The Chaos Lexicon: Corruption

[coldwave]

Hey! New member here, and a new story, novel-ish in length. I hope to update it once a week, though this may be a little ambitious. All comments welcomed.

The Chaos Lexicon: Corruption

Prologue

Blue fire erupted from granite floor stones, fire as cold as the winds about mighty Arreat, the Roof of the World. The ghostly flames raged silently as they rose to the height of a man; when they vanished like a candle blown out, the wizard remained. He stood trembling for a time, breathing spasmodically, clutching at his robes. The Spell of Portal was a rigorous exercise, its effects unpleasant. The experience was that of passing though a storm of shattered glass. For good reason, the wizard had not uttered the incantation in a score of years. Still, he allowed himself a thin smile of satisfaction as he recovered, for he had not erred in his calculations. Straight and true had his spell delivered him to his goal.

The room in which the wizard stood was long and large, shrouded in darkness that was dispelled only here and there by ensconced flames along walls and pillars. His ragged breath lingered before him like a wraith. There was a damp and cloying odor of earth and decay. The wizard knew this scent well, for he had visited many such catacombs and deep places in his time. The drip of water came to him from a far corner, seeping through some crack in the walls. It was well into the late season of rain that accompanied the turning of leaves. The wizard sensed that it was raining even now, far above him.

As his eyes grew accustomed to the dimness, the wizard spied a structure at the far end of the room. A great sepulcher, made of dark stone and adorned with cryptic symbols and sigils. Two mighty columns, each of which bore an unlit torch, flanked the vault; the sepulcher thus sat hidden in a pool of darkness, as if by design. The wizard turned toward the vault in haste – or as much haste as his aged limbs would allow – and let slip a cloth sack from his hands. The bag struck the stone floor with a hard crack that betrayed glass within. The sound echoed throughout the room.

“Siliera!” the wizard hissed; he flung out his left hand in a sweeping gesture. The air rippled away from him in that moment, carrying the force of the whispered enchantment to the far corners of the room. Now, for a time, no sound within this room could be heard from without. The wizard cursed himself for failing to establish the Spell of Silence immediately upon his arrival. An unforgivable error even for a novice, he thought, let alone a mage of his seasoning. He raised his left hand before his face; it trembled. He clenched that hand into a bony fist.

“Purpose,” he muttered, nodding to himself, reminding himself. Purpose and time – twin forces which bound all the world. Forces though which a man might govern that world, if only he held true. He exhaled sharply and bent to pick up the fallen sack.

“Intruder, hold!” cried a voice behind him. “Turn and face me!”

The wizard gasped – he had heard no footfall, no approach. He turned to see a young woman behind him, surely less than a score of summers old. She held aloft a short sword that glinted in the flickering torchlight. The woman – obviously a guard – wore a jerkin, trousers, and boots all of leather. Her face, shadowed from behind, bore an expression caught between anger and fear.

“Who are you, old man?” The voice held the high, uncertain pitch of youth, but was edged with menace. She brandished the sword. “How did you enter this place? Speak quickly!”

The wizard’s left hand clutched at his cloak, then at the front of his robe beneath; he took a halting step forward. “Please,” he said, coughing. “Please help – ” He collapsed then, falling forward with a grunt and rolling onto his side.

The guard hesitated; the wizard’s body lay still before her. There was no sound of breathing save her own.

“Old man,” the guard said uncertainly. She stepped closer, lowering her sword as she moved.

The wizard’s hand thrust outward without warning, hurling a glass vial onto the floor at the guard’s feet. The vial shattered, releasing a plume of black mist that enveloped the woman. She screamed once, and then began to gasp and wheeze as though her breath had been stolen away. She fell to her knees, and then slumped to the floor. The wizard sat up, grimacing with the effort. He glared at the dark mist that still hovered about the guard’s form and dispelled it with a curt command.

