give it a shot when looking for some fantasy thing to read :D

Thanks Grizzly!

This thread is a bit aged by now, lots of evolution and pitfalls recorded here lol. My latest stuff is toward the end of this thread - but you're welcome to stop by and read what you like, anytime!

The book comes nearer to launch!
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords
Post by: Myen'Tal on April 21, 2022, 06:16:11 PM
Hey guys, another update.

Just about hitting the 60,000 word mark - my end goal is to hit somewhere between 90,000 - 95,000. That would leave me some room to make any additional content to shore up areas that the editor may think needs reinforcing. So about 30,000-ish words to go before working alongside my editor to strengthen it further.

Still on track to begin a second illustration - it likely won't be completed until early in the 3rd Quarter of 2022.

Going to be working on a second newsletter to send out around early May!

Also made a quick expansion to my website, first of multiple additions - focused on detailing the peoples of Thearus.

As far as how I'm feeling about all this - I'm feeling pretty good about things. Not getting much visibility yet, but that's normal at this stage since I'm basically living in the shadow-realm at the moment.

I will say though, that searching the name of my website in the description should bring it up in the top searches. That's a good sign at this stage.

I'm planning on working on the marketing side of things with a professional to help get those gears really turning - but I'm waiting on that until the manuscript has gone through the editing process and it's just ready to go whenever.

I'm going to start planning out potential content I can continue on with post-launch, and keep additional stories coming out afterward. Right now I'm about settled on ideas for short stories - each will take place in a different place and time on Khios - independent from each other.

That's the plan! Hope you guys continue to keep an eye out on the world of Thearus, and practice the Way of Great Peace.

Another update will come soon.



Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords
Post by: Myen'Tal on April 24, 2022, 12:46:37 PM
Manuscript progression update. Entering the third act.

(https://i.ibb.co/tJfcQWJ/24-04-2022-11-38-17-REC.png) (https://ibb.co/bKhLQ8K)
(https://i.ibb.co/jr0dW7Q/24-04-2022-11-39-13-REC.png) (https://ibb.co/RDr1BLs)
(https://i.ibb.co/jMSVnPn/24-04-2022-11-40-02-REC.png) (https://ibb.co/xjNmxtx)
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords
Post by: Myen'Tal on May 2, 2022, 08:41:45 AM
A quick manuscript progression update - just about crossing the 70,000 word mark. On track to finish the third act and send this out to the editor in June.

(https://i.ibb.co/2WTT7GF/02-05-2022-07-38-46-REC.png) (https://ibb.co/fqssYjX)
(https://i.ibb.co/mvbjmt4/02-05-2022-07-39-08-REC.png) (https://ibb.co/YDPC68h)
(https://i.ibb.co/jkv2DP0/02-05-2022-07-39-38-REC.png) (https://ibb.co/1Gf5Tty)
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords
Post by: Myen'Tal on May 9, 2022, 12:06:27 AM
A Sanctum of Swords: A Blade Severed from its Master's Hand - Final Pre-Edit Version

The Eastern U’ral outskirts burned around Mahir–the clamor of steel on steel resounding across the steppes. Mounted nomadic warriors in iron scale barding churned the rain-soaked earth. Their bows unleashed hails of arrows into the garrison defenders, dwindling their numbers further.

The Akarian Talons readied handheld crossbows, kneeling as one unit down in the mud. He watched them keep their gazes forward, training their sights on the nearing foe.

Mahir said, “We offer another tyrant’s head on Zahira’s altar tonight. Cut them down!”

Gadara shouted. “Open fire!”

The Ashen Blades unleashed a silent hail into the storm.

Death reaped a toll on the raided village–indiscriminate in who perished by the sword or by burning flames. His sister had trained her unit well, their cohesion honed to precision. Their marksmanship struck true, unhindered by wind or rain, striking the mounted raiders in their flesh.

Several Honor Guard in Dikran’s retinue sagged in their saddles. Choking on venom, their screams carried into the storm. One after another, U’skarite warriors toppled from their horses into the crimson mire. A second volley broke the skirmish apart, the nomadic raiders breaking away to avoid the poisoned hail coming down around them.

Black Rot. A necrotic venom invented in Suann Sanctuary by the Obsidian Viper Alchemists. A weapon capable of killing the blood in a human’s veins and their muscle sinew. A rapid decay spreads through the victim until only a decrepit hole remains in the withered husk. A mere kiss from any tool, weapon, or sacrificial flesh coated in a couple drops remained the proven bane of any living creature–Demi-god and mere mortal alike.

Gadara cried out into the storm. “I should have known better than to think we’d leave these primal steppes alive.”

Mahir knew their fate far before she had. He watched the mounted raiders rally in the backfield, regrouping for another charge at the Akarian Talons. “You should have heeded my warnings. We’ve crossed a point of no return some moons ago.”

His sister ignored him to bark another command. “Reload!”

The Ashen Blades plucked steel-tipped bolts from full quivers slung over their shoulders. Quick on the draw, her unit unleashed another hail into the oncoming retinue.

Mahir counted another dozen honor guard, cut down by the Black Rot. Though their numbers withered, the honor guard pushed through the endless hail. He braced beside the Ashen Blades; the steppes trembling beneath the cavalry charge.

He said, “For what it’s worth–our reunion here on the steppes isn’t lost on me. It’s been several years since you’ve last seen your wayward, altered brother. A predictable season of solitude with the last of my kin. Rare is the Sanctum Queen’s Severed Hand who could ask for an end so cherished.”

Gadara smiled, then the expression reverted to stone. She aimed her crossbow toward the oncoming lancers. “To die so near to winter’s end… it will not be as beautiful as I hoped. Should Zahira call us home, I’d rather perish by a sword than underneath an indiscriminate stampede. You have another trick up your sleeve to even the odds?”

Mahir said, “Are you prepared to vomit again?”

Gadara grimaced. “I will choose the greater evil to live a moment longer. Get us near enough to grant our enemies the kiss of Suhari Steel.”

The sodden soil quaked underneath them, beaten like a war drum by the horde. Mahir swept an arm out–conjuring shadows on a whim. Animated by sentience, an abyss yawned open into the physical world. It closed in around them, tearing the Akarian Talons and himself out of the mortal sphere.

Returning to the Sanctuary, Mahir perceived U’ral village through a moonlit shroud. The eastern outskirts took on a ghostly aspect, the battle appearing to be fought by specters and not the men and women fighting around Mahir a moment ago. Like an undead tide, Dikran’s retinue swept where they had last seen the Ashen Blades.

He braced, unable to feel anything upon the U’skarite nobles stampeding through his disembodied soul. Nothing but the same chilling cold found throughout every corner of this dark abyss.

Mahir dispelled the sanctuary with a thought-command. Its darkness dissipated, collapsing like fallout around the Ashen Blades. A frozen drizzle pelted him through his silk robes, wind whipping around him as the storm fought the skies for dominance.

Gadara shouted a command, ushering the Akarian Talons into combat. As one, the assassins charged, their midnight robes melding with the night.

The Ashen Blades reaped their fallen foes, swords cutting limbs free from their owners. Steppe horses toppled their faces into the mire, their sliced open throats festering with poison.

Mahir spotted the Steppe Lord, a brute of a man–all raw sinew and muscle. A lamellar armor crafted from iron scales and woven into a suit protected him from thighs to throat. Royal purple silk cushioned the armor from underneath, visible around the limbs and other vulnerable gaps in the lamellar. A plumed helmet topped with wild, white-dyed horsehair weighed down on his shoulders. Black leather boots came up to the warrior king’s knees, already sullied with the blood of slain foes.

Swift, Gadara closed upon her quarry–intent on claiming the killing blow.

Dikran noticed her approach from the back of a massive ebon steed–a beast more imposing than most warriors. He swept a wicked blade ahead of him to meet Gadara’s direct assault.  

Focused, Mahir summoned the sanctuary again, and entered the dark realm.. Upon entering again, an explosion of magic swept through him. An endless torrent created from the sanctuary’s morbid essence. The backlash obliterated his memories, breaking them into a faded and unchronological blur. Like tidal waves, the primal force crashed inside the mind’s boundaries, wiping his conscience until all semblance of himself ceased existing.

Forbidden magic stitched his soul back into its sentient state. The sanctuary spat him back out into the mortal sphere, between Dikran and Gadara before their blades could meet. An echo of steel blunted upon steel sang loudly upon intercepting the Steppe Lord’s fatal blow. Such a savage strike should have cut him down without effort. His physical ability had withered through the years after his Trial of Blades.

Zahira, Goddess of Sorrow, spared her child once again. A hand once severed from its mistress surged with sudden, inexplicable power. It channeled through him like adrenaline through the veins.

Surprised, Dikran retracted his blade before launching an immediate assault on Mahir. He weaved around the Black Tiger’s bone-breaking fists and sweeping cuts without effort. He retreated, stepping back beyond the warlord’s reach, when he tired. All at once, after death’s immediate threat had passed, the Sanctum Queen’s blessing emptied from his veins back into dormancy.

Gadara circled Dikran from behind–occasionally delving into the fray to attempt a mortal blow. The Black Tiger warded them both away from his person by a storm of sweeping strikes. Hesitant to commit with no clear advantage, Mahir attempted to goad the warlord instead.

Heart singing inside his chest, Mahir said, “a king seated so high on his horse proves a mastery over wind, maybe, but becomes blind with his head in the clouds. Will you keep raging at shadows you cannot appear to strike? Or is the Black Tiger of the U’skar Qi courageous enough to dismount? Would he test his skill against an assassin of the Ashen Blades?”

Dikran wheeled his brutal mount about to face him. Mahir tracked the U’skarite’s every movement, knowing his marked contract was a predator, oblivious to the fact it had become prey. Amusement glinted in the warlord’s burning gaze–confident in the face of his would-be slayer.

Dikran’s voice growled like the Lantern Beasts of the Steppes. He spoke, “Bold words for such a frail warrior–withered from some atrophic disease or some other ailment. Don’t let my words offend, when I say you appear more a cub than a challenger. You yelp with a courage born from ignorance. Not from a confidence born from strength. Stand aside, Ashen Blade, or maybe throw yourself on your sword. Both would have the same effect as you, striking at me with your weakling blade.”

He held the Steppe Lord’s apathetic stare–unphased. “A shame–I didn’t want such a noble horse’s blood on my hands. So be it then.”

Gadara leapt out of the storm, climbing up the gargantuan midnight mount’s hind legs onto its back. She pounced upon Dikran without warning, wrapping her limbs around his neck to keep balance. Clutched in her right hand, she positioned a venom laced dagger for a quick, lethal blow.

His sister possessed no god-like powers, but her combat ability rivaled Mahir without his dark powers, more than she even knew. Outsiders beyond the Southern Wastes often regarded a Su’khanites physical abilities inhuman. Something beyond the limitations of what ordinary souls could achieve with enough time, dedication, and courage to master one’s greatest fears. Children of Su’khan considered such strength of body a basic achievement, gained in adolescence to outlive imminent death.

Armored boots stamped the quagmire–approaching from behind. Mahir turned, cleaving a taut line across an U’skarite raider’s throat. Blood seeped from the wound, the Black Rot dooming the warrior to an ill-fated death.

He passed back through the gaping darkness between realities, returning to the sanctuary in a vanishing flash. Barbarous blades sliced through the empty air, harmless against his disembodied soul.

Mahir reappeared behind another pair of warriors, attempting to ambush him. He struck out; the gladius clutched between his fingers creating a two attack chain. Severed with an unnatural strength, both skulls toppled to the ruined land. Around him, he noticed a shuddering in the wind, wailing into the night.

Another half-dozen raiders attempted to surround him with fractured cohesion. Upon seeing their comrades slain with such little effort, each warrior backed up to disappear into the greater melee.

Animated, Mahir broke into a quick-paced sprint. He tore loose a sheathed dagger off an U’skarite corpse leaning back against his dead mount. In search of the Black Tiger again, the weapon flew from his hand upon finding the Steppe lord embattled with his younger sibling.

A clink of sound told him the weapon had struck true, pursued by a tiger’s ferocious roar. Mahir traced the dagger’s trajectory, finding it embedded between the warlord’s lamellar plating. Blood trickled down from the wound unsteadily.

Gadara straddled the Steppe Lord from behind, arms deadlocked around his broad throat. Dikran tried in vain to strike himself free, forcing the blade out of her hand with a savage reverse of the elbow. The warlord didn’t realize the envenomed dagger clutched like an iron vice in her other hand.

Gadara stabbed down into the Steppe Lord’s chest. Her blade thrust home, jammed beneath the iron scales, until the steel snapped clean off the hilt. She cursed. The silk underneath Dikran’s armor blunted the blow.

An arrow struck Gadara in her left shoulder, faltering her grip upon the warlord. Dikran spurred his mount into a quick gallop, freeing himself from Gadara when she could hold onto him no longer. Mahir watched her topple down the warlord’s back into the mud.

He burst into a loping run to retrieve another weapon, an elongated spear discarded on the battlefield. As Dikran maneuvered his warhorse to trample Mahir into the mud, the Ashen Blade stepped out from the warhorse’s path. He thrust the weapon from point blank range, the warhorse unable to build up to irresistible speed.

A sound born from sundered scale mail barding filled his ears, quickly followed by flesh tearing underneath the breached armor. The midnight demon staggered, galloping on until it separated clear enough from Mahir. The noble mount cried out a final time, before its collapse amid the ruined battlefield. He glimpsed the Black Tiger, pulled down into the quagmire alongside his precious mount.

He reassessed his surroundings.

Mahir breathed, smelling the scent of blackened wood and spilled blood, cleansed by the storm’s constant rainfall. He looked back to where Gadara had fallen from Dikran’s broad shoulders. She lingered in that spot still, struggling to stand out of the mud, somehow climbing back to her knees. A shaking hand clutched the feathered shaft embedded in her shoulder.

Like the Gadara he had always remembered, she refused to give voice to her pain. She left the arrow in place for someone trained in the mending art to remove it after the battle’s end.

Mahir called out to her. “Will you live!?”

Gadara noticed him shouting, craning her head toward the sound of his voice. She nodded, despite the pain of her wound clouding her eyes. She spoke, “I can still fight, but don’t count on me carrying us through this time.”

Mahir said, “Fight until the end! Another may deliver us out from our fate!”

Gadara snorted out of disbelief, but picked up a spear discarded in a steppe horse’s carcass. She twisted, rolling onto her back, ramming the spearhead through another U’skarite’s faceplate. The warrior staggered, stumbling past her before falling into the quagmire.

Mahir turned away from Gadara, sweeping the area where the Black Tiger fell with cautious eyes. Among the dead, a shadow stirred out of the gruesome sight. Animated, he pushed off the back of his heel, breaking into a loping run toward his marked target. Reaching his physical stamina’s zenith, he rushed the Black Tiger from behind, coming near enough to land a fatal thrust on his contract’s marked soul.

Without warning, Dikran’s strength returned, tearing himself free of his dead kin, piled around him in a sundered, bleeding mound. Their blades clashed once, twice, and then a third time before momentum pulled both opponents in the opposite direction. Mahir twisted around on the ball of his foot, coming to grips against his foe another time.  

Dikran widened his stance, saber sweeping down from overhead to turn aside the assassin’s blade. The Black Tiger followed through with a crushing fist, gnarled knuckles striking Mahir square in the teeth. His head pitching backward, an overwhelming force rattling him down to the spine’s core. Mahir tried to stabilize, boots sliding through the mud until he lost all balance.

The Black Tiger lunged for the Severed Hand’s throat, throwing Mahir back-first into the mud. Eager to claim the kill, the Steppe Lord fell upon him. Gladius clutched tight across his chest, the Ashen Blade thrust out. Cleansed amid constant rain, the envenomed blade appeared toothless. It bit deep into Dikran’s flesh beneath the ribs, warding the Steppe Lord back by sheer pain alone–not deadly venom.

Furious, the Black Tiger struck out with all the strength given to him, meant to cave the assassin’s skull into brittle bone.

Exhausted, Mahir called upon the Sanctuary with the last of his ebbing focus. A haven of moonlit darkness stole him out of the physical world, but brought him into an unfamiliar place. All the Sanctuary appeared familiar, a second home amid a quiet dark, but the moon’s light appeared dim from where he stood. Shadows festered around him, writhing like they desired to consume him whole at a moment’s notice.

Yet Dikran’s spiritual essence never appeared out of arm’s reach–even as Mahir repositioned himself behind the Black Tiger of the U’skar Qi. He dispelled the quiet realm in a fallout of shadow. He heard the northern storm howling, pelting rain turning his skin numb from its touch.

A tranquil silence marked the end of the raid on U’ral village. All the garrison defenders lay somewhere in these eastern fields, surrounded by an endless sea of dead raiders dragged into the grave with them. Of the Black Tiger’s scouting parties, the last remaining warriors still on horseback fled heedlessly back into the eastern Steppes.

Mahir considered where he stood amid hundreds slain alongside their steeds, their corpses packed into the burned-out remains of U’ral’s eastern outskirts. The defenders had taken their due, earning respite for those survivors fleeing into the western realms. Their foes would return with the coming sunrise and find nothing but death.

He turned back toward the Black Tiger before him, the warlord still on his knees in the mud. Mahir did not need to see the spot Dikran leaned over, knowing the Steppe Lord had punched an entire crater where he had been but a moment ago.

He said, “It appears the Black Tiger’s reign ends tonight.”

Dikran sagged deeper down toward the earth until Mahir thought the warlord would topple without another breath. Yet the U’skarite King pushed himself back up, erecting his posture, though still upon his knees. “So, the serpent disguises himself behind the guise of a cub, sickened by atrophy. Yet you draw a vile strength from the poison that courses in your veins. A clever ruse, Ashen Blade–most deceitful. A golden sun blazes inside my soul. It denies me the right to ask for mercy, but the sweet kiss of an honorable death given quickly. Our gods would have it no other way.”

Mahir nodded in agreement, though he knew the Steppe Lord wouldn’t notice the gesture. He said, “A warrior king should not die on his knees, should he have the strength to stand.”

Chortling, Dikran spoke, “No, Su’khanite, he should not.”

Dikran leaped without warning, falling upon Mahir like a Black Tiger pouncing upon oblivious prey. He came at the Severed Hand with a last sweep of the wicked blade he wielded. Mahir countered in the blink of an eye, turning Dikran’s savage blow aside in a brief rain of sparks. The Black Tiger of the U’skar Qi found only the slender edge of a Suhari Blade, rammed straight through the Steppe Lord’s bellowing mouth.

Mahir, Severed Hand of the Sanctum Queen, pushed into the thrust, punching the sword through Dikran’s spine and out the other end of his skull. Gadara appeared beside him, thrusting her own blade deep through the warlord’s right eye. A pair of remaining Akarian Talons appeared behind Dikran. Karyan cleaved the upper half of the Steppe Lord’s skull clean off the corpse. Severed, the skull toppled into the patient hands of the last Ashen Blade, standing in wait for their trophy.

Alone, the Akarian Talons found themselves huddled together on a silent battlefield. Dikran’s corpse sagged back into the ruined outskirts at their feet. In silence, the Ashen Blades bowed their heads in reverence for another contract fulfilled–unwilling to break the tranquility earned upon their triumph...
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords
Post by: Myen'Tal on May 11, 2022, 08:51:26 AM
Manuscript Update:

The whole manuscript is sitting around 77,000 words as of current. That leaves me 13,000 words before hitting my main goal of 90,000 words in total. Considering how the chapters are flowing for me at the moment, I wouldn't be surprised at all if the completed draft goes a few thousand words over 90,000. That would be fine in either case.

Three chapters and the epilogue remain. I'm on course to meet my deadline.

(https://i.ibb.co/kHtkqpK/11-05-2022-07-36-22-REC.png) (https://ibb.co/VjsrMdV)
(https://i.ibb.co/c2JprGj/11-05-2022-07-39-00-REC.png) (https://ibb.co/RQ2MDxq)
(https://i.ibb.co/WD2GD1z/11-05-2022-07-38-02-REC.png) (https://ibb.co/FsDmstY)
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords
Post by: Myen'Tal on May 19, 2022, 03:21:35 PM
(https://i.ibb.co/FWwsg7d/2022-05-19-13-09-27.png) (https://ibb.co/pPzWJXk)
(https://i.ibb.co/fHVvwm6/2022-05-19-13-09-09.png) (https://ibb.co/zZWJvK9)
(https://i.ibb.co/bbtM95R/2022-05-19-13-08-40.png) (https://ibb.co/fDJzwdG)

Quick progress update:
Passed the 80,000 word mark yesterday
I've an estimated 6,500 words before hitting my minimal word count of 90,000.
I'm on track to hand the manuscript off to the editor early next month.
These final three chapters are going to be action-heavy, with intermittent quiet scenes to help wrap up the character arcs to continue into the next installment.

