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« on: October 28, 2008, 10:39:05 PM »
Hi everyone, I wrote this for a book about a half year ago, and was wondering if people think if it's any good, and if I shoudl keep going with it. I know it's pretty amateur, but I would appreciate feedback from other writers. Its just the first chapter , but please give me some feedback on my writing, be as critical as you want, thanks!
Chapter One:
The wind whistled through the oaks, casting an eerie tone over the moonless night. But that was the only sound to be heard in the secluded grove. The dark around the area was thick and viscous, and no forest life could be seen. A solitary figure crouched in the shadows, granite eyes glinted from beneath his hood, taking in his surroundings. He’d been there for hours, waiting for his prey, and one hand grasped an iron blade. He was like a gargoyle, rooted to the spot, not a single movement, patient as stone. His head tilted suddenly, like a creature from the forest, as he listened intently, eyes turned toward the rough dirt road ahead of him. A small dust cloud was barely visible as an elaborate coach was approaching. Arion’s eyes flittered to the emblem on the side, a golden sword upheld with black fog surrounding it. His bleak expression was distorted as he cracked his neck and inhaled deeply. The grey in his eyes seemed to drain as a thick black replaced them, and he tapped into his soul, and entered the Unknown Realm. Murky shadows replaced his vision, and he looked around, disoriented as much as when he had first came here, years ago. He raised his glance to the road again, and saw the shadows moving, no colour; no life was in this realm, this dimension. And then his gaze fell on the guards, and their souls pulsed, emanating a blue aura. Arion could feel the tugs on his own soul, as his last reserve around it was being absorbed; he needed more. Then he smiled grimly, and stared at the unsuspecting guards.
The men guarding the carriage were the best, and they were constantly vigilant, as they surveyed the forest around them. They regarded every shadow with wariness as they slowly marched alongside the carriage, watching for any disturbances. Out of the corner of this eye, one guard sensed motion, and turned, but was not ready as a dark figure fell from the sky like an anvil. The rest of them turned as they heard his scream, and saw a hand reach out from beneath the cloak and laid it out on the man’s heart, and seemed to draw upwards, pulling something unseen away with his palm. Then the hooded figure rose, and they caught a glimpse of his eyes, black. The men recoiled instantly, as if struck by a viper.
One of the men shouted out,
‘It’s a Soul Taker!’
The men spread out, their chain mail clinking as they undid their cloaks. Then the Soul Taker leapt to the side, jumping off the carriage and back flipped over it as his sword sliced through the horse’s harnesses, and landed lightly on the dirt. The horses reared, and ran, scattering the guards apart. One of the guards ran at him, broadsword swinging, but the Taker countered it with his own blade, and spun around him, his other hand stabbing a dagger through his heart. The captain let a spear fly at him, but to his astonishment, the Soul Taker wasn’t there when it hit. He was twirling away, a black blur, cloak flailing about around him as gusts of wind blew past through the starless night. And another swing of his sword, and another guard fell. The men looked around wildly, but he had disappeared from their sight. Then one of them screamed at coarse hands gripped his neck and threw him into the carriage, breaking his spine. A small throwing knife whirred through the air and caught another in the neck, and he gurgled blood as he dropped slowly. The Soul Taker was picking them off one by one. Soon only the captain was left, and he gaped in horror and awe at the carnage around him; ten men lay dead, in a matter of minutes. He tried to fight the terror that fluttered about inside of him, and he nervously gripped his blade, wringing his hands on the ivory handle, grey eyes darting about the road. Wham, a leather boot slammed into his face, knocking him onto the ground. He glanced upwards, into the face of his killer, and wiped the warm blood off his face with the back of his hand in a daze. The Soul Taker stood over him, and cocked his head as if studying him, then jammed a broken spear haft through his chest. The captain felt the pain as the iron tipped shaft tore his flesh, and splinters jammed through his skin, he was struggling to stay alive, to go on, but he struggled in vain.
Arion watched the blue aura around the man flutter and wane, until it became motionless, and then he stooped and placed his hand over the man’s heart, and absorbed his soul; he could feel it rush into him, like a strange new life. He sighed in relief as he felt the weight lifted off his shoulders, and the Darkness was sated, and his own soul felt at peace. The voices dulled, and he finally felt at ease. He stepped out of that dismal world, and surveyed the carnage that he had wrought. Blood soaked the once dry dirt, and men were scattered all over the pathway, souls drained. He smiled triumphantly, as he began to feel the effects of the Realm like a drug, compelling him to return. He fought the feeling and concentrated on his assignment. All that was left was the carriage. He smiled again, he had not seen any other auras in the Unknown Realm, which meant that the carriage was deserted, and he could merely take his prize.
He strode towards the transport, and was reaching for the handle, when something caused him to pause. There was a thickness to the air, a sense of dread that compounded all else. It was a strangely familiar feeling…he began to choke, and suddenly he felt his skin ripple, and his eyes widened in disbelief as the carriage door was blown off towards him and knocked him through an oak, branches cracking and tearing his cloak. A solitary robed figure sauntered over to him with an air of power, as if nothing could touch him. Arion grasped a branch above him, and pulled himself out of the soft grass, and once again tapped his soul, and entered the Unknown realm. He looked around, looking for an aura in the murk and gloom, but found none. Confused, he spun, searching desperately for his assailant. A shadow leapt out at him, but instead of seeing being able to avoid it before it happened, and he felt an iron gauntlet strike his jaw and he fell again, spewing blood across the ground. Arion crawled desperately, struggling to get away, away from this monstrosity of a man who rendered his powers useless. He staggered to his feet and began running wildly, crashing through the underbrush, unaware of the cuts and bruises from the dense forest.
He glanced back in dread, and saw nothing. The air suddenly felt heavier, Darker, and an unseen force rippled through the air, he was thrown backwards into the air, and the force of it tore away his stolen souls, the only thing that protected his own soul from the Darkness. He screamed as his soul became exposed to it: unfettered and unobstructed, the Darkness in the Realm came upon him with a fury. The voices renewed their assault, and he crumbled beneath their force. Arion could feel the pain and evil as he was being crushed inwardly, and he cried for help, reaching out a scarred hand to his adversary, eyes blackening and pleading for help. Black tendrils like a thick liquid branched out through his entire body, branching out from his soul. He tore the grass in his pain, scourging the ground, shuddering, before finally dropping to the ground, defeated.
The robed figure stood in the unknown realm, time and Darkness swirling around him in a chaotic dance, and he checked Arion’s soul for any pulse, and finding none, exited the realm contemptuously. He stepped over the body; his heavy steel boots sank into the soft ground, as he strode back to the carriage, glad that his plan worked out this well. It was hard for anything to go perfectly in this godforsaken place, this haven of turmoil and instability. The land had changed so much after the Rupture, yet he could still remember when the states were not at war, when they were united under the Empire, the golden age; for he had endured. Yes, he thought, I’ve endured before, his eyes hardened as iron and the blackness faded as they returned to blood red, and I will endure again.
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