The woman had stopped gasping, had indeed stopped moving at all. Now she was the one who lay upon her side on the cold stone. The wizard dragged himself near the guard’s body and turned it roughly by the shoulder. The woman lay on her back, eyes open and staring blindly. Her face, youthful and unlined, had become a perfect death mask; only the wizard’s occult senses assured him that she still lived.

“I do apologize for this ill-treatment, my dear,” the wizard murmured, his voice brittle as old parchment. “I did expect you, or someone much like you…though perhaps not so soon. I trust that you can hear me, though you are of course unable to respond. Such is the effect of the Dust of Bedevilment. I fear that I have pressing business and must leave you as you are for the moment, but do not despair! I shall return to bestow upon you my full attention.”

The wizard drew his fallen cloth sack to him; he reached inside and produced first one large glass jar, then another, then three more. He held each jar up for inspection, pausing to closely examine one with a crack at its base. “Clumsy,” he said, chiding himself. Still, it was not broken, and so would do.

He set the jars in a line near the guard’s body, and then withdrew a thin and glittering blade from within the folds of his cloak. He set this also near the woman’s paralyzed form. “I shall not be long,” he said to her. He paused a moment, cocking his head in mockery, as though awaiting a reply that could not come.

The wizard then struggled to his feet, the now-empty sack clutched in his right hand. He turned his back upon his young victim, turned once more toward the waiting sepulcher at the end of the room. His side ached from where he had struck the floor when he fell, but his hands no longer trembled.

“Purpose,” the wizard said again, smiling in the terrible darkness.

[0xDEADCAFE]

:thumbsup: Nice.

Well written and interesting. It read smoothly and I didn't notice any errors. There hasn't been much on wizards in this forum so this is a welcome addition. I look forward to reading more.

[RevenantsKnight]

This looks like a pretty good start. Your story leaves just enough unknown to hold my attention, while conjuring up good mental images as I read. Anyway, here’re some specific comments; feel free to tell me if you think I’m being too evil with the editing stick.

The ghostly flames raged silently as they rose to the height of a man; when they vanished like a candle blown out, the wizard remained.

While you do a good job of mixing descriptive bits on the wizard into the story, I felt as if there was something missing, namely, a general picture of him. Certain elements, such as the facial features, appearance, clothes, etc. of a character, are largely responsible for the image of the story in the reader’s mind, and without many of them here, I found myself defaulting to some cross between Deckard Cain and Ian McKellen. Maybe that’s the image you wanted, but I’m guessing that you’re trying to make a character that isn’t another generic old wizard.

The experience was that of passing though a storm of shattered glass.

Grammatically, this sentence says that using the “Spell of Portal” literally involves passing through a storm of shattered glass. I think you meant this as a comparison; if that is the case, then it should read, in my opinion, something like “...was like that of...”

The room in which the wizard stood was long and large, shrouded in darkness that was dispelled only here and there by ensconced flames along walls and pillars...There was a damp and cloying odor of earth and decay...The drip of water came to him from a far corner, seeping through some crack in the walls. It was well into the late season of rain that accompanied the turning of leaves. The wizard sensed that it was raining even now, far above him.

Nice. This is what I meant about your writing bringing up good mental images.

As his eyes grew accustomed to the dimness, the wizard spied a structure at the far end of the room. A great sepulcher, made of dark stone and adorned with cryptic symbols and sigils.

I’d see if you can’t combine these two sentences together; the connection between “structure” and “sepulcher” seems weaker with the ideas broken up.

Forces though which a man might govern that world, if only he held true.

I think you mean “through.”

“Such is the effect of the Dust of Bedevilment.”

I’d be careful with using “proper names” of spells and magical items, as they take away from the believability of the story with enough use; while your employment of them isn’t as bad as it could be, if I read a Diablo piece that had the sentence, “With the Hellslayer in hand, the Barbarian used his Whirlwind to cut through the ranks of the Oblivion Knights in seconds,” I’d take a few moments to stare before continuing on with the story.