I am super content that I'm going to make my deadline this time, haha!

Thanks guys for stopping by as always!
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords
Post by: Myen'Tal on May 23, 2022, 08:56:19 AM
Approximately 1,400 word count to reach the 90,000 word mark. Estimation that the manuscript will reach about 95,000 upon being completed. I'm aiming to finish this draft sometime this week in time to meet with the editor.

Will keep you guys updated!

(https://i.ibb.co/Wg1bWmb/23-05-2022-07-42-35-REC.png) (https://ibb.co/ZWCn6qn)
(https://i.ibb.co/whjy2jB/23-05-2022-07-43-10-REC.png) (https://ibb.co/KxS68Sb)
(https://i.ibb.co/5rqBsgv/23-05-2022-07-43-50-REC.png) (https://ibb.co/T4zmPxR)


Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords
Post by: Myen'Tal on May 30, 2022, 04:45:03 PM
Just a brief update!

Completed my manuscript this afternoon! It clocks in at about 102,000 words!

Just in time for the appointment with the editor  :).





Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords & The Embers of the Past
Post by: Myen'Tal on June 8, 2022, 08:49:33 AM
Still in the rough planning stages...


The Embers of the Past Narrative Summary

The year is 889 A.H. nearing the end of an era, The Ascension of Kings. Unbeknownst to the realms of Khios continent, a war rages amid the shadows, fought between the Children of the Sun and hidden blades in the dark¬–the enigmatic assassin Kabal, the Ashen Blades of Su’khan Kingdom. A battle waged throughout the buried remains of the broken world of Thearus and beyond the boundaries of the mortal sphere.

A Golden Valley lay besieged, a goddess of a broken pantheon resurrected, and the fractured aspect of the Goddess of Death slain by her greatest disciples turned penitent.
Fifteen years have passed since the battle at the Golden Valley, a fragile peace settling upon the heartland and the Southern Wastes. Shattered by long defeat and fractured after the Sanctum Queen’s death–the diminished Ashen Blades collapse from power. Their tattered remnants disperse amid the Southern Wastes, choosing their death as a geopolitical presence to counteract tyranny instead of warring over the embers of what once was.

Still wounded from the Ashen Blades’ surprise assault throughout the Golden Valley, the Children of the Sun greet another era to blaze like the coming dawn. Their God King having survived the attempt to overthrow his civilization, Erasyl, the Last of the Sun Caller Kings, has cemented an alliance between the Steppe hordes of the U’skar Qi and the Carth Dominion. Their armies quickly approach legion without number. The Children of the Sun and the Qi Confederation launch their first spearheads into the neighboring lands.

As the Alliance of the Golden Sun continues to mount victory upon victory, amounting to conquests on a scale rarely seen before, unknown champions again rise to combat the threat to greater Khios. Children of the lesser kingdoms, obscured by their humble origins.

Sworn enemies of the Carth Dominion since its ancient inception, the Architect Kings of Akopia reinstate Adofo’s place in the royal family. A veteran of many wars and survivor of the battle at the Golden Valley, Adofo finds himself promoted to the rank of Guardian Consul. A rank only second to that held by the kindred he had long thought dead over the passing decade. His elder brother, Nishan, the Scarred Child of Akshera, and the grim, unyielding defender of the Akopian Republic.

Their blades reunited beneath the banners of their homeland a second time, the Akopian brothers prepare to not only whether the approaching storm from the Golden East, but to seek its ultimate defeat.
They must forge another alliance to stand a chance of gaining the upper hand. A brotherhood sworn by the blood of the Dominion’s unyielding enemies, unwilling to bow their knee before the Children of the Sun.

The great and powerful send call to arms out across the continent, honored by the courageous, idyllic, and steadfast scattered throughout the continent’s four corners.
Yet upon one such missive being returned to Akopia to announce an ally of unknown origins, far across the Alabaster River to the north, hope stirs for the coalition. For the Children of Irothis have never kept boundless numbers, but only the blood of heroes, seeking to create legacies yet to be tested.

As the Ascension of Kings crumbles into anarchy and total war, does the continent resound to another era, a Sanctum of Swords…


Dramatis Personae

Children of Irothis & Old Myria:
Aiman, the Light of the West
Azat Zakarian – the Black Wolf of Irothis
Hazan Sadoyan – Queen of the Old Myrian Empire
Krikor of the Veiled Mountain
Vahe of Grand Damiyra

Children of the Carth Dominion:
Erasyl Sar Amun
Tabia Sar Amun
Siham Sar Amun
Shoushan Sar Amun
Voshki Sar Amun

Children of the U’skar Qi:
Sarkis, the Black Tiger of the U’skar Qi

Children of the Southern Wastes:
Gadara of Suann
Zagir of the Withered Fang
Faris
Anoush

Children of Akopia:
Nishan Akopian, the Scarred Child of Akshera
Adofo Akopian, Guardian Consul of Akopia
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords & The Embers of the Past (Status Update!)
Post by: Myen'Tal on July 5, 2022, 11:27:30 PM
A quick update!

- I've completed the Manuscript Evaluation with my editor and received the assessment last week (Good news, not a long list of problems - though the issues that are there will require passes across the whole manuscript).
- I've mulled over the feedback and have laid out a strategic plan to tackle the issues.
       - This includes:
       - Ornate and overwritten language (Descriptions, dialogue, scene setting)
       - Clarification on some stakes / character motivations
       - Dialing down an overbalance of world building & scene setting on a scene by scene basis
- I believe those are the main issues - which are all tied together in a way. Revising in one area will mean revising in other issue related areas as well. I think this process will be straight forward, basically I'm going to start cutting away all the excess on the rough draft to reveal what I hope to be the refinement underneath!

- I've made a little progress into Embers of the Past with the creation of two chapters!

- I'm redirecting focus back A Sanctum of Swords again, however, to make the revisions. I've gotten through the first two scenes of Chapter One and am making progress through the final scene at the moment.

In other news - the illustration that I've long promised to coordinate with my cover artist on is set to start this month!

Curious about what region or aspect of Thearus will be depicted? You'll find out soon enough  ;D!

Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords & The Embers of the Past CH 1 - Excerpt
Post by: Myen'Tal on July 7, 2022, 08:53:34 AM
Hi everyone,

I'm currently making a legion of revisions on chapter one and as a consequence, some more nuanced narrative changes and other passes on the material will mean that the website excerpt will need to be updated  :). Just wanted to share a brief excerpt from what I've been working on.

Hope you guys like it!

############

Hidden beyond Akara’s gates, Enigma descended upon a lonely path into the buried realms underneath the Southern Wastes. As the lengthened minutes passed into an hour of wandering–daylight’s radiance appeared nothing more than a pinpoint of light the way he had come.

Adapted to the claustrophobic conditions often found in the underground, Enigma navigated himself through an impregnable darkness by natural intuition and memory. Such a rare ability he had always regarded with no subtle amount of pride. An Ashen Blade could spend their entire lives treading the broken world beneath the surface without mastering such a complex technique. 

The Banished Blade’s voice resounded inside the cavernous road, speaking for the first time since encountering Amunet beside his disciple. “Advance with caution. Here in the black shroud beneath the Southern Wastes does radiant life bloom and shine once more.”

An ethereal luminescence emanated from farther up ahead, painting the caverns with a dim sapphire glow. At the path's end, a door carved from obsidian and onyx stone barred the way forward.

A blooming grove of cerulean petals draped a craggy stone passage¬. Each came attached to an emerald and ruby leafed fauna, somehow prospering around the forgotten tombs known only as the Mausoleum of Shades. Earthen walls narrowed sharply ahead along the branching path between the Mausoleum gates and the tunnel Enigma stood inside of.

Enigma halted around the burial tomb’s outskirts where the blooming flowers formed a natural perimeter. “Lantern Stalks, always shining in the most morbid places. A ray of moonlight found amid the graves of the honored dead.”

His master called out to him. “And here you stand. A child of the Goddess of Death and her most devoted disciple. And you appear hesitant to come any nearer to her revered house.”

Could the Banished Blade have spoken the truth? A rhythmic pulse inside of his wrists betrayed as much. An unfamiliar sensation that made him curious more than anything behind the source of his growing dread.

Irrational minds born from emotions of fear and terror were only human nature. An inability to comprehend the inexplicable and understand the mysteries behind what often caused such phenomena had always haunted mortal kind. And Enigma stood as no different in that regard.

He realized that maybe the source of his terror stemmed not from uncertainty, but his possession of foresight enough to know that Zahira sought to test him inside the Mausoleum.

He breathed in the hanging mist creeping around the burial grounds, approaching the Mausoleum of Shades through the overgrown pathway. Cerulean petals sprouted into full bloom with every patient step taken through the narrow passage. He heard fauna petals crumpling back upon themselves in the wake of his passing.

Enigma approached the mausoleum gate, entering through the dark shroud, waiting for him within the shadow it cast. A natural barrier created from lustrous volcanic stone, black like charred earth after a magma river’s passing. An unnatural scarring created by human hands appeared all that marked the weathered stone for anything of importance.

An illustration carved deep upon the obsidian, Enigma uncovered with a second thorough look. A familiar symbol, masterfully worked upon the soot-black stone, maybe when the whole of the gate appeared smooth long ago–swirled across the length of the gate like a grand sigil.

It depicted an unadorned gladius, a short blade of simple design, but beautiful in that form and grim function. The blade appeared reversed, the pommel nearly reaching the cavern ceiling, and the blade pointed toward the earth beneath Enigma’s feet. A serpent coiled its length around the blade’s hilt, tail ending near the blade tip, while bearing a fanged maw above the weapon’s pommel.

A sigil of the Ashen Blades.

He didn’t need to speak a command or find some hidden lever amid the Lantern Stalks' glowing groves. A loud sound of ancient mechanisms grinding against one another deafened him. And the earth beneath his feet quaked from unrelenting force. The claustrophobic passage behind him collapsed, the walls crushed into each other, sounding like calamity.

And the mausoleum gate sundered open before him, splitting neatly apart into two doors. Enigma braced amid the tectonic force, peering into the widening gap between the gate, opening just enough to permit a single file entrance into the ancient burial ground.

A tremulous breath came shuddering out of the dark beyond the gate. A sound made by something inhuman and driven with undisguised aggression. He assumed a combat stance, removing his gladius from the scabbard on his waist with a flick of the wrist.

Dominion's End. A blade made famous not by immaculate craftsmanship, but a storied legacy woven by its wielder’s own hand.

He listened, each unfamiliar breath rattling the bones beneath his skin. His heartbeat quickened inside the chest. Yet Enigma ignored the warning sign of another perilous encounter. A hand clutched around the leather-wrapped hilt of his blade. He waited, until realizing the mausoleum guardian awaited Enigma inside.

The Banished Blade spoke. “Your gauntlet begins. It’s been some years since you’ve met such a tough challenge. Show me what you remember of your training during my physical absence.”

Enigma sprang into motion, charging headlong into the black shroud beyond the mausoleum gate. All turned to deepest night, until the dark receded before what appeared to be torchlight, burning inside the burial tomb. Flaming brightness clawed up fractured and unadorned stone tiles, revealing sarcophagi fashioned from rough ebony stone. Each casket came with a gilded serpentine filigree, surrounded by grand bouquets of Lavender-leafed flora related to the beloved family of roses.

Lavender night, Enigma remembered, surrounding each casket on the risen daises like an ocean of undying remembrance. He counted a score of unburied graves at a glance, finding the same venomous fauna left in offering around the base of each one.

A select handful of Ashen Blades had already entered the Mausoleum of Shades before he had achieved the feat. Just recently too, judging from the Lavender Night bouquets embellishing the graves inside the burial tomb.

From just ahead, Enigma heard urgent shouting between a handful of voices. The telltale sound of steel tested against steel followed them, heading toward Enigma by either chance or fate. Their shouts coordinated a cohesive struggle against that creature breathing hard enough to make the bones around his inner core tremble from within.

EXCERPT END
Title: A Sanctum of Swords: Status Update!
Post by: Myen'Tal on July 22, 2022, 05:23:23 PM
Quick status update:

Work continues apace on the revisions for the manuscript - still early into the manuscript itself, but have devoted time to revising each chapter until I'm convinced enough improvements have been made in that section until the coming copyedit.

I am aiming for Q2 2023 launch for A Sanctum of Swords!

As for the website - a few more additions have been made and more are underway.

Firstly - there is now an entirely excerpt from the revised chapter one on the website! It is an action-oriented scene that will introduce you to Enigma and a little bit about the Ashen Blades. You can look at my signature and find out where you can read that  :).

Also - the illustration is underway.

I won't be spoiling anymore until it is completed and added to the website - but it's coming together in the early stages!
Title: A Sanctum of Swords: Current Rev. for Chapter 3: A Dominion of the Mind Excerpt
Post by: Myen'Tal on July 25, 2022, 02:00:45 PM
Current Revision pre-copy edit:

Chapter 3: A Dominion of the Mind - Excerpt

A hearth fire’s light illuminated the chamber, forming shadows that played upon the sandstone walls. Siham tracked the darkness between the alabaster pillars jutting from the room’s four corners. She studied the hanging vines creeping through the ceiling’s minuscule cracks.

Another quiet night in the fabled Heaven’s Gate, the Children of the Sun’s guest wing, housed inside the royal palace. Outside her chamber door, everything seemed tranquil amid the silence.

An impulsive flame sparked inside Siham Sar Amun’s mind. A dark temptation luring her toward unfamiliar thoughts. Hands coiled in anticipation, searching for a sharpened blade to hold on to. Her mind raced, glimpsing herself falling on the blade.

Her fading dreams were so lucid, they almost seemed like actual memories. And when her mind ushered her back into the mundane world, the warm chamber she sat in appeared bereft.

She languished here, an apparition bound to the place of her torment. Agitated, she breathed. A successful dispelling of the tension wound up inside of her chest. She relaxed upon her opulent palanquin, draped in silk sheets of various shades and several fleece-stuffed pillows.

Siham breathed again, looking up to watch her newly betrothed. A royal prince born from foreign blood-ties. An ascendant warlord’s firstborn son on the U’skar Qi steppes, by the name of Sarkis. Dikran, the Black Tiger of the U’skar Qi’s appointed heir.

He leaned back in a sturdy leather chair, head rested in an open palm and elbow braced against the seat’s extended arm. Hazel eyes burned inside a chiseled face, flawed like blemished granite.

A deep scarring streaked across Sarkis’ face like a fractured lightning bolt. The healed over wound spread down from the right ear to the jawbone. Any surrounding skin and muscle nearest to the bone had healed like cracked earth. Matte black hair bundled into a lengthened ponytail came to rest between his shoulder-blades.
He found little solace in the guest chamber’s comforts.

Sarkis looked up without warning, finding Siham watching him. Her breath became caught in her lungs, her chest burning from within by that unwavering gaze.

He smiled, a ferocious aspect to the expression, but nothing like the violent kind. The royal prince seemed a primal and un-tameable soul, like the harsh lands that had forged him. And yet, Siham found something else in that roguish smile.

An undisguised empathy bordering on caring, enough to guilt her quiet protest of their marriage.

Sarkis mirrored her method of relaxed breathing, speaking over the crackling of burning wood. “You’ve nothing to speak with me about, Siham?”

“Should there be much to speak about between unacquainted souls, paired without thought for marriage?”

He shrugged, heaving broad shoulders. “Well, you summoned me behind closed doors, remember? And I’m here by your request alone. We’ve spent hours watching the evening fade into dusk and again into night, standing still while time continues outside our chamber door.”

Siham considered deceiving the royal prince with a blatant lie. Or maybe a barbed tirade would make him relent? After a moment’s thought, she settled on sharing the simple truth instead.

Her hushed answer seemed to resound inside the quiet room, loud enough that maybe the entirety of Heaven’s Gate heard her confession.

“I would refuse your hand.” She admitted. “You’re an honorable man, royal prince, and a noble-minded soul, but I would refuse your hand…”

The U’skarite prince tilted his head at an angle. He leaned forward in his chair, assuming the appearance of living artwork posing to be replicated on a canvas.

He didn’t respond immediately, considerate about many factors from the way he appeared irritated at himself or the unfamiliar foreign tongue he spoke with.

“You’ve made no grievous error, prince Sarkis. You’ve spoken nothing to turn me against you, but I won’t deceive you about how I feel in my heart about our betrothal.”

Another smile, possessed of warmth enough to banish the fear and anxiety Sarkis must’ve noticed in her eyes.

“My burning heart,” the prince said. “We’re behind closed doors, alone in the chamber prepared just for us. Your parents aren’t here to deny your voice or your kindred, the Children of the Sun, here to misjudge you. Is there something that maybe I never thought to offer?

“You appear to be seeking something through our meetings together. You only need to tell me what a prince must do to be worthy of your offered hand. I can see you’re not a woman to buy with wealth and power, like your immediate family appears to be interested in by no unnoticeable margin.”

Laughter slipped from her mouth, breaking her façade of stone countenance. A feeling of being relieved surged from within her chest, inexplicable like the sudden contentment it brought.

“Isn’t that the one currency available to a warrior prince?”

Sarkis matched her amused laughter at a barking volume, but didn’t disagree. As their mirth died together, another moment’s silence sobered their minds.

“And what of devotion, given time enough to learn about each other? Maybe a commitment to fulfill something you wish about? I was born with a warrior’s heritage, but the trust of kin, oath-bound brothers, and significant others cannot be demanded.”

Siham arched her brow at him. “You truly believe that trust cannot be demanded?”

He shrugged again. “Something that sacred not given freely is just an illusion of being trusted or loved… a lie the weak tell themselves for a fleeting contentment, never fated to last beyond the next reunion.”

“And what if the truth behind my rejection was that… there was nothing you could do? What would be your answer then, Sarkis?”

Sarkis contemplated for a lengthened period. He seemed prepared to admit his own suspicions. “Your heart beats for another. I’ve heard a thousand women pass on weaker men before. I’m familiar with that old excuse, but that explains your kindred wanting to sell your hand to me–if your soulmate might not reach their standard of honor and nobility. Is that the truth of it?”

Siham’s heart skipped a beat, and she paused, her thoughts uncertain of how the prince seemed so confident behind his guessing.

He interrupted before she said anything else. “It doesn’t matter though, does it? I won’t trouble you for personal matters of the heart you’ve been keeping before I even thought to offer my hand. Leave the truth behind your soulmate unspoken.”

Her breath became locked within her chest again. She said nothing.

Sarkis climbed out of the ornate chair, appearing more a bear than an ordinary man, even among royal warrior stock. He cast an eclipsing shadow over her, tall like a giant, an unconquerable warrior. Maybe indefatigable too, she wondered in the back of her mind.

“A royal prince doesn’t need to stop the world for just a betrothed. Not for the finest beauty said to be in all of this Golden Valley. I’ve little need to complain when a thousand other ladies and heiresses wait to compete for the hand of the Black Tiger Prince… yet before I must make that crucial decision, I hope that Lady Siham Sar Amun may change her mind not too far from now.”

He cradled their engagement ring between the fingers of his other hand, freeing the sapphire gem encrusted jewel from his finger. He cast the gem into the burning hearth, appearing calmed when the action was done. She knew the true reason behind his relief, that the uncertainty behind his proposal had reached a decisive conclusion.

He approached the guest chamber entrance, an oaken door that creaked loudly whenever anyone opened it. When he stepped out into the greater corridor beyond, he said. “I hope you don’t despise me for pleading my offer. Another prince or king would have burned cities and conquered kingdoms worthy enough for you to reign over. I guessed correctly that none of that would impress you.

“Yet I can tell every time our eyes meet, Siham, that you would come to love life on the open steppes of the U’skar. Should you ever become curious, it would honor me to receive your visit at Xura.”

He shut the door closed behind him, leaving Siham alone in the guest chamber with just her own thoughts…

*Scene End*
Title: A Sanctum of Swords: The Golden Valley Illustration Update
Post by: Myen'Tal on August 9, 2022, 11:49:10 AM
Just a small update:

Finished a collaboration with my illustrator to depict Gorum: The Golden Valley. You can find the updated artwork added to the website in my signature  :).

I am looking to acquire another illustration in November. I will pitch three or four battles I've depicted in the past and see which one the illustrator and I land on.

All that aside, please enjoy these 1080p resolution versions of the illustration!

(https://i.ibb.co/rtXmScG/Image-One.png)
(https://i.ibb.co/LxxVwqK/Image-Three.png)
(https://i.ibb.co/qpk1NZZ/Image-Two.png)
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords: The Golden Valley Illustration Update
Post by: Myen'Tal on August 20, 2022, 02:30:17 PM
Just a small update - read my profile signature!  ;D

I am knee-deep in revisions to meet the deadline of another manuscript evaluation, and things are going well. Taking the opportunity to make the suggested changes, and also shore up some narrative elements and the connection between story marks to make the chapter and scene transitions more seamless.

I am also planning on acquiring another cover art illustration soon - but it's too soon to declare the specifics yet!

I've updated the summaries in the 'Realms of Khios' section on the website as well with new material and my web admin's help to update the site. There should be only one more post to make for Khios, detailing the western kingdoms of the continent. That is still in the works.

To summarize, things are progressing!
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords: Chapter 9 - Last of His Blood Excerpt
Post by: Myen'Tal on September 6, 2022, 08:05:12 AM
Reorganization, re-visioning, and re-imaginging of the rough draft thus far. Still making good progress toward my next appointment!

Chapter 9 - Last of His Blood Excerpt


Kalb spoke into the brooding storm, his voice deafened by constant thunder and rain. “A thought occurred to me just now, little Magar. You’ve never mentioned your homeland to either me or the other Bloodsworn. Adofo and I have been remiss to tell you in earlier years, but it’s an ancient tradition among the palace guards of Heaven’s Gate.”

Standing beside the scarred brute of a man, Magar braced behind a round shield. Gaze locked forward alongside his brothers and sisters, their unit maintained a vigilant guard against the impregnable dark ahead.

“You’re wanting an answer to that right now?” He spared a glance up over his shoulder at the Bloodsworn’s infamous champion. “We’re about to be beset upon from the shadows. And I’ve a feeling our blood will be what stains the cobblestones for another several years.”

Kalb nodded. “A commendable reason to think of home and kindred from the lives we’ve sacrificed many moons ago. You know what, don’t tell me. I’d wager you’re a Sarunite, born amid the weeping realms of the Crescent Moon. It would explain why you never appear to mind the rain. Tell me I don’t have the truth of it.”

A pealing thunder quaked the Ardent Spire around him, but Magar took little notice through the torrential downpour. And lightning burst from morbid skies, unveiling half-flooded boulevards littered with both the ancient and recent dead.

A cautious smile graced his lips, despite the perilous situation they had become mired in. A team of ten courageous men and women, drawn from the ranks of the Zar’qin Guard’s most storied veterans.

“You’ve missed the mark a little,” he admitted. “You came near to the truth, though. I am born of Sarunite blood, the ancient kind known for retaining influential esteem enough to dictate a civilization’s uncertain path. Sarunthar kingdom has always been my pride and Sarune, the City of the Crescent Moon, my beating heart.”

A burning torch kept in hand, Magar warded off the black shroud ahead with an erratic firelight. The Bloodsworn fell in around their appointed commanders. A tight-knit formation of interlocked shields, brandishing spearheads and scimitar blades gleaming beneath the torchlight.

“I didn’t miss the mark by too wide a margin.” Kalb said. “You’re a survivor, like the myriad of peoples that inhabit the Khiosian heartland.”

Kalb just pointed up ahead with his chin, picking out insubstantial figures of human shape, creeping out of the darkness. At last, the foe appeared confident enough to assault them amid the ruins of the Ardent Spire’s abandoned sprawl.

A whistling hail of steel-tipped bolts came raining down around the Bloodsworn, punching through round shields and rattling armor with deceptive strength. A pair of their number fell, struck down in the hail.

An oncoming tide of apparitions, near to falling upon them in a matter of moments.

Kalb addressed the retired Zar’qin with an uplifting voice. “And know that you spill your blood and exhaust your lives beside true brothers and sisters. We are bound by our caste and the oath of blood we’ve sworn to one another. I won’t idle in the face of death, break through their ranks or die fighting, my kindred!”

A sound like thunder roaring into hills over yonder deafened the ears, the furious cries of the Bloodsworn upon their breaking of ranks. And the bludgeoning cacophony of sundered armor and steel hammered against steel had Magar’s heart singing inside the chest.

He swept his spear out in front of him with a scything motion. The wooden haft cracked upon making contact with a black apparition. It’s half-realized shape staggered, reeling back into the abyss.

Yet the black-robed warrior rebounded on a moment’s notice, lunging again for Magar’s throat. The spearhead punched home, rattling the foe’s spine. He had struck the assassin hard enough to lift the body out of the air for but a moment, before letting it slide back into the rainwater. Yet another misbegotten soul fallen inside the Ardent Spire.

Hastening to tear the weapon free, Magar pounded the cobblestone underfoot. Rainwater soaked the leather through, but he kept a guiding firelight in hand, bringing deliverance where he could to embattled comrades.

Another spearhead cleaved an assassin’s skull, sending the black robed warrior falling to the stone. A kindred not of blood emerged out of the night, falling in around the burning torchlight to fight beside him.

He spied other fires burning in the night, scattered amid the abandoned district at the Old Ruin’s entrance. War cries echoed about the darkness, the sound of death dogging their footsteps, meted out by the violence of the sword.

“My Second,” her warning betrayed an encroaching foe, sweeping to assault Magar from behind.

Leaping ahead, she caught the attacking glaive on a quick parry. Reactive, the female Bloodsworn feinted, stepping around the dead to keep her shield presented at all times. She lunged, quicker than her foe expected, punching her shield out toward the Ashen Blade.

Magar scrabbled around his kindred’s right flank. A feathered bolt hit the female Zar, kicking a leg out from underneath her stance, like a ragdoll, ruddy blood spraying from the wound.

And the quiet glaive, wielded between leather gloved fingers of midnight, sliced through storm and rain. Magar watched the Zar’qin that had saved him topple to the rain-soaked cobblestone, bleeding and dead.

A duck underneath an arced sweep, brought Magar behind the foe. A flurry of blows blunted the coming counters, rapid reverse strikes he blocked in quick succession. The midnight clad assassin stepped past, meeting his opponent again with a turn on his heel. Magar drew first-blood, slamming the narrow spike embossed on the round shield, through the Sukhanite’s chest.

Hunkered down, Magar smashed his shoulder into the defensive weapon, ramming the spike out of the assassin’s back. He jarred the shield free, stepping back, the spearhead clutched in the his other hand thrust clean through the Sukhanite’s neck on both flanks.

A pained cry echoed out of the dark. He turned, spying another Bloodsworn emerge into the torch’s flickering light. He staggered, an unerring feathered bolt embedded in the Zar’qin’s chest. His brethren’s remains spun away, out of reach, hitting the flooded cobblestone path with an audible impact.

A sound like footfalls pattering upon stone crept up behind him. Magar retreated, sweeping back on one foot, dodging a Sukhanite leaping to ambush her marked prey.

A furious limb, tucked behind a cream silk sleeve at the elbow, intercepted the female Sukhanite. Appearing out of the gloom, Kalb committed, breaking bone to splinter-fragments beneath his crushing fist. The scarred brute pounced again, splitting the skull in twain beneath the weighted blow of his scimitar.

Animated, Magar slid behind Kalb, warding off another pair of Ashen Blades from his rearguard. He deflected a stabbing blade on the broad turn of his shield. A rapid bite from the spearhead gouged another Ashen Blade’s left eye. Blood seeped from the wound, even as his compatriot parried another strike aimed in his direction.

The southern warrior staggered on the backfoot, a third strike through the throat bringing the assassin onto both knees. A thick tide of blood lashed Magar’s weapon arm upon the spear’s exit through the spinal cord.

Turned around on a heel, Kalb back-handed the remaining Ashen Blade with his round shield’s broad face. Its embossed spike breaking the sternum, the fading corpse snared upon the jutting steel. Kalb removed the remains with a dismissive flick of the wrist, letting the body plummet into ruddy rainwater.

A woman’s unfamiliar voice spoke commands above the heightened sounds of a furious skirmish. A quiet sound, an allure deepening every note, burrowing dark tendrils of temptation deeper inside the mind.

A female Ashen Blade garbed in the midnight black robes of her syndicate order. It did little to conceal the muscle compacted inside her slender frame. Her physical shape appeared at odds with the assassin’s lithe build. A physicality forged amid unforgiving climates, but packed into a frame that hadn’t naturally evolved quite enough to bear it.

A pair of wicked scars, born from twin blades, crossed either of her eyes. Neat diagonal cuts streaking from opposing directions, meeting at the bridge of her nose. It appeared to be the only blemish to mark her caramel skin. A simple braid of lustrous hair, black like a raven’s feathers, arched up and down the length of her back.

A midnight black wooden haft, the woman gripped between leather-gloved fingers. The spiked pommel rested at the polearm’s end, giving the weapon a height almost capable of rivaling its wielder. A curving blade head of Suhari steel seated upon the weaponhaft loomed above her like a reaper wielding a scythe.

A glaive forged in the image of a waning crescent moon, except a jagged teeth pattern ran along the blade's back-end. The weapon emanated that tarnished jade hue wielded by the Children of the Southern Wastes since time immemorial.

“Leave the pair of Zar men where they are, my kindred blades.” The woman spoke quietly, but Magar could’ve been deceived that her presence didn’t resound within the Ardent Spire’s depths. “See to the other warriors of the Zar and put an end to their misery…”

A pair of dark jade-green eyes looked up at them, taking a moment’s appraising of both Magar, then Kalb. Through the natural squint of her gaze from the pair of neat scars running over both eyelids, the Sukhanite female appeared a little impressed.

“Your blades make clean kills,” she admitted, “despite the little worth of the ‘indentured’ warriors wielding them. However, I can give credit where credit is due.”

Kalb shrugged, hawking a thick wade of saliva into the ruddy rain coming up to their boots. “I wouldn’t be that bold to play at arrogance, Sukhanite. You’ve maybe had more warriors die leaping out of the shadows than you would have by making a direct assault.”

Zagir shrugged, “the dead aren’t listening to our challenge. You Zar’qin bar our destined path. Stand aside and I’ll put an end to our contest of blades. Go ahead if not, pit your steel against mine if you think that fate will favor either of you. A duel of words won’t spare the lives of our kin battling each other even as we speak.”

Magar said, “humor me just once, assassin. Do you Ashen Blades keep names for yourselves? A simple Zar’qin would like to know.”

The woman tilted her head a fraction higher to meet his curious eyes. She studied him back, finding both Kalb and himself unbowed and unbroken. A mischievous smile played upon pursed lips, but an unbridled malice glinting in her gaze betrayed an anticipation for a contest of blades fought without honor and remorse.

“I am Zagir,” the Ashen Blade admitted. “A disciple of the Withered Fang and a champion of its notorious kabal.”

A moment passed between the three warriors, the tension heightening like a storm reaching a peak of destruction. A burden of anxiety made the heart quicken inside the chest. Scarred fingers tightened around the spear haft with a vice-grip.

And the endless rain continued pouring down into the Ardent Spire, buried deep inside Tushik’s bowels. It became difficult enough to look ahead that Zagir appeared to fade back into the light-less depths.

Zagir called out. “Honor my blade with your skill.”

With a cock of the head, Magar looked up at Kalb. A communication made through quiet, knowing expressions. He couldn’t guess at the abhorrent look worn on the bearish warrior’s marred features. An unwavering disgust, maybe? Or just a grim acceptance of their own demise?

Kalb approached their foe with an overbearing presence of strength. Magar readied the weapons in either hand and did likewise, warding away a potential assault on his brother’s left flank. A pair of battle-hardened eyes tracked Zagir of the Withered Fang’s casual retreat away from both opponents.

He counted internally against his own volition, battle instincts noting each step the Ashen Blade took for every several made by the Bloodsworn. And each footfall brought Zagir a little more into a threatening stance. Standing proudly in retreat, her physical frame curled and coiled like a wound-up tool until she prowled ahead of them like a feline.

An alpha predator prepared to end her hunt.
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords: Quick Update
Post by: Myen'Tal on September 23, 2022, 09:25:30 AM
Quick Update here - post-manuscript evaluation revisions have reached 50%.

I’ve reached Chapter 12 for my current revisions, and am planning to finish the chapter before too long.

Word count is constant flux between 100,000 - and 110,000 during the process so far. I've streamlined and replaced a lot of the content in older chapters. I've chosen to entirely replace a few chapters as well in some cases and have made additional ones too.

I am adhering as close to the current overall narrative arc where possible. My focus isn't on creating new plot devices, but fleshing out the depth, context, stakes, and character narratives already established in the rough draft. Basically, my focus is on creating a more expansive narrative off the - skeletal bones of the rough draft.

Dialogue and dialogue tags, scene-by-scene streamlining of descriptions, and a revamp of sentence structure line by line are other efforts I am focused on from my part. And then the editor can go on what I've learned and implemented when the rest of the editing process is underway.

I am also placing a much larger emphasis on character narrative and interaction. This includes an expansion on the perspectives, narratives, and roles of both support and secondary characters to strengthen their overall presence and mark on the manuscript as a whole.

Also - keep watch on this thread between mid-October and November - another illustration is soon to get underway!

That is all for now!
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords: Another Update *Drumroll*
Post by: Myen'Tal on October 14, 2022, 05:36:19 PM
Another website update - near to the final round of additions to the Khios continent kingdom summaries.

Illustration #2 is set to begin next week - so get ready!

The focus will be on the Battle at Reaper's Lantern!

There will be a few more additional updates to the website coming too - a gallery in the works, and some changes in the World of Thearus section in general.

As for the current revision milestone - I have progressed from Chapter 12 to Chapter 14.

And have definitely crossed the halfway point at this junction.

There is a minor issue of the Crimson Bluffs not being given its name in bold above the summary, but will soon be fixed.

Will need one more addition to the Khios summaries for Rynithia.
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords: Quick Update
Post by: Sir_Godspeed on October 15, 2022, 02:20:20 PM
Just saw the world map, really cool!
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords: Quick Update
Post by: Myen'Tal on October 15, 2022, 06:11:34 PM
Thank you, Sir_Godspeed! The artist I worked with did wonders with the information and sketch I made  :) .
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords: Status and Website Update
Post by: Myen'Tal on November 15, 2022, 04:14:11 PM
Another status update on A Sanctum of Swords' production cycle:

- The revision process has advanced from Chapter 14 into Chapter 16 (new addition to the manuscript!). Everything continues apace, but requires a large amount of time investment. Continuing to make progress one step at a time!

- There are about 9 remaining chapters to be revised before completion.

- Manuscript is currently sitting at a 111,000 word count.

- Illustration #2 is completed! This is now live on my website (signature) that has received a large update that is now live as well. You will find a revamping of artwork throughout the lore section and a brand new gallery as well.

Marching onward toward completion!

Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords: Art of Death - Excerpt
Post by: Myen'Tal on November 18, 2022, 09:27:08 PM
Just thought I'd share a brief teaser to show where revisions are currently. Here you go!

6
Art of Death - Excerpt


A metaphysical pulse rippled through the deep places beneath Akara Sanctuary. A stirring of something beyond realities, borne out of nothingness. Enigma approached the Gates of Dusk buried in the roots of the Southern Wastes.

He became a passing shadow along the cobblestone road snaking through Akara’s heart. An endless procession of torches burning along either side of the path guided his descent.

He had entered the sanctuary as an invader. An inanimate blade guided by Zahira’s hand to reap the sands of another mortal life. A blade long severed from its master’s hand.

A pivot of the heel turned him onto the route leading farther into the subterranean depths. Another push off the back foot diverted Enigma from the roadway ascending into the royal district above Akara’s terraced design. A collection of compact palace-citadels, their foundations carved out of the earth like gargantuan slabs, woven through with granite and other natural stone.

He turned about, facing the path ahead into the unfathomable depths. A cautious feeling came with the act of turning his back against the natural sunlight pouring through the gaping wounds in the subterranean ceiling. An unapproachable gate back into the Southern Wastes, the dunes searing beneath the Golden Sun.

And Enigma spiraled deeper into the black descent, distant from the lantern’s light.
He made the rapid descent appear natural, reaching the zenith of physical acceleration into Akara’s bazaar warrens. An amalgamation of market districts compacted along the forefront of the shantytown giving the warrens its namesake. Hanging lanterns swayed from large posts between the back-alleys and snaking dirt paths running between the impoverished sprawl.

An emptiness haunted the district, an absence of souls navigating the winding bazaars. Neither did any families or roguish figures haunt the hearth and homes arrayed along the higher Warrens.

A darkness sprang out from the alley, approaching quickly on his left flank. A hazed outline of coiling shade, dancing beneath the hanging lanterns ahead of him. Enigma ground himself to an abrupt halt, sliding back beyond the reach of the Ashen Blade’s gleaming blade. A lengthened one handed sword adorned with an extended hilt, an emerald tassel dangling from the pommel.

He caught the Sukhanite’s fluid thrust on the back of his wrist. The silver blade fell away from him, pushed aside with an uncaring sweep. She flitted back across the cobblestones for space, answered with but a change of stance to bring himself inside of her guard.

Dominion’s End slid free of the scabbard when Enigma reinforced the weight on the Ashen Blade’s sword arm. He lunged, punching straight toward her right lung.

Daring above most the usual kindred in the penitent order, the female Ashen Blade leaned into Enigma’s thrust. Another push against his momentum turned his sword arm at the elbow. He tracked the blade parting through empty air where her freed arm had rested a moment before.

Enigma detected more footfalls pounding the cobblestone toward the combat. He counted a pair, three, and then five kindred warriors by hearing alone.

He tucked and rolled beneath the Reaper’s Scythe, the serpentine shaped glaive sweeping overhead. Spinning Dominion’s End around his fingers to catch the weapon in a reverse grip, Enigma came back to his feet. A barked shout of pain resounded throughout the quiet underground. The gladius punched down through the joint behind the kneecap, splitting the flesh and bone beneath. 
Faltering, the young male staggered back, still caught on the embedded blade. Another spring off the back foot pushed him past the glaive’s pendulum-like fall. Leather boots shuffled across the cobblestones to block any escape route. Enigma bolted between another pair of Ashen Blades defending the rear guard, colliding into their blockade.

Dominion’s End parried a couple lightning thrust for the eyes, its wielder driving a savage knee into the other assassin. Another female Ashen Blade folded in twain upon their collision, hitting the road with an audible impact.

A keening sound, like a blade swept through stagnant air, hurtled toward him. Enigma weaved beneath the blow, tracking the Reaper’s Scythe, cleaving the head of the male stabbing at him cleanly from the body. He didn’t pause, scrambling back and around the stiffened corpse, still swaying upright. A shortened blade came off of his belt with a flick of the wrist.

The scythe-bearing warrior buckled from the dagger thrown from Enigma’s hand, straight through the beating heart inside the chest. A clinking sound, like a bolt loosed from a crossbow’s housing, pursued him through the dim lighting.

Reality blurred when closing both eyes, navigating the Crescent Haven’s obscuring shroud by the mind alone. He burst out of the moonlit darkness, darting forward at full-tilt. Dominion’s End swept in an arc ahead of him, cutting straight through the flesh and bone beneath the midnight silk of a kindred assassin’s robes.

Enigma pushed past without seeing the blow land, just blood splattering the cobblestones another couple of feet ahead. A softened thump punctuated the silk garbed assassin’s graceful fall to the cobblestones.

Still, Enigma didn’t arrest his momentum, racing alongside the Sukhanite female wielding the tasseled silver sword just mere paces beside him. Sliding back again, he turned Dominion’s End around to hold in reverse. A thick splattering of blood splashed the midnight black of his uniform.

An untarnished blade clattered to the roadside, the foe creeping up for the mortal blow, staggered past. He parried another strike from the tasseled sword over the head of the Sukhanite seeping blood from a wounded throat. A trembling hand pressed against the pouring cut, the injured assassin collapsed to his knees to stem the bleeding.

He stepped back and reaped the fallen kin with a downward thrust, clean through the spinal cord. 

A merciful blow to end another soul's needless suffering.

A leaping kick cracked against Enigma’s jawbone with dazing force. A strike landed hard enough to pitch his head at an awkward angle. Yet he glimpsed the tasseled silver blade coming up over the falling kick, a quick thought from cutting through a vulnerable throat.

He didn’t crane his head into a correct angle, but cracked an elbow hard into the Ashen Blade’s sternum. He corrected his posture upon seeing her tumble backward onto the roadside.

Dominion’s End swept back behind him, cutting deep into the fingers clutched around the blade striking up toward the gullet. Crimson droplets rained down at Enigma’s feet, the disarmed short blade tumbling from the wounded hand to the corpse-strewn earth.

Wounded, the Ashen Blade’s yielded with a kneeling gesture. Poised to strike again, Enigma halted before landing the mortal blow. He paused, considerate of the reckless youth before him. A grateful sound emanated through the pained notes of the warrior’s voice when he turned to disappear at Enigma’s dismissive gesture.