I look forward to any further material, and thanks for posting!

[coldwave]

My thanks to you both - and special thanks for the specific comments, RevenantsKnight. All of them were useful and I'll incorporate the suggestions as soon as may be.

The point about "brand name" spells and attributes and such is a good one. The subject's been on my mind, as the potential for abuse will be pretty high in this story. I'm keeping it in mind...

[Relapse_]

I have no corrections or suggestions, but a question: By the title of the peice, I'm guessing that you're going to plumb exactly what it is to be 'corrupted' in the world of diablo. The game designers really breeze over this area of their fiction. How could a man trust a demon enough to be corrupted by him? Is it just a matter of waving a wand to turn someone evil? Thoughtful and more dramatic interpretations of the diablo universe are needed, and ones I enjoy examining.

[LD50]

Nice writing! Only one point I'd like to make. When the guard caught the wizard and he started his act, I kinda got the feeling that the silence spell wasn't in effect. You didn't say the guard heard the wizard speak, but I read it like that. Might be just me, though.

Anyway, I'd like to read more, thank you!!

[Hunt3r_kill4]

Nice writing! Only one point I'd like to make. When the guard caught the wizard and he started his act, I kinda got the feeling that the silence spell wasn't in effect. You didn't say the guard heard the wizard speak, but I read it like that. Might be just me, though.

Anyway, I'd like to read more, thank you!!

I also puzzled over that part for a bit. The impression I had was the any noice cannot exit the room. Therefore, no sound will reach the ears of someone outside of the area of effect.

[coldwave]

Well, it's only been close to a year since I posted the beginning of this story. Sorry. Time, uh, got away from me. But the story has never been far from my thoughts, and I'm now able and eager to get back to it.

I'd like to thank those folks - 0xDEADCAFE, Relapse_ , LD50, Hunt3r_kill4, and especially RevenantsKnight - for their long-ago comments on the opening piece. All advice was and is welcome.

I rashly stated last year that I expected to update the story once a week. Vain and foolish hope! :o Once a month, perhaps, is more reasonable. But I am looking forward working on the story, and hope you enjoy it.

As I've incorporated some of the advice I received earlier, I am here reposting the prologue (which is now simply Chapter 1). This will be immediately followed by the succeeding chapter, which I have in hand. Then, well, back to work!

____________________

The Chaos Lexicon: Corruption

Chapter 1

Blue fire erupted from the granite floor, fire as cold as the winds about mighty Arreat, Roof of the World. The azure flames raged silently as they rose to the height of a man; when they vanished like a candle blown out, the wizard remained. He stood trembling for a time, breathing in fits and gasps, clutching at his robes. The portal spell was a rigorous exercise, its effects unpleasant. The sensation was that of passing though a storm of shattered glass; little wonder, then, that the wizard had not uttered the incantation in a score of years. Still, he allowed himself a thin smile as he recovered, for he had not erred in his calculations. Straight and true had the spell delivered him to his destination.

The room in which the wizard stood was long and large, shrouded in darkness relieved only here and there by ensconced flames along walls and pillars. His ragged breath lingered before him like a wraith. The damp air felt heavy and cloying against his face, his neck, his bald pate, pressing with the weight of countless tons of unseen stone above. The odor of earth and decay filled his nostrils. The wizard knew this scent well, for he had visited many such catacombs and deep places in his time. A sound came to him, the drip of water in a far corner, seeping through some crack in the walls. It was well into the late season of rain that accompanied the turning of leaves. The wizard sensed that it was raining even now, far above him.

As his eyes grew accustomed to the dimness, the wizard spied his goal at the far end of the room: a mighty sepulcher of dark stone, adorned with cryptic sigils. He noted with approval that the vault was flanked by two great columns of basalt, each of them six-sided, each of them bearing an unlit torch. The sepulcher sat hidden, as if by design, in a pool of darkness. The wizard turned toward the vault in haste – or as much haste as his aged limbs would allow – and let slip a cloth sack from his hands. The bag struck the stone floor with a hard crack that betrayed glass within. The sound echoed throughout the room.