Another subtle clink of a bolt loosed from a crossbow resonated throughout the underground. The shrill cry that followed sounded deafening by comparison. He turned about, finding the woman with the tasseled blade staggering back. She clutched the heavy steel-tipped bolt, punched straight through her beating heart, protruding out the other end of her back in what could only be a welter of blood.

His opponent managed a graceful fall to her knees. He detected the subtle but intentional inclination of her head in acknowledgement of the legend standing before her. Her head lulled for the last time. A sputtering sigh escaped her lips as the corpse became still.

He cleaned Dominion’s End with a flick of the wrist and a piece of white cloth hanging from the silk belt around his waist. Upon sheathing the blade, Enigma bowed deeply to the fallen kindred, still seated upright in the warrior’s fashion.

An oppressive silence followed the struggle’s aftermath.

A familiar voice crept out of the darkness back the way he had entered.

“Honorable kills, brave traveler,” Anoush said, “I’m certain Zahira will hand them a guiding light through the Gates of Her Palace.”

She stepped out of the dark into the light of a hanging lantern. He didn’t respond, waiting until the moment her companion, the Ferryman, emerged out from behind her shadow. He whistled sharply over her shoulder, taking in the battle with disbelieving eyes, awe-struck.

“And you reaped their lives with little effort.” He calmed, timing his breathing despite not having fought. “The battle happened quick enough to give an experienced blade like myself anxiety. An hourglass game I hope you’ll remember, Enigma, dwindled down to the last grain.”
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords: Status Update
Post by: Myen'Tal on December 7, 2022, 09:08:34 AM
Quick status update on manuscript progression:

A Sanctum of Sword's manuscript revisions have entered the final stages. I've progressed through Chapter 16 to Chapter 19. Just six more chapters to go as of this morning.

Manuscript's current word count has reached approximately 119,000-ish words.

Once the manuscript is complete, will run some smaller revisions running to the appointment with the editor.

I hope everyone is enjoying the holiday season!
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords: Audio Book Goal Announcement
Post by: Myen'Tal on December 15, 2022, 07:42:02 PM
Hi everyone!

Another update!

I've progressed some 2,000 words into Chapter 19 and am hoping to complete the chapter and begin delving into #20 during the weekend.

Progress continues apace and I'm still on track to my current deadline to get the production cycle moving.

Also - as the title suggests - I wanted to go ahead and announce that I am aiming to have ASOS produced as an audio book version to be available at launch alongside everything else (I am planning on ebook for certain - and am researching hardback as well. More info on the hardcover will be available closer to launch!)

That's it!

Happy holidays,
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords: A Quick Update!
Post by: Myen'Tal on December 21, 2022, 09:02:29 AM
A Sanctum of Swords - Update Summary:

Completed Chapter 19 after another 4,000 words and I am set to begin Chapter 20 soon.
Work continues apace - still on target to meet my deadline.
Four chapters and an epilogue remaining.

This is going to be a difficult remaining third act I think - as I am going to likely rebuild most of each chapter to reflect each narrative change and to expand the initial scenes, in addition to streamlining them.

We will see how it goes!
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords: A Quick Update
Post by: Myen'Tal on January 3, 2023, 12:08:22 AM
Quick Summary:

Holiday break is done here for myself!

I have returned to ASOS' manuscript revisions and have reached about another 2500 words into Chapter 20. I am looking to have the chapter completed over the next couple of days.

Gearing up to meet the goal line - will keep everyone updated!

Title: RE: A Sanctum of Swords: Chapter 16 - A Throne Between the Stars Excerpt
Post by: Myen'Tal on January 5, 2023, 10:27:05 PM
###

Seated around the hearth’s burning flame, Gadara watched the embers scatter about the abandoned temple of Zahira. Lesser pieces of the kindled flame, brought little light into the interior space’s dark atmosphere. Around her, the embers withered to dead ash, the gentle dark returning in the absence of the kindled lights. That cycle of illumination and darkness, sun and moon, represented much the same symbolism of the hearth altar itself: the immortal cycle between life and death.

Gadara had found a quiet place during daybreak to keep her vigil about the temple. Hours had passed afterward, the sands waning in the hourglass she kept safe on the altar the only method for keeping the time.

Her elder brother, Mahir of Suann, spoke above the softened roar of the flames. “You’ve been keeping quiet since the early dawn. You’ve nothing to speak about during our final evening here in Suann?”

She didn’t look up, but found her brother’s hazed outline with a mere turn of her head. “I haven’t thought of anything to say all morning. I can’t think of anything to ask about that I don’t already know your answer to… And my mind has been brooding throughout the last couple evenings about our mother. I don’t know how Lucine will fare without her children.”

“Speaking about everything you just mentioned would be a good beginning,” Mahir said. “Gadara, you’ve never quite been comfortable enough being weighed down or restrained by fear of the unknown and uncertain.”

“Quite the assumption, brother,” Gadara chuckled, “to think that I’ve never concerned myself about anything ever before.”

“I said you’ve never concerned yourself enough to be restrained or weighed down by mortal fears… You’ve might never have noticed, but I don’t believe you’ve ever been afraid of anything. Not enough to keep you back from achieving everything you dared to achieve or dream about. Your climbing up the Suanna Bluffs despite many broken bones, your feats of agility and dexterity against many of Suann’s most talented youths… and your invitation from Sanctum Queen Karayan to become an Ashen Blade–“

“Just like yourself, brother?” Gadara interrupted, smiling at him. “Not quite the unique achievement like the previous points you made.”

“That may be the truth for the time being, but everything changes with time. Just like Lucine has always told us.”

“I don’t think half-a-day passes before mother reminds us again…” Gadara’s sentence trailed off from a resurgence of her fear of the uncertain. “It won’t be long before I miss mother and Suann… and maybe you after another several years have passed.”

“Just like you’ve always stated,” Mahir said, “I believe that Zahira will cross our future paths sooner than you may think. Still, the years that will pass between now and then might change us both beyond recognition.”

Gadara looked up for the first time in several hours, meeting her elder brother’s darkened stare. “You believe the sands in the hourglass will change you that much? So much so that maybe not even you will recognize yourself?”

Her elder brother didn’t speak for a moment, contemplating Gadara’s spoken question. “You’ve never been one for being afraid of the uncertain and unknown. You should leave those fears to your elder brother. I’ve enough courage to carry your burden on my shoulders alongside my own… Just be certain to keep your wits about you and continue living. Your elder brother shan’t disappear from either your memories or our current reality, at least not for some time yet…”

###
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords: Update Summary
Post by: Myen'Tal on January 20, 2023, 09:39:26 AM
Time is ticking down to the final hour before my appointment with the editor.

I am also happy to announce that I am still on track to get my manuscript over to said editor at the appointed time. I have started on chapter 23 and once it is finished, only the epilogue will remain. I'm still making frequent edits on every scene in recent chapters. I've gotten so used to correcting the mistakes that I recognize commonly and using the streamlining process that I've become accustomed with, it's honestly not requiring too much effort to get each scene and their respective chapters to a good place.

Once this is completed - it's time to hit the paint table again.
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords: Update Summary
Post by: Myen'Tal on January 22, 2023, 12:28:59 PM
Another status update!

I've commenced the great work on Chapter 23 - scene one is completed. I will continue on to complete the chapter soon.
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords: Update Summary
Post by: Dread on January 29, 2023, 03:00:44 PM
Glad you're still plugging along on this. Hope you maintain your sanity.
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords: Update Summary
Post by: Myen'Tal on January 29, 2023, 05:30:17 PM
Glad you're still plugging along on this. Hope you maintain your sanity.

Haha, thank you, Dread! I am doing my best!

I've actually delayed the appointment for a little bit just to take a rebreather for the next little while.

I will update once the gears are turning again!
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords: Chapter 21 - The Hourglass Game Excerpt
Post by: Myen'Tal on February 6, 2023, 08:14:44 PM
Just sharing a later chapter excerpt as I finish up to get this ball rolling toward the launch date.

Chapter 21: The Hourglass Game Excerpt

“Our paths diverged earlier than anyone might’ve anticipated.” Korian spoke aloud, each word echoing across a celestial bridge running between dimensions. “During our time on the mortal sphere. The three of us have treaded our darkening horizons into the Penitent Sanctuary. Our paths have crossed again at long last.”

“Strange,” Gadara said, “I had always thought that after taking the Penitent Pact, that none of us would ever see each other again. Despite the passing decades, each separate road that we tread upon through life have always reunited us before too long.”

Journeying deep toward the beating heart of the labyrinth, the unnatural world began to alter inside of Mahir’s mind. Together, the mortal children of Thearus delved deeper through an unnatural passage of cobalt granite, natural bands of gray running through the ancient stone. An endless rampart tunneling beyond time and space, through the deep abyss. Having endured the passing of eons, time had weathered the passage heavily, breaking down the regal stone enough to leave gaping wounds in the hall’s uniformity.

“Our legendary Enigma remains the only exception,” Mahir admitted, “Honored Korian to everyone back home in Suann.” His thoughts paused inside of his mind at a sudden realization. “Though I suppose that was all before your rebellion against Sanctum Queen Karayan. Having been absent from our lives for two decades, maybe you could finally tell us why everything that happened… happened?”

He spied the celestial heavens through the myriad of cracks running through the passage. A black abyss, a scattered veil of nebulous lights glowing throughout the vast expanse. Adrift amid the kaleidoscopic backdrop of nebulae and fathom-less black holes, ancient celestial bodies hurtled through obscuring meteor fields and a myriad of other anomalies.

Mahir noticed Korian looking up into the fathomless dark shrouding the ceiling. A myriad of memories seemed to be running through his contemplative eyes.

“Karayan,” Korian said, shrugging once in acknowledgement. Almost as if the name stole all semblance of will and endurance from him. “An aspect of our Goddess incarnate, assuming the guise of the Reaper that watches us all.”

Descending farther into the broken labyrinth’s heart, the fabric holding reality together began to unravel. Each step made in succession transitioned him further from the Penitent Sanctuary’s unnatural, but familiar aesthetic into something more akin to cosmic.

“Her knowledge has always surpassed my own,” Korian continued, “to an extent enough to make me realize that I understand just a fraction of what she does. Her mastery of the Art of Death was always flawless, a never-ending font of inspiration for a devoted disciple such as myself. An inanimate blade would rather not speak about her charisma nor her myriad of charming guises.

“Our High Queen would only wear any of them on the eve of handing down a marked contract for her Severed Hand to fulfill. Another soul fated to be reaped and offered up on Goddess Zahira’s altar.”

The Penitent Sanctuary’s unnatural reality came undone. Ancient walls shattered long ago remained in some semblance. Shadows of what the Ascended Pantheon had linked to the heart of this realm. Mahir advanced on through the cobalt-gray debris locked in levitation, scattered about the chamber.

“Stranger still then, uncle Korian,” Gadara whispered beneath her breath. The sound seemed inaudible to the other mortals journeying ahead. “You sound like you admired her… maybe even had more intimate emotions for her?”

Korian shrugged again; his stoic countenance unreadable even by Mahir. “Maybe once upon a distant time, before my trial of blades. I was still young back in those days. Amunet would tell you that I might’ve been in the prime of my life. Your uncle was still dark of thought and spirit, only just taking up the Penitent Pact.”

“You journeyed to Akara and pledged yourself to the Ashen Blades?” Mahir cocked his head at Korian. “I’ve never known many kindred daring enough to be that bold.”

“No,” Korian made a purposeful shake of the head. “I hadn’t thought to ever make the journey. I suppose the honest truth is that Karayan had come to Suann the night before everything. She had come to pay my hearth and home a visit. She honored my younger sibling and your mother, Lucine and your father during that time.

“She had heard rumors enough to come seeking me out in person. Our High Queen’s compensation for my induction into the Ashen Blades Syndicate couldn’t be denied. A wealth worth more than the blades of twelve legendary champions of the syndicate¬–an entire vault of precious gemstones and other artifacts given unto Lucine. I had accepted and departed with Karayan without anything to my name.”

Gadara snorted derisively. “It’s difficult to believe that, Korian, considering the humble lives we toiled through during our journey into adulthood.”

“Lucine always said she had no use of the wealth nor any intention to use it. That sacred vault remains somewhere in Suann. Your mother said the vault would only be opened on the fateful dusk that her children returned to hearth and home.”

“I’d wager you’re avoiding the question.” Mahir confessed at last. “Korian, what happened between Karayan and you, if you both admired one another so much?”

All echoes of the physical world vanished without warning. An absence of gravity made his body feather-light, weightless, as the ancient corridor eroded into oblivion’s abyssal shadow. The weathered stone disintegrated underneath his feet; each step taken lending him the impression of walking on wisping clouds.

“An inanimate blade will not yield the truth behind the creation of its aesthetic at the heart of this broken labyrinth. We should not fall behind our noble band of allies. Should we manage to leave this place far behind us, I will retell the narrative of that forgotten rebellion.”

“Mahir,” he heard Jaleh calling from up ahead. “Are you familiar with anything like the heart of this broken place? The celestial laws of reality appear to have no hold on the astral projection of our souls anymore.”

He looked ahead, finding Jaleh walking upon the fathomless void between the stars. A gentle leap off of her backfoot bounced Jaleh high above anyone else. A sapphire nebula in the backdrop framed her body, enveloped in the radiance of a golden sun. In the absence of gravity, Mahir detected something else luring him through the celestial oasis like an invisible reel...

#Excerpt End#
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords: Chapter 21 - The Hourglass Game Excerpt
Post by: Myen'Tal on February 11, 2023, 11:37:37 AM
Announcement - with some immediate changes in life, I am working to postpone A Sanctum of Swords into the tail-end of 2023 or sometime in 2024.

Going through some life changes, but some good ones! Just going to take the time to reap the benefit.

The new release window for A Sanctum of Swords will be updated on the website soon!

Thank you,
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords: Announcement!
Post by: Myen'Tal on February 13, 2023, 05:08:19 PM
A Sanctum of Swords' Revision 2.0 is now completed after eight-and-half months!

Manuscript evaluation #2 will be going forward soon and all other services will reflect the new release window.

Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords: Announcement!
Post by: Myen'Tal on February 17, 2023, 08:26:37 AM
Illustration of Shoushan added to the website gallery!

It's the same one I had done around Fall of 2021.

Hope you guys like the addition!
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords: Chapter 23 - Dominion's End Excerpt
Post by: Myen'Tal on February 21, 2023, 10:50:57 PM
A final excerpt that I wanted to share here, before I get the ball rolling on The Reaper of the Mortal Sands.

I am not sure how the updates will work out from here. I will have a light summary on how I plan to tackle revisions for Manuscript Evaluation #2.

I have an appointment some months from now and we will see how that goes.

However, the good news is that as the new release window rolls in - we should be on the final path to publication!

I will be working on the sequel to A Sanctum of Swords and the second addition to The Embers of the Past series: The Reaper of the Mortal Sands in the meantime!

...............

Karayan transitioned herself out from the abyss into reality. Where silence had once reigned in the unfathomable dark, the haunting resonance of open war now deafened her. A sound magnified eight-fold from inside of the hallowed Throne of the Sun Caller Kings. A clamor created from sundered armor and shattered flesh. Defiant cries and wails born from agony. The throne hall quaked beneath her feet–the golden radiance emanating from the Sun Caller’s throne erratically shifting between flaring and dimming.

Taking in the frigid mountain air, she caught the familiar coppery scent of blood spilled in substantial quantities. She smelled prespire mingled with the metallic taste from the friction of steel tested on steel. Emotions also wafted from hundreds of mortal souls scattered about the throne hall–so thick in the mountain air that it deceived her senses.

She remained stationary as the fanning fires of war heightened around her. Blood flowed over the corridor’s burnished sandstone floor–she tracked yellow-gold eyes across the throne hall’s breadth and back again.

Her dormant remembrance returned over a moment’s span. She recalled the Children of the Sun’s seat of power and a thousand other memories with that revelation. A massive set of doors carved from granite loomed overhead at the main walkway’s end¬. About another world away, Karayan mused, considerate of the conflict between that sealed doorway and herself.

Karayan asked, “An eternity of ruling the greatest empire on this continent, yet you squander everything your ancestors dreamed about creating. I’ve always wondered during these last seven hundred years about what you seem to fear that your predecessors did not? Men and women who lived far longer than you did, their wisdom like a forest when compared to the oasis that remains yours.”

He spoke, “a mortal soul cannot reign as a God King over this Dominion, should they fear the creatures that lurk well beyond the lantern’s light. And like the Sun Callers that came before me, neither am I afraid of the shadows lurking behind night’s shroud.”

“And you must think you’ve somehow deceived me? You believe that you’ve somehow conquered death? You struck the black pact to have your firstborn daughter and yet, the price remains unpaid.”

Erasyl said, “I am no immortal deity, Karayan. My deceased ancestral bloodline should already attest to that. My forebearers embraced mortality, despite the divinity that coursed through their blood. Their sacrifice proves the pact was struck in error, one born from mortal fears.”

“A High Queen possessed of an ancient wisdom such as yourself should take heed of my warning. The Children of Sukhan will break upon the Carth Dominion’s formidable bulwark.”

“You will break the mortal sphere because of your pride and Khios will suffer beneath my dominance. Yet this time, I won’t be foolish enough to relinquish even one mortal soul, not even until the end of the natural sun itself. Should that be the last words shared between us, then let us end our old feud and the proxy war waged between our empires throughout Khios’ darkest nooks and forbidden places.”

Wailing Widow appearing in her hand, the Sanctum Queen slipped into a rigid stance, like a warrior coming to stand at attention. She kept the rapier upright and near to her chest, braced to counter any potential reaction. Karayan had assumed her favored stance so many times over her three thousand year long existence¬–she had long forgotten the burdensome weight of hesitation and dread.

She stood before her nemesis as a visible blade beneath the dusk. The mastermind behind the Art of Death and the Ashen Blades Syndicate’s embodiment made perfect. The Sanctum Queen stood before the Sun Caller’s Throne not as an unseen blade, but the Reaper’s aspect herself. Confidence emanated from her practiced poise like an aura of intimidation.

The names of one hundred marked contracts, notorious renegades to the last man and woman, surfaced to the fore of her mind’s eye. ¬Karayan had slain each of them in turn–one for every passing season for two-and-a-half decades.

Just another grain in the ancient hourglass to represent the sands of an immortal life.

Karayan beckoned Lord Sar Amun down the ziggurat stairwell for a last Trial of Blades. She observed Erasyl climb out of the alabaster and sandstone throne to stride through the celestial flames wreathed around the base. Seven hundred years had changed nothing about him.

Yet Erasyl appeared sapped from whence she had last laid eyes on him.

The endless passing of seasons had reduced the unyielding frame he had kept in the days of his youth, but still retaining a strength of body superior to any mortal being. One thousand years dedicated to achieving a heightened sense of enlightenment that made even his civilization pale in comparison to their God King and divine avatar¬, she mused, that the God King did not appear to mind sacrificing his own origin of myth. Golden radiance still blazed from within his chest–exuding from him like a lantern’s halo of light.

“A Sun Caller King and the last of his line,” Karayan noted, “defending the throne of his ancestors without a weapon to strike down the shadows assailing him? At least pickup a shining blade from one of the dead nearby.”

“I’d think that Goddess Zahira’s daughter and the Reaper’s aspect would have slain a marked soul with no regard for upholding their honor.”

“You’re honor bound enough that I’ll make an exception.” The Sanctum Queen held Erasyl’s divine-touched gaze with eyes of yellow-gold. “I wouldn’t forgive myself for making a fool out of you at the siege of the Golden Valley’s end. However, I can see that you’ve no intention to mark my words. Then honor my blade with your skill…”

Karayan lunged without physically moving a step forward–aiming Wailing Widow for a thrust straight through the God King’s beating heart within his chest. Lord Sar Amun slid back from the thrust to push the rapier aside with a backhand. The God King stepped into the Sanctum Queen’s guard even as she shifted toward avoidance to outmaneuver each crushing blow from his fists.

She ducked beneath an upward hook to weave away from another strike coming from the opposing direction. Karayan dodged him like his own passing shadow beneath the waning sun’s journey from dawn to dusk. Wailing Widow answered him with several weeping cuts carved across the unblemished russet skin on his broad arms.

“I suppose the last seven hundred years have dulled your reaction time.” Karayan mused as she made to dance around her blade-partner. “You strike with the same dull-witted clumsiness that the Qin’sar wield their over-laden and shining blades.”

Erasyl turned on a heel in pursuit of the Sanctum Queen. Stabbing her rapier out toward a vulnerable throat, the God King caught her assault with a backhand across her sword arm on the wrist. Karayan channeled the momentum behind the attack into a half-spin, stealing herself beyond the God King’s immediate reach.

Despite each hastened movement, each move the God King made to counter came with a familiar predictability. Never missing a step of avoidance, Karayan played her Trial of Blades beside Lord Sar Amun. Each successive attack from the God King’s unarmed lim]bs came a subtle degree swifter than the last. Again and over again, each successful parry, block, and counter that Erasyl made in his defense brought Karayan an inch nearer to mis-stepping.

Lord Sar Amun’s offensive bordered on relentless until his endless assault became a windstorm. She spied brief manifestations passing before her eyes. Trails of ignited flames dancing upon each current of wind created in the wake of Erasyl’s offensive. The coiling strands of smoke and fire intersected past one another–sometimes melding into one volcanic cloud that shortened her breaths.

Celestial flames. The Solar God’s wrath channeled into a physical form to be unleashed on the Children of the Sun’s myriad enemies.

Karayan closed her eyes when the God King made to unleash his magic. A mental impulse ushered her beyond the physical world into the Crescent Haven’s phantom abyss. The Throne of the Sun Caller Kings’ lantern radiance vanished from sight until she perceived only a roiling mist amid an ethereal, moonlit void. Even her unnatural sight could barely detect the blazing flames passing straight through her astral projection.

A harmless fire-bolt that would have otherwise annihilated her, now darting straight through her metaphysical form to shatter a molten crater into the ziggurat stairwell between the throne and herself.
His immortal soul burns stronger, she mused, Qalzirai’s essence is growing resurgent within him.

Another impulse shattered her imprisonment in a rain of shadowy shards and golden light spilling through the Crescent Haven’s scattered remnants. Karayan pounced out from the ragged wound in ambush. Wailing Widow lashed out to mark another cut across the God King’s chest, parting the limestone white robe shielding him there. She caught blood’s copper-scent on the unnatural wind that exuded from his wounds–luring her like a shark drawn to wounded prey.

Lord Sar Amun stepped to one side out from the Sanctum Queen’s path with a subtle turn to smack her sword arm away at the wrist another time. She lunged toward Erasyl’s farthest flank before executing a quick feint to take her in the other direction. To her undying amusement, Lord Sar Amun committed to the deception long enough for Karayan to dart in for another thrust.

Erasyl employed a deceitful ruse of his own, she knew in the very moment a sudden impact pushed her legs out from underneath her. Karayan should’ve struck the throne hall’s burnished sandstone floor on her face. She rebounded with a quick tuck and roll instead to save her from such a disgrace, but was unable to stop the sweeping fist connecting square with her gut.

An incredible force stole her breath away, pitching her clean from her feet to cast her into the bloody chaos raging between the Sun Caller’s Throne and the main gates. Several successive impacts rocked her in rapid succession. Karayan registered the sound of bones breaking within unfortunate bystanders upon them being tossed onto discarded weapons or the wielded blades of their enemies.

The snake may recoil from the prey when threatened, to lurk from the shadows and strike another time.

Dazed beyond the ability to concentrate on a whim, Karayan struggled within her mind to ground herself. She managed that mental impulse to call on the Crescent Haven. An invisible rippling through reality answered her, before Karayan fell into the moonlit abyss backward. A sensation like being pushed back beyond a cliff’s ledge into the sea waves washed over her astral projection.

Resisting the fathomless ocean’s call to slumber, Karayan made an effortless flip without the burden of gravity. Another impulse from her mind and Lord Sar Amun’s likeness at the foot of his ancestral throne ushered her back into reality through a hidden exit. A whirlpool leading farther into the darkness beyond even the Crescent Haven’s moonlit mists.

Karayan leapt out from the unstable vortex back into the mortal sphere. She landed gingerly before the Throne of the Sun Caller Kings. Alert, Karayan searched for Erasyl amid the chaos even as her mind combated her disoriented perception.

An elder male’s somber voice–somehow deathly quiet and yet audible even when speaking from a distance, called Sukhan’s High Queen by her name.

“Karayan Akara… Some moons might’ve passed since the last time we’ve spoken.” Korian’s familiar tone and languid accent drifted up from behind her. “Some decades have come and gone at least, but an inanimate blade has retained an immaculate reflection in my mind’s mirror. You haven’t changed nor aged by even a day. That is the truth...”
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords: Tanorith Website Update #1
Post by: Myen'Tal on February 26, 2023, 09:33:57 AM
The first summaries for Tanorith continent are now live ;D. This will be the first of some additions exploring the western realms in further detail.

Check my profile's signature to make your way there.
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords: Revision 2.0 Preview!
Post by: Myen'Tal on February 27, 2023, 10:13:00 PM
Announcement - A Sanctum of Swords Revision 2.0 is back on fictionate.me!

Chapter #1 is free and available in two separate scenes!

The first scene for Chapter 2 is also available, but will require a purchase.

Follow along if you like what you read in the free preview!

Find the link in my signature!
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords: Revision 3 Preview!
Post by: Myen'Tal on April 4, 2023, 11:38:04 PM
Just announcing an update here - that Revision 3.0 has begun. Received my manuscript evaluation back from the editor and am content to know that 2.0 has improved substantially over 1.0

There are still enough things to do warrant another revision before the copy edit - but instead of an overhaul - this one will be far more focused on streamlining / clarity. In essence, cutting more extraneous and detail heavy scenes while also connecting some narrative ends together more seamlessly

Chapters 1 -3 are currently updated to Revision 3 and are available at the link for A Sanctum of Swords on fictionate.me.

On a side note - I decided to brave about a week ago and reached out a voice narrator that's inspired me since I've been able to hear some of the audiobooks she's voiced

We are currently discussing her providing an audio narration for A Sanctum of Swords - more news as we coordinate on solidifying this.
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords: Chapter 6: Oath of Blood Revision 3
Post by: Myen'Tal on April 23, 2023, 08:45:43 PM
Aboard a raft adrift on the Seventh River, Adofo listened to the ferryman’s oar cycle in and out of the water. An elder among the Zar, wizened of features and minimalist of wardrobe, steered the float with a slender wooden oar as long as himself. Crystalline droplets pelted him from where he sat on the platform’s edge, submerging his bare legs in the chilling waters.

He inhaled a draft of the mountain valley’s crisp air, finally finding time enough to breathe after descending the Golden Mountain. An absent hand keeping his unequipped leather boots near to him, his mind wandered elsewhere.

The descent had taken the entire sunrise alongside having to spend the noon hour navigating the High Quarter erected around the foot of the Golden Mountain. The Golden Sun had fallen from its zenith after leaving via the Sun Gate into the Qaira Quarter. A small adventure through the Grand Bazaars and several market stalls in around the mercantile district, Adofo procured a ferryman’s aid to ferry his Bloodsworn from the Qaira Quarter to the Artifice Quarter on the city outskirts.

“You seem elsewhere, First Blade.” Elmas approached Adofo from behind to stand near the raft’s corner by his side. A gentle breeze sifted its fingers through her hair and obscured her words. “You must be thinking about Lady Siham.”

“You make it look so simple.” Adofo didn’t look up at his Second Blade as her shadow fell over him, shielding him a little more from the evening dusk. “Reading a man’s mind that is. Or it might be that I am making a poor attempt to conceal how I feel.”

Adofo observed the ferryman guide his raft past other slender vessels on the waterways’ primary routes. Yet more sea-faring platforms and slender craft occupied the lesser canals branching off from the Seventh River into Tushik’s densely urbanized areas. He marked the occasional Qaira warship, three hundred oars used to power each, bristling with substantial firepower and a sizable garrison of Zar’qin auxiliaries.

Elmas knelt beside him as he sat on the raft’s edge, leveling their differences in height.

“I guessed. That much is simple to understand.” Elmas smirked, staring out across the river beside him. “I’ve forgotten how long ventures from the Golden Mountain to the city outskirts can take. We’ve walked from sunrise till the evening dusk, our work is always unending for us.”

“It will be nightfall by the time we arrive,” Adofo said, “our benefactor said she will be waiting for us in the Ardent Spire beneath the city.”

He spied the Palanquin Floats of the Sar nobility scattered about fleets of fishing canoes. Every vessel drifted inland as the Golden Sun threatened to fall beneath the horizon, to anchor for the night in the Seventh River’s many harbors and dockyards.

“Our brethren seem to be in good spirits still.” Elmas acknowledged a score of seasoned Zar warriors animated in quiet conversation on the raft behind them.

Survivors of famous campaigns with enough distinction to see them rewarded with retirement from the legion and instated into the palace guard. The Bloodsworn numbered as a single group of oath-bound guardians among many defending the royal palace.

“Siham will be found in the throne hall of her ancestors, Adofo. While your companions and you are headed into certain danger to meet our benefactor. There will be another night to look forward to in Heaven’s Gate, unless our lives come to an end inside of the Ardent Spire.”

“Right as always, Elmas.” Adofo gazed up toward the sky where the night bled into the dusk. “My mind has been adrift as of late, but that’s why I have you around, right? You keep my head clear in times of conflict. I will lay my concerns for Siham to rest for the night. Once we’ve achieved our mission here, we’ll be back in the royal palace at sunrise.”

Satisfied, Elmas nodded.

“That’s unusual for you to ask after me like that. Should I be concerned about you? Does your First Blade not meet the standard to lead the Bloodsworn anymore?”

She smiled at him, a broad expression that lingered on her lips for but a moment.

“It may be uncommon, but we’re friends, aren’t we?”

Adofo looked to her, finding Elmas watching him through a sidelong glance.

“You needn’t remind me,” he said, “my nearest one is you. You know that.”

Elmas scoffed, carried away by the wind of an approaching storm.

“You must mean Siham, certainly? You’re much more comfortable around her than we’ll ever be. Your late hours spent in her room and the later morning that you both emerge attest to that.”

Adofo cackled with laughter, taken by surprise. Elmas watched him sober, noting that coy grin playing on his scarred lips.

“Are you about to tell me you’re jealous?” Adofo asked. “You’ve always mocked me for loving her, though you’ve always tried to be supportive of my foolish choices. Are you going to tell me that you’re worth more to me than our fairest lady?”

Adofo paused, killing the tension building up between them with a serious note. “You know you’ve little to be offended about if that was true, though we both know your worth is immesurable compared to myself. You could sway any Qin’sar in the Golden Valley if you wanted. I’ve heard a few of them are quite taken with you.”

That unfamiliar tension returned as Elmas deigned to leave her answer unspoken. She didn’t speak, letting Adofo piece together her displeasure beneath a quiet observance. Watching her back, Adofo found the vivid green shade of her eyes beautiful, the lure behind them almost enough to physically pull him nearer to her.

She snapped their reverie with a turn of her head, attracted by the High Quarter’s lantern lights.

“If we’re being honest, First Blade, I’d rather hear you speak honeyed words over any Qin’sar. I wouldn’t be too quick to dismiss the hearts of women, no matter who you choose to love. You aren’t that unnotable as to be discounted for many women’s ideal of a soulmate. Neither mine nor Siham’s.”

“I’m flattered,” Adofo said, “but come on, Elmas, there must be someone that’s caught your eye, certainly?”

Her cheeks gently blushing, Elmas confessed at long last. “I’ve little time to consider partnering with a male, but the Dominion’s laws grant a handful of the Zar the privilege of marriage. My situation of romance shares nothing with your predicament, but… I’ve been wondering about Magar as of late.

“Don’t look at him behind us, but he comes by often during the night to leave beautiful bundles of flowers by my door. Every morning brings something different and I know it’s a small thing, but…”

“I’m not disappointed,” Adofo nodded, “you could actually do far worse than him. He might be the most inexperienced in our ranks, but there is a reason he was inducted into the Bloodsworn. He shares your age and is actually the opposite to you in a number of ways, but similar in many more as well.”

“Courageous, but often reckless. Daring and reactionary, and kind like the Magar that we’ve always known. I almost thought him too good-natured for combat and warfare, but he distinguished himself on the steppes of the U’skar Qi, aiding the city of Xura with the rest of his unit.”

“Could I maybe ask you a question?” Elmas changed the subject. “Though you might consider it too personal to give me an answer.”

“What are you wanting to know?”

“You’re of the Bloodsworn. A retired veteran from the legion and a guardian of the Royal Palace. You’ll walk away from the Golden Valley as a free man within a few years, like the rest of us. If the Dominion broke your chains and allowed you to depart in peace, would you leave the Carth Dominion to journey wherever you desired? Would that mean anything without Lady Siham Sar Amun’s love to look forward to with each new dawn? Or… would you consider taking Siham with you if you did decide on leaving the Golden Valley behind?”

Difficult questions without any simple answers, Adofo thought, looking up toward the starlit heavens as night blanketed the City of Grand Canals.

“Well,” Adofo began, “I don’t know what my love for Siham really looks like to you, but her devotion might be more real to me than maybe anything I’ve known in a long time. Siham has gone to great lengths to shield me from the worst consequences haunting our relationship. She treads a blade’s edge for me every now and again, though she understands that she doesn’t have to, nor should have to. In that alone remains a debt that I cannot easily see repaid.”

“You’re just ignoring the possibility that she might think you’re nothing more than a possession? Children of the Sun think that way. That alone makes me concerned for you, Adofo.”

“You might think it’s foolish, but I will always love Siham until her inevitable kiss goodbye. We’ve always known that our relationship was never fated to last forever. We decided to enjoy the time we’re able to share with each other instead. I think that will be the truth whenever that may happen.”

A jolt rocked the raft as it brushed up against a pier of granite stone, blanketed with soot from the surrounding manufactories. Adofo spied several-story buildings, billowing with flames and clouds of charred smoke that made the building appear as if it were burning along its higher floors.

Adofo removed both of his legs from the canal, drying them with a spare towel before donning them again. Elmas loomed over him as all conversation aboard the Languid Mermaid faded to silence.

Amused faces turned to stone as the Bloodsworn amassed around their first and second blades, palms on their sheathed weapons and shields held tight across their chests.


Post Merge: April 23, 2023, 08:46:10 PM
In the future, please use the modify button. Double posting is against the forum rules, and for that reason, the system merged your posts.

“Brethren,” Adofo climbed back to his feet. “We’ve heard many myths about the Old Ruin beneath the city. I wouldn’t give credence to superstition but, I’m not one for tempting fate either. Be cautious and prepared for anything. Fall into formation and let’s move quickly.”

Twin pillars flanked the rough stone pier, flames burning from torches fastened to the blackened stone, covered in soot in every nook and crevice. A discreet entrance into the artifice quarter known to many a rogue, Adofo knew, the quickest route to the Ardent Spire beneath the main city.

He gazed up into a tapestry of patchwork quilted cloth and other roughspun blankets. Utilitarian manufactories flanked an entire swathe of the dirt road ahead, their industrial fires burning bright into the night.

“The Artifice Quarter,” Elmas gasped, awe-struck, “I haven’t ventured to the valley outskirts in years. A small measure of beauty lingers here, even beneath all the soot.”

“The gate into the Ardent Spire remains a league or so ahead,” Adofo said, “be cautious, this place is a maze unto itself, everything around this area was created well over a milennia ago.

“Be generous with the light once we’ve delved deep into the Ardent Spire. It will be the only light source to guide our way. Expect nothing, but prepare for anything.”

A formation of black thunderhead clouds swept above the Golden Valley, blotting out the ethereal moon and its starlit void. Lightning bristled, falling from the heavens without warning to strike the mortal sphere far below. A furious wind battered the artifice quarter, whipping up the waters of the Seventh River until they began to rumble like the thunder from high above.

The Bloodsworn assumed a tight-knit formation, shields arrayed in a wall against their outward-facing flanks. They advanced at his command, braving the narrow back-alleys running between the manufactories.

A wailing wind lashed about the patchwork blankets suspended above the winding road. Curtains of falling rain poured through the ceiling of cloth, coming down hard enough to obscure the way forward.

Audible notes of laughter and hushed conversation played from behind the privacy of soot-stained walls and gnarled oak doors, barred behind wooden beams. Soot collecting on the cobblestone road broke apart beneath their boots, turning to obsidian pools in the rain.

Silence haunted their journey as the road began to coil from up ahead. Looking over the railing as they neared the gate into the Ardent Spire, a spiraling descent waited below that would take another hour, leading into the city bowels. What awaited them in the light-less abyss at the descent’s end, Adofo could only guess.

They descended without hesitation, until the industries of the Artifice Quarter loomed far beyond their immediate reach.

“It’s an ominous night,” he said, “a storm wind batters the canals above and rain has soaked our armor through. You can hardly hear the thunder from these depths. Just a subtle tremor running deep through the earth.”

“And I’ve not spied a living soul since we entered the Artifice Quarter,” Magar replied, “just abandoned streets and emptied smithies, even the local craftsmen workshops.”

“Seeking shelter from another eastern storm from the steppes,” Elmas said, “maybe another event had happened earlier in the afternoon. It makes things easier for us regardless.”

“This has always been a cursed place, beneath the city.” Kalb sighed aloud into the rain and cracking thunder. We had an altercation here with the Crimson Lions back when they were a famed name. We fought a running battle on the path we’re on now, even while we speak. Remember that, Adofo?”

He didn’t laugh, overwhelmed by a seventh sense, and the disturbing feeling that brought.

“We had enough torchlight to guide our blades against them. You had almost lost your eye to their war leader that night.”

“Their champion was a vicious scoundrel, defiant up until the end too. He led quite a notorious band, but their reputation fell into ruin that night. I often thought about how we managed to fight our way out of the Ardent Spire back to the royal palace.”

“That was all before your induction into the Bloodsworn, Magar,” Elmas said, “just before I was promoted into the palace guard. We’ve a few leaders that keep workarounds for cheating death at every turn. All in the name of reaping yet more vain glories.”

“Well I’ve reaped enough,” Kalb replied, “more than anyone here. I was just noting that nothing looks different about this place. I’d wager that all the blood spilled that night might still linger on the stone.”

The spiraling stairwell leveled out to a flat road that stretched on into the dark. Flickering torchlight pealed back the darkness lying in wait ahead, banished for every several paces taken forward.

Elmas halted, her breath locked in her lungs upon her body turning rigid. Adofo looked back to regard her, watching her squeeze both eyes shut while she struggled internally. He made to call for a physician or anyone with the ability to help.

Elmas doubled over, a trembling hand against her stomach, and emptied its contents. His brethren scrambled clear before Adofo had thought to. He stepped to one side to avoid where the bile would strike, placing a hand on her back for support.

His other hand on her shoulder, he barked out a relieved laugh. She exhausted the last of her sickness after heaving a second time. Adofo knew what caused the illness. The sickly-sweet stench of death and decay, concealed amid the city bowels.

Her hand came away from his wrist, previously latched around it for support. Regulating her breathing, she staggered twice before recovering herself enough to stand.”

Her cheeks turned to rose-red, unable to conceal the blush of embarrassment.

“Apologies.” That was all Elmas deigned to speak.

“It appears you spoke the truth, Kalb.” Adofo removed both hands from Elmas, turning to regard the path ahead alongside the rest of the Bloodsworn. “Nothing appears to have changed here in the Ardent Spire after our battle. A forgotten footnote in Tushik’s history.”

Adofo commanded the torchbearers forward with hand-gestures, watching their cautious advance to comb and scout the surrounding area. He stalked forward, the Bloodsworn’s leather boots squelching in the rainwater pooling on the cobblestone road behind him.

“Strange,” Magar added, “an ominous message to the superstitious, written in the faded blood and crumbling bones of the dead abandoned down here.

“It still smells like death,” Elmas said, “unfortunates must have perished here only recently.”

Unmarred by the soot of the Artifice Quarter, Adofo spied a faded wine-red mosaic through the water. It looked like an ancient, glowing hex painted with blood. A diabolic shape that rippled beneath the water’s refracted light.

Fragments of bleached bone and decayed armor scraps littered the flooded path ahead. Some appeared sundered messily apart, while others crumbled with time and exposure to the elements. An open graveyard spanning only a league of the Ardent Spire’s main road.

A weathered gate loomed ahead of them, leading into an abandoned district lost to Tushik’s ancient past. It appeared to be opened, falling to the wayside to permit free entry.

Kalb, select half of our number and appoint Magar as your second. Anyone that Kalb passes over will follow me and Elmas. Let’s search for this abandoned district up ahead. Spread out and let’s see if we can find our benefactor.”

Kalb called out ten of his brethren by name. Called to arms, they advanced at his back through the open gates into the ancient ruins.

“Do you really think our benefactor maybe waiting for us in here? I think a Child of the Sun would rather fall from the royal palace down the Golden Mountain’s height.”

“I wonder if anyone inside of this crypt might even still be alive.” Adofo searched the surrounding colonnades and alcoves with hawk-eyes. “Come on, let’s not leave Kalb on his own for too long.”

An urgent shout came from up ahead. Adofo recognized Kalb’s biting bark commanding his warriors. He ran ahead without warning, Elmas and the others pursuing hard on his heels through the open gate.