"Siliera!" the wizard hissed; he flung out his left hand in a sweeping gesture. The air rippled away from him in that moment, carrying the force of the whispered enchantment to the far corners of the room. Now, for a time, no sound within this vault could be heard from without. The wizard cursed himself for failing to establish silence immediately upon his arrival. An unforgivable error even for a novice, he thought, let alone a mage of his seasoning. He raised his left hand before his face; it trembled. He clenched that hand into a bony fist.

"Purpose," he muttered, nodding to himself, reminding himself. Purpose and time – twin cords which bound all the world. Forces though which a man might govern that world. He exhaled sharply and bent to pick up the fallen sack.

"Intruder, hold!" cried a voice behind him. "Turn and face me!"

The wizard gasped; he had heard no footfall, no approach. He turned to see a young woman behind him, surely less than a score of summers old. She bore a short sword that glinted in the flickering torchlight. The woman – obviously a guard – wore a jerkin, trousers, and boots all of leather. Her face, shadowed from behind, bore an expression caught between anger and fear.

"Who are you, old man?" The voice held the high, uncertain pitch of youth, but was edged with menace. She brandished the sword. "How did you enter this place? Speak quickly!"

The wizard's left hand clutched at the hem of his cloak, and then at his chest; he took a halting step forward. "Please," he said, coughing. "Please help – " He collapsed then, falling forward with a grunt and rolling onto his side.

The guard hesitated; the wizard's body lay still before her. There was no sound save her own breath.

"Old man," the guard said uncertainly. She stepped closer, lowering her sword as she moved.

The wizard's hand thrust outward without warning, hurling a glass vial onto the floor at the guard's feet. The vial shattered, releasing a plume of black mist that enveloped the woman. She screamed once, and then began to gasp and wheeze as though her breath had been stolen away. She fell to her knees, and then slumped to the floor. The wizard sat up, grimacing with the effort. He glared at the dark mist that still hovered about the guard's form.

"Dispaira," he said curtly. The mist spiraled upon itself and vanished.

The woman had stopped gasping, had indeed stopped moving at all. Now she was the one who lay upon her side on the cold stone. The wizard dragged himself near the guard's body and turned it roughly by the shoulder. The woman lay on her back, eyes open and staring blindly. Her face, youthful and unlined, had become a perfect death mask; only the wizard's occult senses assured him that she still lived.

"I apologize for this ill-treatment, my dear," the wizard rasped, his voice like parchment. "I did indeed expect you, or someone much like you – though nearly not so soon. I trust that you can hear my words, though you are of course unable to respond. Such is the effect of bedevilment." He shifted his weight with some difficulty and reached out to smooth away a lock of hair from the woman's brow; his touch was almost tender. "I have pressing business and must leave you as you are for the moment, but do not fear! I shall return to bestow upon you my full attention."

The wizard drew his fallen cloth sack to him; he reached inside and produced first one large glass jar, and then another, and then three more. He held each jar up for inspection, pausing to closely examine one with a crack at its base. "Clumsy," he said, chiding himself. Still, it was not broken, and so would do.

He set the jars in a line near the guard's body, and then withdrew a thin and glittering blade from within the folds of his cloak. He set this also near the woman's paralyzed form. "I shall not be long," he said to her. He paused a moment, cocking his head in mockery, as though awaiting a reply that could not come.

The wizard then struggled to his feet, the now-empty sack clutched in his right hand. He turned his back upon his young victim, turned once more toward the waiting sepulcher at the end of the room. His side ached from where he had struck the floor when he fell, but his hands no longer trembled.

"Purpose," the wizard said again, smiling in the terrible darkness.