Passing through the gate in several strides, he came to a sharp halt when failing to spot Kalb’s warriors anywhere in sight.

“Kalb!?” Adofo shouted into the light-less depths, his voice punctuated by a furious boom of thunder from the heavens above. “Gods, running toward the perilous unknown as always.”

A dim inkling of torchlight in the darkness wavered in the near distance.

A woman’s familiar voice spoke from an arm’s length away.

“You’re also running into the same unknown amid the dark and storm. Why admonish anyone following in their leader’s example?”

He startled, his heart leaping within his chest as he staggered back from a marble stairwell spiraling up into an ancient watchtower. A hand reached out for the pommel of his blade as he searched the abandoned settlement for a hostile presence.

“You’re late, Adofo Akopian of the Zar’qin Guard.” She called out to him again, whistling to lure him into looking in the right direction. “Here I am. Hidden in plain sight.”

Adofo fell out from his combat stance, finding his benefactor seated at the base of the spiral stairwell.

A Child of the Sun, russet of skin and in her life’s prime, though Adofo knew she kept several centuries to her name. Almost enough to rival her immortal father, Lord Erasyl Sar Amun.

Twisting locks of lustrous obsidian strands spilled across her shoulders in neatened coils. Her eyes, one bright like emerald and marred with four scars that ran diagonally over her left eyelid. The other eye shone like black-veined silver, to find the soul housed beneath the flesh and bone beneath.

She was equipped in a foreign style of armor. A raven black brigandine worn most often by the warriors of Tanorith continent. A western world far beyond the Black Sea. Pieces of segmented plate steel reinforced her left shoulder and both arms from wrist to elbow.

An elegant estoc rested against her midnight black saora leggings, the clothes tucked into tall leather boots of boiled brown leather.

Cautious footfalls approached through the rain as Elmas made to join them. She gasped, her eyes alight with recognition upon finding the Child of the Sun seated on the stairwell.
 
“Lady Shoushan Sar Amun.” Elmas proclaimed. “Firstborn daughter of the Sun Caller Kings and Heiress of the Carth Dominion.”

Shoushan regarded them both with a polite smile.

“You arrived later than I expected. We’ve little time in the hourglass to avert our fated disaster.”

Elmas cocked her head at Adofo, an uncertain look shared between them. “Heiress, what are you doing waiting in this abandoned district? Adverting disaster? Are you being pursued? We discovered a few dead warriors outside. Did you dispatch them?

Shoushan didn’t bat an eyelash, watching the Bloodsworn maintain guard at the gate until further orders.

“You’ve no need to call me Heiress. Just my name will suffice. I am safe here in case you haven’t noticed. You are the ones being pursued and stalked through the Ardent Spire. I am surprised that none of your number has noticed.”

Adofo looked about the surrounding area in search of threats. “I will have my Bloodsworn provide escort for you to the royal palace. I’m not certain how the Heiress of the Carth Dominion came to be here of all places, but I am assuming your guards are dead at this point.”

“I did not call on you to return me to the royal palace,” Shoushan said, “I need to venture much farther beneath the valley. Into the Old Ruin that lies buried under everything. I have a contact waiting for me therein. However, she is also being pursued and hunted by Ashen Blades.”

“Ashen Blades?” Adofo scoffed aloud. “Sukhanites from the Southern Wastes?”

“Midnight clad assassins should what I’ve learned of them be accurate,” Elmas said, “disciples to the Goddess of Death, Zahira. It would make sense if they were here in pursuit of someone courageous enough to ignore the Dominion’s laws. I see no other reason that they would be interested in visiting Tushik.”

“There are other reasons.” Shoushan stated in a matter-of-fact tone. “Our enemies have marked my contact for death. I want her pursuers eliminated before proceeding any further with our meeting. I want the Bloodsworn to aid me in that task. Are you up to the challenge, First Blade?”

“It’s our mission to aid the Sar Amun House in matters of importance when required. We will aid you if you’re not comfortable asking the Qin’sar. I know journeying into the Old Ruin is forbidden on pain of death to everyone, even an Heiress of the Dominion.”

“Not quite the truth.” Shoushan mentioned with a smile. “But I will remember the courage and loyalty the Bloodsworn have shown me here this night. We should hurry, the Sukhanites will ambush your bear-like friend up ahead. He will need to be reinforced soon.”

“Understood, but do the Bloodsworn a favor and stay distant and out of the fight. I wouldn’t refuse your aid otherwise, but if Ashen Blades are involved than any form of combat with them is too dangerous to permit your participation.”

Shoushan nodded. “Then let us waste not another second in the hourglass.”
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords: Chapter 6 Oath of Blood, Revision 3
Post by: Myen'Tal on June 2, 2023, 08:09:02 PM
A quick update - I've entered Act III for manuscript revisions and am currently progressing through Chapter 20. Total word count is reduced from 120,000 to 106,000 approximately, still several more chapters to go.

Appointment with my marketer has begun. If I can finish revisions in time - A Sanctum of Swords will be going through the rest of the editing process over the next few months.
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords: Update Summary
Post by: Myen'Tal on June 18, 2023, 06:56:24 AM
Quick update with where the manuscript and book production is currently.

Manuscript revisions are nearing completion - I've progressed into chapter 24 and things are going well. Manuscript sitting at approximately 108,000 words.

Appointment with the marketer continues - I'm learning a lot about the best path to launch and am receiving a lot of good information.

I have since removed the preview of A Sanctum of Swords Revisions 2 & 3 from fictionate.me after reviewing some suggestions from my marketer - this change is deliberate and not an accident.

I am also aiming to have another illustration done sometime in Q3 - if things continue according to plan.

I am ready to complete A Sanctum of Swords and to revisit some budding projects I was working on previously in the world of Thearus.
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords: Update Summary
Post by: Sir_Godspeed on June 18, 2023, 05:42:57 PM
Nice! Look forward to how it's going to work out, and glad to hear you're learning a lot. :D
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords, Whispers of White Sapphire, Reaper of the Mortal Sands
Post by: Myen'Tal on July 1, 2023, 08:45:29 PM
Thanks @sir_Godspeed!

Announcement - after a handful of months of constant toil - Revision 3 is now completed. We're gearing up to go into the copy edit later this month.

I would also like to announce that I am working on a three-novella collection that I've titled Whispers of White Sapphire - more to come on this later!

I am also beginning the outline process for the second installment of The Embers of the Past series - The Reaper of the Mortal Sands - stay tuned for more on this as well!

It's about time to move onto new literary projects here to continue writing - stay tuned to this thread!
Title: Re: WWS - Apparitions Amid the Whispering Woods - Scene I Excerpt
Post by: Myen'Tal on July 3, 2023, 08:03:13 PM
“Another murder,” Ara uttered beneath a frozen gale. “Slain with an arrow placed straight through the heart.”

Clambering up a steep veridian slope in the Halliya Hinterland, Ara Zakarian knelt down before a nearby Perseus Pine Tree. It appeared more ethereal at a distance than it did now. A slender trunk, the texture of the wooden bark lending it an almost twisted appearance, reared high up out of a bed of gnarled roots nested into the ruddy soil underneath it.

The yellow-golden pine cones dangling from its branches looked like ornaments to him, organic carvings shaped to resemble the likeness of unlit lanterns.

The corpse of a young woman had come to rest on that bed of thickened roots. Maybe twenty-four summers old, Ara estimated with a glance over her pallid skin, the tone likely once soft like the sands of the Southern Wastes.

He found no signs of who had killed her in cold blood, save the aftermath of her death.

She lied there with her back reclined against the twisted trunk, having struck the ground hard, he guessed from the subtle crater framing her still form. Her hands had come to rest on her midriff before her final moments, drenched in coagulated blood after grasping at the wooden haft protruding from her heart.

The young woman had perished here alone, cut down with the precision of a seasoned marksmen. Ara counted another score of fallen village-folk that had suffered similar deaths in the hinterlands, scattered about the nooks and crevices of the autumn wood.

Without another word, he climbed back onto his feet, casting his gaze farther afield into the wilderness.

A forgotten remembrance drifted up from the depths of Ara’s meditative mind, delivered back to him by a gale howling out from the gates of winter. Remnants of ancient memories, echoes of dormant emotions that he had once experienced a decade ago, stirred from within.

A familiar voice, a mixture between boisterous and rasping, but jovial, snapped Ara from his reverie.

“Something about the Autumn wind so near to the coming winter.” Vahe of Grand Damiira waded through the white-sprinkled earth beneath his matte black leather boots. “Our minds wander from remembrance to remembrance in search of forgotten faces and lost pieces of ourselves that we may have lost to the cruel past. The peoples of the Southern Kingdoms often speak that they would never interrupt a man or woman lost in such thought…”

He craned his head to regard a male in the prime of his life, some thirty-and-odd summers of age. Lengthened strands of lustrous hair, black like a raven’s feathers, coiled and shifted in the wind’s billow. Dark auburn eyes as large as moonstones, observed him with curious intent.

Ara counted only a pair of noticeable scars that marred his face. One appeared cut roughly from the nape of his neck and across his cheek, while another minor blemish ran diagonally from hairline to the brow of his right eye.

Vahe equipped himself in a heavy midnight doublet underneath a suit of chainmail, no plate steel equipped on his chest, but present in the form of gauntlets, greaves, and pauldrons to provide ample protection elsewhere. A heavy saora of a drab gray shade, ruffled and scrunched in the wind from underneath his greaves.

He kept a kite shield slung over the shoulder and a crested steel helmet tucked underneath his arm. A flaming plume fashioned from shades of cerise, crimson, and ginger hair fell back behind the helmet in a lengthened tail.

The strands reminded Ara of a burning sunset during the evening. It dangled past the helmet in a lengthened tassel from where Vahe kept the equipment tucked under his shoulder.

“Autumn has come to an end.” Ara chose not to regard him with a welcome look, but looked back toward the winter-touched woods. “The hinterlands of Halliya shed their last leaves to the four winds as snow begins to fall over the Southern Reach. Aiman always loved watching the leaves fall through the season’s end.”

“You mention that as if she had died many moons ago,” Vahe said. He reached out to clap Ara on the shoulder. “You two fated lovebirds will meet again at some appointed place and time. I suppose that none among our band will, however, live to see too many more dawns without keeping pace with these White-and-Vermilion banners.”

White and Vermilion, Ara considered, scattered between the gnarled trunks of Perseus Pine trees and Blood-leafed Fern groves. He counted several with a glance, planted into a wet and ruddy shade of forest earth, concealed amid twisting roots and veridian fauna that sprawled across much of the hinterlands.

As the woodland shifted with the howling gale, a light snowfall crept through the canopy onto the earth.

“Hmm,” Ara said, “You believe so? The Light of the West pays no mind to the benighted world it continually leaves behind on its journey toward the horizon’s end.” His sentence trailed off as he changed the subject. “I’d hasten to agree with you, however, that these white-and-vermilion wolves have taken to another hunt.”

“Give the signal?” Vahe asked. “We might be able to catch up to them this time.”

“Or stumble into an ambush as many innocents have already made the mistake of doing.”

Vahe scoffed, shrugging broad shoulders. “More will die should the Anahir Immortals stall here and do nothing.”

Anahir. Old Myria’s jewel in the Autumn Queen’s crown, the Autumn Realm’s captial and heart.

Immortal. A brotherhood of champions from across Old Myria’s divided lands. Warriors tested already from a myriad ways of life, battle-hardened, and steadfast against all enemies south of the Alabaster River.

“Our command is simple,” Ara said. He gave his consent for Vahe to give the order with an absent nod and wave of his hand. “We hunt the Steppe Warriors down and take the Child of the Sun captive. Have our brethren prepare their mounts for the hunt. Should the Steppe warriors of the White-and-Vermilion deign never to show themselves here in Halliya, we will ride them down elsewhere.”

“Let’s make all haste then.” Vahe called out into the autumn woodlands. An echo that resounded into the hinterland’s four corners. “Knights of Old Myria and Immortals of Anahir, prepare to ride into battle and hunt the foe!”

Ara lingered a moment longer, watching shades of yellow-gold and orange, vermilion and faded emerald dance upon a bitter winter wind.

Dying near to autumn’s end retained a sense of beauty that he found difficult to describe. Or, maybe his battlelust became more alluring near to the season’s end. Ara found that emotion strange. He never desired to spill the blood of others and yet, something appealed to his darkest senses about the implications of what could be waiting for them in Halliya.

A test of steel and wits. A conflict of hunters skilled in both steel weapons and survival. A battle through the snow-white forests at Autumn’s end whilst winter approached. Apparitions locked in battle across Old Myria’s untamed wilderness.

A growing piece in the back of Ara’s mind longed to charge headlong into that trial-by-fire…
Title: Re: ROMS - Fragments of Her Shadow Excerpt One
Post by: Myen'Tal on July 20, 2023, 09:58:50 AM
The crackling of dim fires resounded within the silence of the underground. Shoushan listened to the sound of her own leather boots thump against the earthen trail, winding through the darkness alongside that of her own hurried breathing. She darted up a lonely path, a hollowed dirt road, hemmed in with concave walls of earth and stone.

The smoldering light of torches guided her farther up the ascending road, still half unlit amid the fathomless dark. She measured every step taken forward in the uncertain lighting, the road shifting from pitch black to dimly lit to utter dark in an endless cycle.

Eventually, her world brightened with searing light the moment after rounding a bend in the path. Flickering, but intense burning fires emanated from a pair of gargantuan braziers, arrayed on either side of a looming doorway. Shielding her gaze behind the sleeve of her brigandine, Shoushan warily approached to study the entrance further.

A door carved out from ebony stone, a depiction of a gladius pointed in reverse and a corallis wrapped around its length with its fangs bared above the pommel emblazoned on its surface.

The Sigil of the Ashen Blades.

The ebony entrance was lying cracked open before her, the right door jarred aside just enough for a human to squeeze by. A stench like ancient death wafted out from the opening, mingling with dust and stagnant air. Creeping cold lingered about the breached doorway, reaching Shoushan even through the intense heat coming off the braziers.

And… a woman’s alluring voice, quiet like the dark, a coarse lilt to her every spoken word. The female hidden behind the open entrance appeared to be speaking quiet prayers.

Taking a deep breath, Shoushan entered through the jarred opening between the double doors. Her first attempt to push the breached door aside proved futile, requiring a strength beyond her ability to budge. She squeezed through instead, sliding her bare hands across the ebony stonework’s pitted and marked surface.

Whatever had passed through this abandoned shrine and left it a forgotten place had clearly invested a monumental amount of time to deface everything of the Ashen Blade’s heraldry.

Sparing a quick glance behind her, Shoushan caught a subtle disturbance echoing out of the dark behind her. The recent memory of her pursuers surfaced to the fore of her mind. She banished her doubtful thoughts about entering the tomb for sanctuary, almost throwing herself through the gap into a ruin of death.
   
The ancient, timeworn remains of deceased human beings snapped and crunched beneath her weight, shifting with Shoushan’s every movement. The fallen numbered in their scores, carpeting a floor of dark grayish-blue granite stone of the forgotten temple. All of them were garbed in the midnight uniform of the Ashen Blades, the presence of any foe that might’ve reaped them entirely absent.

The unburied dead lie scattered amid shattered and overturned wooden pews, embedded with discarded weapons. Shoushan took in the rest of the temple with a purposeful crane of her head, finding stonework monuments of Zahira, the Guardian of Silent Graves, dashed to crumbling ruin across the fractured granite floor.

Swathes of crimson blood painted the temple like a faded mosaic, the grander work scarcely intact, appearing like paint.

Shoushan waded through the broken remains of what looked like a vicious siege. Attempting in vain to avoid treading on the skeletons, she eventually gave up, lifting and casting aside the remnants of pews obstructing her path forward.

Through all the deafening clamor created in her wake, the praying woman within the heart of the abandoned temple continued her litanies, undeterred.

She looked up after her mind registered falling beams of golden light, creeping through the gaping chasms in the temple ceiling from the surface world above. Compromised through war, the ceiling appeared to sag beneath the crushing weight of the earth. As Shoushan ventured further into the temple grounds, she could feel the Southern Wastes’ searing heat banish the creeping chill raising the hair on her skin.

Unfamiliar voices barked within earshot from the way she had arrived, sounding distant from beyond the breached temple doorway. Rogues of the Black Syndicate, a notorious underground ring, half-criminal organization, and half-necromancer coven. They had quickly pursued her from Bethaka Sanctuary far above this forgotten sanctum of the Ashen Blades.

Shoushan had slain her fair share of them, cutting them down with divine wrath and her estoc, Severance.

Their venomous brood had swarmed after her, provoked like a disturbed hornet’s nest. She had quickly lost them in the dark beneath the township, finally stumbling upon her destination after another hour of treading through the dimly lit underground.

Eventually, Shoushan approached the temple altar. It seemed swept clean of dust and detritus, a neatened stack of skulls placed upon it in offering. Recent kills, she wagered, another soul had clearly reaped vengeance for their fallen kin here.

It reminded her of the Sanctum of Swords between time and space, her mother Karyan Akara’s domain, the very place she had met her end at the blade of her firstborn daughter and her companions.

She searched the abandoned temple of Zahira for any sign of the praying woman, still speaking aloud into the silence. Yet Shoushan found no sign of her beyond the echo of her voice. Closing her eyes, she listened to her every word, attempting to trace the sound of the woman’s voice to its source.

Her prayers resounded throughout the quiet temple, emanating from every nook and crevice.

“Amid the tranquility of emptiness, I find solace…

“Amid the darkness within the soul, I keep fragments of my shadow locked therein…

“Amid a quiet place, I’ve found another semblance of self, far from both the illusions created by sun and moon…”
Opening her eyes, Shoushan called out into the emptiness.

“Forgive me for wandering in without being invited,” she said, “but I’ve come seeking haven.”

A moment’s silence reigned over the temple grounds.

“A bold request to make from a disciple of the Art of Death,” the woman replied, “to grant sanctuary to an unfamiliar soul. You could at least tell me your name, traveler.”

“I won’t share my name with someone hidden in the shadows, but… I am grateful for your protection.”

“You don’t appear disarmed to me,” the woman proclaimed, “and I detect a searing heat from within your soul… Forgive the morbid atmosphere of this ruin, there is little in the way of comforts and a warm fireplace. All that remains is death, reminding us that concepts like lineage, birthright, and heritage mean little at the end of one’s life. The reaper claims our souls and our blood spills all the same…”

The sound of a baying mob approaching the temple entrance came through the doorway, echoing from within the emptiness.

“I’d hate to end our conversation on an urgent note,” Shoushan said, “but–"
   
“Caretaker,” the woman interrupted, “call me caretaker. Are you fearing the corallis’ deathly bite? You could escape the temple through a myriad of lesser exits. Yet I fear your pursuers will discover your presence here before long and hunt for you. You’d be better off eliminating the threat and leaving their bodies here within our forgotten sanctum, hidden from plain sight.”

Looking back over her shoulder, Shoushan came halfway into the movement, finding an intact statue looming over the altar. A fierce likeness of a manticore, all swollen musculature beneath a stone replica of fur. Rearing up from behind the beast was a serpentine tail, crowned with a corallis’ head, appearing locked away in time.

The lion body lifted its hind legs, stooping down like a feline attempting to conceal itself before oblivious prey.

It extended Shoushan the impression that the beast leaning down to accept offerings placed on Zahira’s altar.

Hostile voices spilled through the open doors like an audible wave of sound. It became everything that Shoushan could hear for a moment. Alerted to the presence of her hunters, she spun around on a heel, taking up Severance with midnight leather gloved fingers.

The deafening grind of stone against stone resounded amid the silence, the breached door sliding back with incredible resistance beneath what sounded like half-a-dozen warriors shoving the gate aside.

Half a dozen warriors clad in ebony silk garments, a golden filigree decorated with ornate patterns of bright yellow gold. Vermillion Sphere emblems emblazoned on their chests, the sapphire corallis appeared wrapped around its circumference and bearing fangs at any standing before them in challenge.

“Our Guardian of Silent Graves is a stern, but forgiving mistress. She won’t turn away from an innocent bystander in need. Very well, traveler, I will aid you in your cause.”

Gentle footfalls echoed out from behind the manticore and the temple altar, ascending a stairwell hidden beneath them. Out from behind the other side of the altar, a darkling figure emerged into the dimmed light.

A Sukhanite woman approaching her middle-age stepped around the unadorned altar to stand before Shoushan. Ritual scarring marked the soft caramel shade of her skin like quill-thin engravings, created with blades and not an artist’s brushwork.

Shoushan studied the woman and noted an underlying strength to her physical frame underneath her uniform. Every ounce of her was whipcord musculature between swollen and heavily defined.

She kept her midnight black hair of a cobalt hue braided along the left side of her skull. A twisting cascade of combed strands flowed down the right side of her face to the end just shy of her collarbone. Lustrous eyes of a garnet shade stared from a chiseled face, complimented with faded lips like pale roses.

The Ashen Blade looked Shoushan over with curious eyes.

“You’re not quite what I imagined after hearing so many stories about you.” Caretaker raised her hooded head to assess the royal princess standing before her. “I’m honored to meet with the Heiress of the Carth Dominion…” Her sentence trailed off. “However, I’m not too welcoming to the Black Syndicate storming into Zahira’s abandoned house.”

Shoushan didn’t avert her gaze from the female Ashen Blade. She knew that Caretaker was attempting to read her at a glance, but was struggling to look past her stoic countenance.

“A second time that a Child of the Sun can say that she’s fought beside a mythical assassin from the Southern Wastes. We’ll have to share our stories around a hearth once we’ve dealt with the syndicate’s thugs.”

Shoushan assessed her surroundings, both the Black Syndicate’s formation and the terrain. Her enemies advanced at a cautious pace, striding through the temple interior to close the distance between them. Their numbers flickered erratically, disappearing amid the shadows, only to manifest again beneath pillars of sunlight.

Together, their ranks un-sheathed wicked blades from their scabbards. A wild assortment of daggers, hooked swords, and long knives.

“I would grow accustomed to us Ashen Blades, Heiress.” Caretaker glanced up into Shoushan’s emerald-and-silver eyes. “You’ll be meeting many more here in Sukhan. Sooner than you may think… strike them down, my kindred blades!”

Shoushan detected subtle clinking sound from the nooks of the ruin. Darts of shadow flew through the dimmed air, barely visible to the Syndicate henchmen even as three of their number spasmed to the ground. Feathered missile bolts, Shoushan noted upon nearer inspection, unleashed from a crossbow contraption. Arcs of blood lashed out through the air, raining down on the moldering and recently fallen alike.

As five sentient shadows–Ashen Blades–detached from the darkness within the temple, the Black Syndicate recognized their peril, and charged headlong to come to grips with their enemies. Guttural shouts and quiet breaths of effort echoed throughout Zahira’s abandoned sanctum where silence had reigned once.

Shoushan lowered her estoc to lift an open palm, conjuring a fusillade of firebolts at the foe. A tremulous force rocked her back with each successive burst of her unleashed magic, quaking the temple floor beneath them all.

Golden and ebony clad rogues weaved around the burning flames, even as the scattered ranks behind them became ignited. Pitiful howling filled the air as the Black Syndicate warriors caught in the blast, writhed until nothing remained but cinders.

A deafening clamor of honed steel tested against steel resonated throughout the abandoned ruins, the Ashen Blades gliding into the wading foe. Both factions laid into each other with ruthless abandon. The midnight clad assassins cut down another handful, landing quick blows with precision. The Black Syndicate’s remaining warriors assumed a compact formation, managing to deflect the first pair of Zahira’s disciples with a weight of blows.

The first pair of Ashen Blades committed to an organized retreat before committing to their assault, even as the Black Syndicate intercepted their effort to regroup with well-timed spear thrust.

An Ashen Blade cried out, the female Sukhanite half leaping, half tumbling onto the temple floor. A thick expulsion of blood erupted from her mouth upon her smashing into the remnant of a shattered pew. Already weeping from a fountain of blood spilling out from between her ribcage, the Sukhanite keeled with a ragged gasp...
Title: Re: ROMS - Fragments of Her Shadow - Scene I Excerpt
Post by: Myen'Tal on July 27, 2023, 09:56:15 AM
Just noting some signature updates for some preview builds gone live!

Apparitions Amid the Whispering Woods is nearing completion!

A Sanctum of Swords is approaching gold status!

Work on the Reaper of the Mortal Sands continues!

Got three or four artwork appointments coming up in the later half of next year - so stay tuned!
Title: Re: Update Summary
Post by: Myen'Tal on August 20, 2023, 10:04:17 AM
Quick update summary:

A Sanctum of Swords came back from the editor - copyedited!

The proofread will begin next month - pouring through all of the changes now.

I have a new artwork piece scheduled to begin in October - focused around the 2nd chapter of The Reaper of the Mortal Sands: Fragments of Her Shadow.

Whispers of White Sapphire cover art illustration is set to begin in October as well - so busy busy.

The Reaper of the Mortal Sands cover art illustration will begin in January.

I am still wanting to hit my goal for getting the audiobook recorded before December, but we'll see if I am able to hit that target!
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords - Post Copy Edit Excerpt
Post by: Myen'Tal on August 22, 2023, 09:46:45 AM
Amid the deep places beneath Akara Sanctuary, Korian detected an otherworldly pulse. The Gates of Dusk lie buried here somewhere near to the Southern Wastes’ esoteric heart.

Following a cobblestone road’s winding course, he found the fork dividing High Akara coming into view up ahead. Hanging lanterns dangled on either side of the road, guiding him in an otherwise impregnable dark.

The abyss below the city almost appeared to be sentient. A cosmic entity unto itself considering him an invader. Was he an invader?

An inanimate blade guided by his Goddess’ hand to reap the sands of an immortal life.

He descended away from the main road leading toward the main city. A vast palace citadel situated atop the settlement’s higher echelons loomed in the distance.

Korian glanced over his shoulder, back toward the natural sunlight that poured through the surface world’s gaping wounds. An unapproachable gate back into the Southern Wastes and the Golden Sun in the desert sky.

He spiraled deeper into the depths, distant from the lantern’s light.

Akara’s bazaar-warrens were an amalgamation of market districts built into a dense urban sprawl, an impoverished commune of rough spun shacks built upon it. Hanging Lanterns swayed from large wooden posts between the back-alleys and pathways running between the market stalls.

The district seemed to be abandoned in haste by merchants and roguish figures alike. He searched the bazaar for any signs of life but spied none.

An obscured figure sprang out from a nearby alleyway. The coiling shape bounding beneath the lanterns assumed the aspect of a female Ashen Blade fast approaching him. Korian ground himself to a halt, sliding back and around a thrust from her blade.

Korian turned the weapon aside with an uncaring backhand sweep. Flitting back across the cobblestone for space, she changed her stance when countercharging into his guard.

Dominion’s End slid free from the scabbard. Korian reinforced his weight on the Ashen Blade’s sword arm. Seeing an opportunity, he punched the blade straight out at her lungs. She leaned to one side, using his own momentum against him as the blade thrust wide of its mark.

Footfalls pattered across the cobblestone to enter the combat. He counted one, two, and then three kindred warriors joining the fray.

Korian ducked and rolled beneath a serpentine glaive known as a Reaper’s Scythe. He spun Dominion’s End around in his hand in that movement, holding the blade in reverse upon leaping back onto both feet.The gladius found the kindred blade’s joint behind the knee, splitting the flesh and bone beneath.

A barked cry of pain echoed through the abandoned warren, making Korian’s heart beat faster. The wounded male staggered back, caught on the embedded blade, somehow keeping balance. A spring off the backfoot pushed him past the glaive’s pendulum motion.

Stepping around his opponent, Korian charged another pair of Ashen Blades in the rearguard. He shouldered through the narrow gap between them, slamming an elbow into a female’s throat hard enough to dislodge her footing.

He raised Dominion’s End toward his face, still held in a reverse grip, blocking a sweep at his eyes. Channeling his momentum, Korian pivoted and delivered a vicious knee into a male’s gut, hard enough to cause him to slip and fall onto the cobblestones. 

A seventh sense made him duck in the same movement. The Reaper’s Scythe passed overhead to cleave the male assassin’s head from his shoulders.

Another pivot brought him around the falling corpse, the body coming between Korian and the limping glaive wielder. He revealed a throwing dagger in his other hand and pitched the blade with unerring accuracy into his assailant’s beating heart.

Reality blurred. Korian stole himself from the mortal world for the briefest moment. He returned, bursting through a fall-out of shade mist at full-tilt past the female Sukhanite leaping back to her feet.

Dominion’s End lashed out in an arc before him. The Sukhanite female crumbled upon herself, his blade cleaving through a vulnerable point between her ribs, a crimson spray trailing behind.

He didn’t arrest his momentum but glanced sidelong to find the previous Sukhanite female that had ambushed him first, a tasseled straight sword still clutched in hand. He slid around on a heel toward her to thrust the blade home.

She weaved around the thrust, allowing Korian’s momentum to carry him into her guard. A savage elbow to the flank sent Korian hurtling to the stone onto one side. He struck the road with dazing force, but avoided a mortal blow aimed at his throat with a fluid roll onto his feet.

The female Ashen Blade gave chase, cracking a leaping kick against his jawbone, hard enough to pitch his head back at an awkward angle. Korian detected the tasseled sword rushing up over her falling leg, a quick thought from cutting through his throat.

He cracked an elbow into the Ashen Blade’s sternum, winding her, driving her back beyond his immediate reach. Correcting his posture, Korian blinked out of reality to avoid the counterassault and summoned himself back into the mortal sphere to land a mortal blow straight into her gut.

Blood streamed out from the wound, spilling over his hand and gauntlet as the female assassin fell onto both trembling knees. Dominion’s End slid free from the wound with a pull.

Korian flipped the blade upon stepping around the defeated assassin’s back. He rammed Dominion’s End through her spinal cord from behind. A merciful blow to end another mortal’s needless suffering.

He found himself standing alone in the bazaar-warrens, nothing but the quiet dead scattered about the road. An oppressive silence followed the aftermath.

Korian pulled Dominion’s End from the corpse, still sitting in place upon producing a piece of white cloth hanging from his belt. He cleaned the blade with several passes through the fabric.

A familiar woman’s voice crept out of the dark from the way he had entered the warren.

“Honorable kills, traveler,” Anoush said. “Zahira will guide them through the Gates of Her Palace. Of that I am certain.”
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past Series - Quick Updates!
Post by: Myen'Tal on September 4, 2023, 10:53:40 AM
Quick Summary for a few coming changes to the website:

Proofread is almost done! When that is finished - I'll finally (at long last) be updating the excerpt on the website.

Two (Two!) character portraits are scheduled and will be underway in mid-october - a Twin Portrait that will feature Shoushan, Heiress of the Carth Dominion and her mother, Karayan, High Queen of Sukhan and Grand Master of the Ashen Blades.

Cover Art for Whispers of White Sapphire will begin in October as well! The Reaper of the Mortal Sands Cover Art will begin in January!

Apparitions Amid the Whispering Woods near completion - likely around 25,000K word count in total.

I'm also devoting a little more time to The Reaper of the Mortal Sands and created a few more additional pieces of content.

Once the proofread is finished - I'll begin prepping for launch.

What's kind of up in the air right now is the audiobook - as I am trying to find someone ahead of time, but it looks like it may be a Q1 2024 addition.

We will see - still trying on that front!

Have another look at some rough draft material!

EXCERPT #2:

Amid the Hall of the Amber-Golden Phoenix, situated in the higher echelons of the royal palace, was a quiet room. A midnight breeze drifted through the curtains dancing about the entrance to the balcony of an expansive chamber. It was hidden behind scrawled walls of sandstone, held aloft with alabaster colonnades.

Weathered from centuries of weathering, creeping vines, and hanging leaf stalks decorated every column.
 
A smooth-textured, amber-golden stone made the floor of Voshki Sar Amun’s chambers, rising and falling in some sections like angular stairways. A lavish bed made for a queen lay by the balcony’s open doorway, draped beneath several layers of silk blankets and embroidered sheets of satin. A grand wardrobe lay between the bed and a sweeping desk of curved angles, equipped with a gargantuan mirror holding her chambers within its reflection.

All manner of ancient parchment, beauty tools and perfumes, in addition to several other exotic frivolities arrayed themselves in organized sections from one end of her desk to the other. The tanned pelts of slain feline beasts were laid out around the hearth, emanating heat enough that the mountain wind about the High Quarter’s summit didn’t seem too chilly.

Seated at her desk, peering into the crystalline surface of her mirror, Voshki searched in vain for the presence of her shadow. Nothing like the darkened pall created in the presence of light, her mother and High Oracle, Tabia Sar Amunn, had explained to her but a few recent moons ago.

A fleeting relief flowed through her after realizing nothing was there aside from herself. A young girl, thirteen summers of age, of lithe build and with a skin tone between russet and teak. Her ebony hair appeared bounteous atop her skull, falling bangs halting around her brow, the rest pinned up in an arched braid falling past the nape of her neck. Large eyes, bright and shining like yellow-gold gemstones, studied herself in the mirror’s reflection.

A quiet knocking rattled the oaken door to her chambers. It sent subtle vibrations through the wooden slab, betraying the fact that someone lacking the authority and right to enter had come calling.

Yet Voshki couldn’t quite tear her gaze away from herself in the mirror, haunted by the shadow of something absent in her life.

“Come in already, before Sahak returns from another patrol.”

All sound ceased behind the door to her chambers, quiet even as the entrance swayed open and fell back on its hinges.

“You know, we should be meeting anywhere but here.” A young male sharing her age whispered into the quiet atmosphere of her room. “Your divine blessed father and mother are just down the hall.”

“Yet here you are without a welcome invitation to enter at all. How are you still managing to steal yourself through the royal palace without anyone noticing?”

She didn’t have to crane her head to look Hasani in the eye, watching him clearly through the mirror’s reflection. A young man, lean of build and regal of poise, though ultimately roguish to a royal member of the Sar Amunn house like herself. He clothed himself in a tunic of alabaster white and a matt black saora, replete with a toga of sapphire satin marking him among the Carth nobility...

EXCERPT END
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past Series - Quick Updates!
Post by: Myen'Tal on September 21, 2023, 11:28:46 PM
A Sanctum of Swords has gone gold!

Several other platforms are lined up for launch on October 23rd - still a WIP at the moment.

Working on getting changes to website made as well!
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past Series - Quick Updates!
Post by: Myen'Tal on September 28, 2023, 10:31:52 PM
A quick update for everyone!

The audiobook version for A Sanctum of Swords in currently in the making! Expect a go live date sometime around early December!

You may also want to review my signature - if you join booksprout, you can read A Sanctum of Swords for free in exchange for an honest review.

I've actually decided delist the book on all other platforms outside of Amazon - and will be joining Kindle Unlimited soon - so keep an eye on that!

Haven't really written much new material at the moment, had a health scare a few days ago that I am still recovering from (and am thankfully on the mend!).

Apparitions Amid the Whispering Woods' rough draft is completed and I'm currently expanding out Act I of The Reaper of the Mortal Sands. I still have one more novella to achieve as well, so busy busy!
(
Title: Re: The Embers of the Past Series - So What's Next?
Post by: Myen'Tal on October 23, 2023, 07:42:54 PM
Hi everyone!

So A Sanctum of Swords has launched to not much fanfare (to be expected) and not much marketing, because I admit that I needed a long break and immediately took one!

It's been about a full month since launch and now people may be asking: now what?

I am happy to share some glimspes into some work in progress stuff I've been collaborating with some illustrators on.

First off:

(https://i.imgur.com/qRdkCb2l.png)

The Whispers of White Sapphire Cover Art! Looks beautiful, my illustrator has done great work yet again!

I am also excited to show off a *very* early look at a twin character portrait for Shoushan and Karayan!

(https://i.imgur.com/ZlH6kMSl.png)

I am back from the long haitus, and my first priorities aside from these illustrations is finishing A Sanctum of Swords audiobook. I did delay that - but hope to get the ball rolling again!

Title: Re: The Embers of the Past Series - So What's Next?
Post by: Myen'Tal on November 3, 2023, 06:38:07 PM
Website update time!

Whispers of White Sapphire now has a dedicated spot on the website, with a description and preview. They will remain in place until I can get the novella collection to the editor!

Karayan and Shoushan artwork, in addition to the Whispers of White Sapphire artwork has been added to the gallery!

Audiobook progress resumes in January!

The Reaper of the Mortal Sands artwork will be revealed sometime around February-March - so stay tuned!

A Sanctum of Swords will be coming back to several third party retailers and a few others in addition.

Will keep writing away here - until the next update!

Title: Re: Whispers of White Sapphire & A Sanctum of Swords Update!
Post by: Myen'Tal on November 20, 2023, 07:38:03 PM
Hello everyone,

Another update session here!

A Sanctum of Swords is currently about two months into its launch on Amazon. I've sold a number of copies and am patiently waiting for reviews to start trickling in over the winter season.

Speaking of that, I currently have a free giveaway for the ebook going on Amazon until November 24th for anyone interested!

A Sanctum of Swords also has earned its first review from Reader's Favorite - a 5/5 that's earned me a seal that I've uploaded onto the ebook cover art and the website. You can find a link to the review on the website in the signature :). This means that A Sanctum of Swords has been selected for a Featured Book Rotation and a spot in the Reader's Favorite December Newsletter - going out to 500,000 users, libraries, and other organizations! Cool stuff, huh?

Apparitions Amid the Whispering Woods is still in completed rough draft mode. I am currently working on Whispers of White Sapphire's second novella, In the Shadow of Her Past, set in Tushik, the City of Grand Canals that tells a narrative of an unfolding web of intrigue that young prince Abasi Sar Yen'Qaira must untangle to uncover those who murdered his father. A handful of characters from A Sanctum of Swords will be featured in this one, specifically Shoushan and Tabia Sar Amun, as well as a plethora of additional new characters.

In the Shadow of Her Past is sitting at around 40-50% completion.

A manuscript evaluation will be held in February in addition to the Reaper of the Mortal Sands cover art appointment starting. Backing up to January, the audiobook version of A Sanctum of Swords will resume in earnest for hopefully a Q1 release!
Title: Re:A Sanctum of Swords - Reviews & Post-Launch Reflection
Post by: Myen'Tal on November 27, 2023, 09:25:17 AM
Hello everyone,

So, it's a little more than two months since A Sanctum of Swords has launched and just wanted to have a quick post-mortem about it. I think the launch overall hit the hallmarks more than I expected in some areas, and in some areas actually hit above its weight in surprising ways.

Presently, there are about four total reviews for A Sanctum of Swords. One five star from Reader's Favorite, two four stars, and a three star from Net Galley. That's not bad! I've been reading through each review and the four stars stated they had fun with the read. The five star goes into detail about the books positives, while the three star is an objective, positive-critique on the novel's flaws. I've been reading through the three star review and it did confirm some suspicions that I believe are strong points to attempt to correct sometime in the future.

A quick lessons learned here for individuals that are interested.

1. Book Formatting, I shouldn't have done this by myself and hired a formatter. While the ebook came out okay, I've had to upload about four to five versions of the ebook to flatten out some obvious issues with the ebook and paperback's layout. I think those are mostly taken care of by now, but some mysteries about novel formatting are still eluding me.

2. 2nd round of editing is likely needed - and, first off, I don't blame my editor for this. I gave her a whirlwind of manuscript to sift through. She helped iron out a lot of issues with the book, but I am inclined to agree with the reviewer who left the three star review that another full round of editing may be warranted in the near future. So there will likely be an official "A Sanctum of Swords 2.0" within the next several months to help alleviate what I can about what ails the novel thus far.

3. I love that everyone is definitely seeing the potential here, no matter what star review has been left so far. I continue to practice and hone my own skills so that the editor does not have to do so much work  ;D, and I am hoping that people will find Whispers of White Sapphire a streamlined and fluid experience. We shall see on that front!

4. I confess to taking a 'just get in there' and publish the book attitude when the launch began. This both had drawbacks and successes, but I own the achievements in addition to the mistakes made along the way.

5. I am now deciding whether A Sanctum of Swords needs that second round of editing before producing the audiobook or to just commit.

Decisions, decisions!
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords - Reviews & Post-Launch Reflection
Post by: PaxImperator on November 27, 2023, 11:47:31 AM
Thanks for the post mortem. It's interesting to sneak a peek beyond the curtain into the world of book publishing, which I knew very little about. Are ebooks so important now that you can adopt the 'just get in there' attitude you describe on the reasonable expectation that you can fix any mistakes later? I imagine you would have been more cautious if paperback accounted for 100% of sales.
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords - A Sanctum of Swords 2.0 Announcement!
Post by: Myen'Tal on November 29, 2023, 08:46:37 PM
Thanks for the post mortem. It's interesting to sneak a peek beyond the curtain into the world of book publishing, which I knew very little about. Are ebooks so important now that you can adopt the 'just get in there' attitude you describe on the reasonable expectation that you can fix any mistakes later? I imagine you would have been more cautious if paperback accounted for 100% of sales.

Sorry for the delayed response, but yes, if paperback accounted for 100% of sales I would've been far more cautious. Still, live and learn! I do think ebooks do give authors a lot of leeway to fix mistakes, however and whenever they catch them. It's definitely a luxury that I've already learned to take advantage of lol!