[coldwave]

Chapter 2

The wood fire burned low with the lateness of the hour, its red and orange flames struggling against the gloom of the tavern. Two men huddled over ales at a low table near the back where a passageway led to the kitchen and the adjoining inn. The proprietor idled with his patrons, apron stretched tight across his belly, a soiled rag limp in his left hand. Ever and again the men paused in their talk at the rattle of the storm, the lash of rain against the windows.

As the force of the gale reached new heights, winds howling like souls in Abaddon, the front door of the tavern burst open. The three men looked up to see a cowled figure on the threshold. The stranger looked slowly about as though taking measure of the place, then stepped inside and shut the door. The men watched in uncertain silence as the newcomer approached a table near the fire and dropped a packroll that thudded upon the plank floor. Rainwater quickly pooled about the stranger's muddy boots. The newcomer stripped away wet gloves and tossed them onto the table; bare hands pulled back the dripping cowl, uncovering cropped brown hair matted above a high brow and hooded eyes. A woman's face it was: edged at the cheekbones, stern of jaw. She unpinned her sodden cloak, revealing a stout build outfitted in the rude fashion of a journeyman. The woman slung the cloak across an empty chair and fixed her gaze upon the innkeeper. "Broth," she said.

"What's that?" the proprietor asked, as though startled out of sleep.

"I said 'broth', innkeep," the woman repeated. "Stock, soup, stew, whatever you may have left in your crock so long as it's hot. And bread to go with it." She then turned her back on the knot of men and sat heavily before the fire.

The innkeeper approached his new patron with halting steps. "Well, that's fine and good – milady," he began. "We've a room available if that's your pleasure, that is, if you're meaning to stay the night. Perhaps you'd prefer to take your supper in privacy and – "

"Perhaps I should, were I staying the night. I am not." The woman did not look up at the innkeeper. "I'll take my meal where I sit, if you'll be good enough to bring it." She reached into a pocket of her tunic and withdrew a dull gold coin that she set upon the table. "And another log on this fire, if you would."

The innkeeper eyed the coin for a moment and then bowed as gracefully as his girth would permit. "As you say, milady," he said, moving with alacrity to set a fresh log in the hearth and to prod the embers to new life with a poker. He paused a moment, awaiting some word of thanks or of dismissal, or even a curt nod. As he received only silence, he turned to fulfill his charge.

The proprietor bustled past his earlier patrons on his way to the kitchen. One of the men – a thin and sallow fellow – gave a derisive chuckle. "'If you'll be good enough to bring it'," he echoed with a sneer. "'Another log, if you would.' I guess that skirt made you jump high enough, Selwyn."

"Unless you plan to wield this rag, better you tend your own business instead of mine," Selwyn huffed. "Her gold's as good as anyone's – and more forthcoming than some, I've noticed." The innkeeper vanished into the recesses of the inn.

The stouter man at the table snorted and slapped his thigh. "Selwyn named you right enough, Cally," he said. "More likely we'd see snow in midsummer than you pay for a flagon."

"Shut your mouth," said Cally. He scratched at his cheek as he stared toward the front of the tavern. "We've fresh company for a pleasant change. There's a good solid handful, eh? I'd pay a coin or two for a look in those wet wrappings."

"I'd want more than a look for my money," his companion murmured behind his ale. His name was Brogan and he, too, eyed the woman. "What do you suppose? A farm girl from over the ridge, maybe? Some herder's daughter?"

"She's from no farm hereabouts, I'm sure of that. Looks to have come a long way."

"In hell's own weather, no less. And no companions with her, the poor dear."

"Until now, good son." Cally licked his dry lips. "Stay close, Brogan, and you may be in luck if she's generous. Strapping girl like that should be enough for two."

"Generous, perhaps, but what of that fair face?" Brogan chortled. "I remember you as more particular in past days."

"You know the old saw, mate: in the dark, all cats turn to gray." Cally winked as he lurched to his feet. "Worse comes to it, I've a feedbag to fit that horse."