Announcement Time:A Sanctum of Swords will be undergoing a second round of full-scale editing Q1 2024 next year! That means the audiobook will be a bit further delayed, but definitely for the best!
Title: The Embers of the Past Series - What's Coming!
Post by: Myen'Tal on December 11, 2023, 08:35:20 PM
Hey everyone!

It's been a little while since I've given any update on The Embers of the Past Series, so here is what is coming down the works!

- A Sanctum of Swords 2.0: So I don't know what I'll be officially naming this - or if I should add any additional words to the title at all. I am convinced that I should add something to differentiate the new edition though, so we'll see! As of current, I've progressed to Chapter 11 in my own self-edit revisions. Appointment with the editor for the second edit is in February.

- The Reaper of the Mortal Sands cover art illustration is set to begin in February in addition! It will feature another landscape portrait in a location of which I am certain many people will successfully guess.

- A Sanctum of Swords Audiobook will begin in March time and will be narrated by a human, a very talented human that I believe will bring the story off the page with his audio rendition of the novel!

- Whispers of White Sapphire's editing appointment has been pushed back to May to make way for the second edit of A Sanctum of Swords. I am about 3/4 through completing the novella collection, however. It will be two stories of slightly above novella length!

- Outside of that, I am planning on having another illustration and Whispers of White Sapphire voice-narrated in Q2-Q3 2024!

Title: Re: The Embers of the Past Series - What's Coming!
Post by: Myen'Tal on January 1, 2024, 10:05:01 PM
It's been a little bit since my last update - I've decided to re-double my efforts on writing - but am replanning out how to most efficiently release new content going forward. I was trying to do too much at the same time before.

So what am I working at the moment:

A Sanctum of Swords 2.0 - final revision: I've been diligently working through the manuscript another few times with the intent on correcting the overwriting / purple prose issue. I've done a lot of self-revisions, and I think the manuscript is already showing a night and day difference just scaling back a lot of simple things and some sentence reworks. I've also targeted dialogue to increase clarity and am focused on changing a few confusing descriptions that left readers unable to quite comprehend what those sentences were conveying.

I've progressed to Chapter 20 - so I've got about seven more chapters left before I hand the manuscript back to the editor a final time in February.

A Sanctum of Swords 2.0 Audiobook - had to delay to work on the 2.0 manuscript, so that the audiobook can be created from the latest and greatest version.

Whispers of White Sapphire rough drafts: Almost done.

The Reaper of Mortal Sands - I am hoping to begin revamping what I have for the sequel to A Sanctum of Swords and building out another full-scale narrative.

So we'll see how that goes.
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords: Embers Edition
Post by: Myen'Tal on January 21, 2024, 02:41:12 AM
A Sanctum of Swords: Embers Edition

I am happy to announce that we are approaching the release of an official second edition of A Sanctum of Swords!

Here is a detailed list of primary changes:

Novel-wide revisions to eliminate over writing and repetition, adding clarity to text and dialogue, and streamlining to both areas of the manuscript.

Elimination of confusing descriptions and simplified dialogue.

Revised scenes for every chapter, including additional in-depth content in the form of additional scenes and chapter.

Re-imagined combat scenes from Chapter 22 and onward.

Additional Chapter: Sun's Descent

An additional professional editing session.

A Sanctum of Swords: Ember Edition is also receiving an audiobook audition, narrated by Marcus Freeman.

There's no changes on the website yet, but they are coming nearer to time of release!
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords: Embers Edition
Post by: Dread on January 23, 2024, 11:03:40 PM
Glad to see your progress.
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords: Embers Edition
Post by: PaxImperator on January 24, 2024, 01:39:32 AM
Congratulations! That must have been a lot of work.
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords: Embers Edition
Post by: Myen'Tal on January 24, 2024, 06:30:34 PM
Glad to see your progress.

Thank you!

Congratulations! That must have been a lot of work.

It is, still in the process of revamping the last three chapters. Winnowing things down to the wire here. Upwards and onwards!
Title: Re: A Sanctum of Swords: Embers Edition
Post by: Myen'Tal on January 28, 2024, 04:08:45 PM
A Sanctum of Swords: Embers Edition is now completed to the best of my ability and sent over to the editor!

So there won't be an additional chapter called Sun's Descent, but an extra scene of moderate length that's been added to Chapter 26: A Sanctum of Swords.

I'll have updates on when I receive the manuscript back and finally get this audiobook on the road!

Now, I can finally turn back to other projects such as Whispers of White Sapphire and The Reaper of the Mortal Sands. Going back for a final revision of A Sanctum of Swords has taught me a lot of lessons, and I'm rejuvenated and ready to start writing up a lot of new material!
Title: Re: Whispers of White Sapphire - An Introduction & Sample
Post by: Myen'Tal on February 5, 2024, 11:31:32 PM
~Whispers of White Sapphire~

An enigmatic cult arises in the eastern lands, from the vast steppes of the U’skar to the border realms of the Carth Dominion. A sister religion to the Golden Sun Cult, according to the obscured rumors of distant realms, that worships Kharothir, the God of the Primordial Hunt. A deity of wilderness and freedom unbidden, promising a way of life unshackled from the domination of others.

The mortal souls devoted to the White Sapphire Sun have long dwelled in the bleak, unforgiving lands of Khios. Having survived their entire lives walking hand in hand with perilous death, newfound prophecies lead them out of the frozen wastes.

The tales born from such harrowing journeys are often filled with tragedy and sorrow. Yet there are many such stories shared around the hearth, every one containing glimpses of heroism, kinship, and intimacy.

Fragments of memory forever linked with the stories of those that have endured a fleeting existence for the promise of another life. Seeking the whispers of a quiet place beyond the veil, where the forest thrives eternal and the winter sun shines like whitest sapphire.


(https://i.imgur.com/RoODLS2h.jpg)

(https://i.imgur.com/81NvQCR.jpg)

~What is Whispers of White Sapphire?~

Whispers of White Sapphire is a two-novella collection telling separate stories. Yet both relate to the White Sapphire Sun, a sister religion to the Golden Sun Cult, worshipped by the remote nomadic tribes on the northern U’skar Qi Steppes. The Devoted of the White Sapphire Sun devote themselves to Kharothir, God of the Primordial Hunt and life, revered by hunters and those who still cling to the Old Ways.

As the Grand Empire of Xura expands across much of the U’skar Qi, forgotten tribes alienated from their traditional ways of life seek new horizons elsewhere on Khios. The White-and-Vermillion Wolves are one such nomadic clan composed from U’skarites banished from their original clans in the Steppe heartlands. Seasoned warriors to the last man and woman, these vicious warriors walk a constant blade’s edge between life and death in the northern wastes. All life is fleeting to them, too brief to attempt to cling onto without mastery of the blade, horse, and bow.

A lone prophetess has called out to them, a Child of the Sun that has found heaven amid a land of abundance. A distant land known only as the Whispering Wilds of Kharothir, where the forest is so primordial and ethereal-touched that humans fear to tread it.

The Whispering Wilds lie in the farthest corner of the Old Myrian Empire. A band of warrior pilgrims have pledged to discover the Whispering Wilds for their people. Guided by their Child of the White Sapphire Sun, they seek to become the lighthouse beacon that will guide their people into the Autumn Realms to resume the Old Ways.

The White-and-Vermillion Wolves feature in novella number one: Apparitions Amid the Whispering Woods.

~Apparitions Amid the Whispering Woods~

It is the year 786 in the Ascension Kings. As the Sanctum of Swords rages across the Khiosian mainland, the Old Myrian Empire prospers in a state of peace beyond the Alabaster River. Distant from the woes of the lesser kingdoms farther south, the Autumn Queens of Anahir remain silent to pleas for intervention. As the flames of open war spread farther northward, the Autumn Realms lie dormant against the coming storm.

Yet as Old Myria endures the silence before the storm, sightings of an enigmatic people from a foreign realm spread across the lands. From Cressa’s Lantern in the east to Kalandar in the west, few survivors remain to speak of the destruction of their towns and villages in the wilderness.

Ara Zakarian, Commander of the Anahir Immortals brotherhood and a knight of Old Myria, is tasked with the reconnaissance and destruction of this mysterious warband. Sallying out from Anahir City with a hundred knights under his command, Ara trails the nomadic tribe from the U’skar Qi Steppes’ warpath across the empire.

Only vague whispers are known about these raiders, but he knows enough. Skilled hunters and survivalists from the harshest winter lands, embarked on a great quest to reach the Whispering Wilds of Kharothir far in the western realms of Old Myria. They name themselves the White-and-Vermillion for the wolf pelts that their warriors worship and slay. Led by a Child of the Sun known only as their prophetess, they make pilgrimage into the Whispering Wilds of Kharothir for reasons unknown.

A gauntlet lies ahead of Ara and his companions. A trial of steel and wits. A conflict of hunters skilled in both steel weapons and survival. A battle in the snow-white forests at Autumn’s end as winter approaches. Apparitions locked in battle across Old Myria’s untamed wilderness.

Novella number two: In the Shadow of Her Past features a narrative of intrigue in the streets of Tushik, in and around the Qaira Quarter after the assassination of young Abasi Yen’Qaira’s lord and father. This features more of the city of Tushik from another angle and perspective and delves more into what living in the Carth Dominion’s utopian city can be like.

In the Shadow of Her Past’s antagonist, an Ashen Blade known as Cala the Widower of Yenna, is a serial murderer and sword master of the Cosmic Way. Having mastered Zahira’s shadow magics to step briefly beyond time and space to deliver her mortal blows, Cala slays her enemies before they realize she has even come for them.

Cala covers a different perspective of what the Ashen Blades can be: unrepentant killers and blackguards that cling to life by devoting themselves to the Art of Death. Ashen Blades such as Cala are mostly considered initiates that don’t retain much understanding of the secrets behind the Art of Death or Zahira’s wisdoms. Yet Cala is an exception, bearing divine-touched gifts and an innate knowledge of the esoteric to bend reality to her will, if only briefly.

Abasi’s main goal is to somehow defeat a master of death such as Cala against all odds. He must gather unlikely allies from both the Golden and White Sapphire Sun to do so. Every character has their own goals and ambitions in the end and have reason to aid Abasi in his mission.

~In the Shadow of Her Past~

While the Sanctum of Swords rages across the continent, the Children of the Sun continue to rebuild in the Golden Valley and Tushik, the City of Grand Canals. Two years have passed since the Siege of the Golden Valley. Yet the Sanctum Queen of Sukhan’s Ashen Blades, are only scattered and not defeated. The syndicate order of mythical assassins has gone to ground in their homelands, but a few networks still operate within the Golden Valley to sow further discord.

Lord Ishaq Yen’Qaira is slain on one fateful evening outside by an unwitnessed murderer. His twin sons, Abasi and Bomani, are left in a situation where they cannot mourn, but find a way to lead their house. Bomani, the elder brother, prepares to bury their father and become head of the Yen’Qaira house. Abasi, the younger sibling, sets out to find avenge his father’s death and hunt down his murderers.

Setting out into the nighttime streets of Tushik, Abasi encounters the notorious Ashen Blades, but is rescued by a mere traveler from the eastern Steppes. A sword master known only by the White-and-Vermillion garments and wolf pelt he wears with him, capable of summoning an inner light like Whitest Sapphire.

Rumors abound that High Queen Tabia and Heiress Shoushan Sar Amun will pay tribute to former Lord Yen’Qaira at his burial. Asked to entertain the God King’s half-blooded firstborn, Abasi quickly finds a rare friend and more potential interest in Shoushan Sar Amun. Gaining a powerful ally to hunt Zahira’s disciples, Abasi finds himself descending into a web of intrigue with no obvious way of escape.

~White-and-Vermillion Chapter Except~

Climbing up a verdant hillside in the Halliya Hinterland, Ara Zakarian knelt before a Perseus Pine Tree. It looked more ethereal from a distance than it did now, Ara realized. A lithe trunk of textured bark lent the tree a twisted appearance. It stood taller than a man by a foot-and-a-half, rearing up from a gnarled bed of roots nestled within the earth.

Yellow-golden pinecones dangled from its branches like ornaments. Organic carvings resembling the likeness of dimmed lanterns.

A woman’s corpse had come to rest against the Perseus Pine. Maybe twenty-four summers in age or so, Ara estimated from a glance over her pallid skin. Its tone reminded him of the soft sands he had always imagined of the Southern Wastes. Of the warrior or bandit that had murdered her, he found no sign. She kept hazel eyes and a combed main of ebony hair falling past both sides of her face. Muscular too, Ara thought, from a life tending to a farmstead most likely.

“Vahe!” Ara called. “I’ve found another one! Slain with an arrow straight through her heart.”

She had struck the ground hard, Ara guessed from the subtle crater formed around her fallen body. Stiffened hands lied against her midriff, covered in coagulated blood from grasping the arrow protruding from her heart. The corpse had come to sit upright with her back slumped against the tree trunk.

Who was she? Ara wondered to himself. Certainly, someone from ransacked Hatha township not even several leagues away. She had perished here alone, cut down by the precision of a seasoned marksman.

A dozen other slain Hatha-folk had suffered similar fates in the hinterlands. Murdered by mysterious hunters and by passers from a distant and foreign land. Ara climbed back to his feet and cast his gaze farther afield into the hinterlands. Forgotten memories resurfaced from the depths of his mind. Remnants of a dormant past returned onto him after he had buried them since his father’s death and his separation from his elder brother, Aslan.

A familiar voice between boisterous and rasping, but surprisingly jovial, snapped Ara from his reverie.

“There’s something about Autumn season when so near to winter.” Vahe of Grand Damyra stomped across a snow-sprinkled hinterland with black leather boots. “We wander from memory to memory in search of past faces and what we’ve lost of ourselves to the cruel past, longing for what once was.”

Ara regarded his friend with a crane of the head, finding a man of some thirty-and-odd summers of age. Lustrous hair as black as a raven’s feathers in lengthy strands, blew in the wind. Dark auburn eyes as large as moonstones watched him curiously. A pair of notable scars marked his face. One ran from the nape of his neck to the corner of his cheek, while the other ran diagonally from hairline to his brow over the right eye.

Vahe wore a midnight doublet beneath a suit of chainmail. He equipped no plate steel on his chest, but kept gauntlets, greaves, and pauldrons to amply protect him elsewhere. A heavy soara of a drab mossy green shade became scrunched in the wind from beneath his greaves.

He had a kite shield slung onto his back. A steel helmet adorned with a pair of elongated emerald tassels tucked underneath his arm.

“Autumn ends at long last,” Ara replied with a look around the winter-touched woods. “The Hinterlands of Halliya shed their leaves to the four winds as snow falls over the Southern Reach. Aiman always loved watching the leaves fall at Season’s End.”

“You say that as if she died many moons ago.” Vahe clapped on Ara on the shoulder. “She might’ve walked away from you a couple years ago, but I’m certain you fated lovebirds will reunite at some appointed place and time. However, I suppose we shouldn’t linger here ourselves if we’re to see our mission through and catch up with these White-and-Vermillion banners and the bandits planting them along their warpath.”

White and Vermillion, Ara mused, scattered across the Halliyan countryside in the form of war banners. He counted several briefly, planted into the ruddy forest soil and concealed in the veridian fauna that sprawled across it.

A howling gale sifted through the autumn woods as light snow fell through the forest canopy.

“You think so?” Ara mentioned after Vahe’s comment about Aiman. “I guess the Light of the West pays no heed to the benighted world it leaves behind at horizon’s end.” Sighing, he changed the subject. “Whoever these White-and-Vermillion Wolves are, they’ve taken up another hunt.”

“Want me to give the signal?” Vahe asked with an arched brow. He expelled misty vapor from his mouth in an exhale. “We might be able to catch to them if our knights are swift enough.”

“Or we can stumble into an ambush as many innocents have already made the mistake of doing.”

Vahe shrugged. “Our bandits from the eastern steppes will continue their warpath and casualties will mount if the Anahir Immortals stall and do nothing.”

Anahir. Old Myria’s jewel in the Autumn Queen’s crown. The capital and heart of the Autumn Realms.

Immortals. A brotherhood of champions from across Old Myria’s divided lands. Warriors tested from a myriad ways of life, hardened and steadfast against all enemies south of the Alabaster River.

“Give the command then!” Ara declared his consent with an absent nod. “We hunt the Steppe warriors down and take their Child of the Sun captive. Have everyone prepare their mounts for the hunt. Should the White-and-Vermillion have already departed Halliya, then we ride them down elsewhere.”

“Knights of Old Myria and Immortals of Anahir,” Vahe shouted. “Make all haste! Prepare to ride into battle and hunt the foe!”

Ara lingered behind as Vahe walked back toward their encampment outside of Hatha. He watched shades of yellow-gold, auburn, vermilion, and faded emerald dance on a fell winter wind.

Dying near to Autumn’s end retained a sense of beauty he found hard to describe. Or, maybe his battle lust became more alluring near to the season’s end. Ara found the emotion strange. Spilling the blood of others appealed to his darkest senses of what awaited them whenever they found and confronted the White-and-Vermillion Wolves. A trial of steel and wits. A conflict of hunters skilled in both steel weapons and survival. A battle in the snow-white forests at Autumn’s end whilst winter approached. Apparitions locked in battle across Old Myria’s untamed
wilderness.

A growing piece in the back of Ara’s mind longed to charge headlong into that trial-by-fire.



Title: Re: Whispers of White Sapphire - An Introduction & Sample
Post by: Myen'Tal on February 8, 2024, 11:25:06 PM
Just a small announcement that the blog feature has been added to the website! You can find the finished version of the previous post detailing Whispers of White Sapphire in my signature below.

Status Update: Editing appointment is underway and we're entering the final stretch to get A Sanctum of Swords Embers Edition re-launched. The altered cover art will be finished and displayed on the website next week alongside a new blog post detailing the changes. I'd love to share some snippets of the audiobook production on the website while it's in progress, but we'll see if I can make that happen  ;D!

Whispers of White Sapphire's first novella, Apparitions Amid the Whispering Woods, is undergoing a major revision as is visible in the blog post. Still 50% or so through the Shadow of Her Past.

I am also hoping to release Whispers of White Sapphire in the September-October time frame in addition to scheduling the cover art for The Reaper of the Mortal Sands around that time as well.


Title: Incoming Update!
Post by: Myen'Tal on February 15, 2024, 11:31:19 PM
Announcement - new blog entry coming in sometime tomorrow! Keep an eye on this post tomorrow!

(https://i.ibb.co/K6zZ5G8/Screenshot-2024-02-15-222604.png)
Title: Re: Incoming Update!
Post by: Irisado on February 16, 2024, 09:10:37 AM
The artwork is really impressive.  I think that they have done a very good job with the white and blue contrast.  I do hope that it draws the public into buying the book.
Title: Re: Incoming Update!
Post by: Myen'Tal on February 16, 2024, 09:17:13 AM
The artwork is really impressive.  I think that they have done a very good job with the white and blue contrast.  I do hope that it draws the public into buying the book.

Thank you! I hope it does the same  ;D!

Announcement Blog entry for A Sanctum of Swords: Embers Edition is live!
Title: Re: Incoming Update!
Post by: Dread on February 25, 2024, 06:40:34 PM
It makes me happy to see how far you've gone with this. Thru the upside and downs and you've achieved something great. I'm glad I was along for the ride. 👍
Title: Re: Incoming Update!
Post by: Myen'Tal on February 26, 2024, 07:44:29 AM
It makes me happy to see how far you've gone with this. Thru the upside and downs and you've achieved something great. I'm glad I was along for the ride. 👍

Thank you, Dread! It's been an honor to have you in the thread and your support. I'm glad you were here too! Will still likely be posting here just because lol.
Title: From Novella to Novel
Post by: Myen'Tal on March 6, 2024, 05:53:55 PM
Quick updates!

Editing appointment is approaching the finish line and I am really looking forward to seeing the changes.

Blog #3 is now live on the website, titled From Novella to Novel. Apparitions Amid the Whispering Woods is taking center stage and a name change. Read more about it!

Contract with my audiobook narrator is approaching a signing date - really looking forward to that too!
Title: Re: ASOS: Embers Edition Status Update!
Post by: Myen'Tal on March 15, 2024, 11:51:57 PM
Hi everyone,

A Sanctum of Swords: Embers Edition has returned from the editor and I believe between the both us, we've fined tuned A Sanctum of Swords to a high degree!

The audiobook contract has been signed and we are in production!

As the audio narration begins to near conclusion, I'll be taking steps to finalize the launch and get all versions up on the appropriate storefronts.

Whispers of White Sapphire's rough draft has hit the 51% mark - so still a ways to go. Hoping to finish everything up on that end by early May.

Also may have another illustration coming up in September in addition to the cover art for The Reaper of the Mortal Sands beginning!

Good times! Will keep the thread updated as we come nearer to launch.