Floorboards creaked as Cally wove an unsteady path toward the front of the tavern; the stolid Brogan made his own slower progress. The woman did not turn at their approach, nor did she seem to take note as they assumed stations on either side of her. Brogan settled into a chair to her right, while Cally set his foot upon a chair to her left. He leered at her by way of greeting and gestured with his flagon toward the hearth. Ale spattered onto the table. "Cheerful fire on a night like this," he said.

The woman remained slouched and unmoving in her chair. She might have been asleep – or made of stone – but for her bright gaze that mirrored the firelight. Her face seemed youthful enough, though her skin was brown and creased as if from sun and wind; fine wrinkles gathered at the corners of her eyes. Water trickled down the left side of her face and dripped from her chin.

"We saw that you're in need of company, being new to our fair hamlet as you seem," Cally began again. "It's our way to be open to strangers."

"You might call us the welcoming committee for stray lasses," Brogan offered.

"You might, at that." Cally smiled. "You've surely traveled far and not in the best of weather. What brings you here, if I might be so bold?"

"I stopped for food," the woman said finally, her voice low and sullen. "And quiet."

Cally laughed. "How very lucky for us, then." He took a pull of his ale and then bent closer. "And just where have you come from, dear?" The words billowed forth on stale, boozy breath. "Had a row with your father, maybe? Or you're perhaps on an errand?"

"Did you leave any fair sisters at home, perchance?" Brogan laughed as he spoke.

The woman ignored Brogan, but turned to look Cally full in the face; her eyes were obsidian now, averted from the firelight. "I come from distant Tal Amon, where such rain as you have here is an unanswered prayer," she said. "I have ridden through drought and darkness to reach this hovel, through lightning and torrents to endure your odious speech. The 'fair sisters' I abandoned in the desert were the vermin of the sands – the scarab, the viper, and the carrion bird – but they made for better company than I have found here."

Brogan grunted sharply, but kept silent as his companion raised a quick hand. Cally's face twisted as if he had bitten into sour fruit. "Harsh words, milady, and unbecoming," he said softly, the sloppy banter of a moment past now replaced by something edged and dangerous. "It's not our way to bear grudges...but we expect greater courtesy from a lone girl so far from home."

"So it's courtesy you're after, is it?" The woman's upper lip curled. "Is that what they call it here in your fair hamlet – courtesy?"

"Enough of your sass," rumbled Brogan as he bolted from his chair. He seized the woman's arm in a meaty grasp. "I've a better use for that mouth of –"

Whatever suggestion Brogan might have offered was lost, replaced by an inarticulate moan as the woman broke his grip and drove her elbow deep into his gut. In the same moment she lashed out with her left foot, catching Cally squarely in the chest and propelling him across the room.

"Now, then," the woman announced as she stood. "This herder's daughter will teach you the proper place for wayward hands."

"Treacherous witch," Cally hissed as he scrambled to his feet. He fumbled at his belt and withdrew a short curved dagger. "We'll be teaching the lessons here tonight! Come, Brogan!" He gestured with his blade. "Let's give this wench the welcome she deserves."

Cally's exhortation was met with another soul-sick groan, accompanied by the thick splash of liquid. The woman turned to see the large man bent upon his knees, convulsing, surrendering all that he had so lustily imbibed that night. What was once golden ale became a viscous pool, slowly spreading across the floorboards.

"I'd say the welcome has run all out of your companion," observed the woman.

"Brogan!" shouted Cally. "You'll let this sneering she-devil laugh at us, will you? Laggard! Shift your worthless hide!"

Cally's second attempt to rouse his ally seemed more effective, for after a moment Brogan did indeed grab hold of the table in an effort to regain his feet. Chairs toppled and scattered as he pulled himself more or less erect. Cally's look of triumph was swiftly replaced by consternation, however, as Brogan staggered across the room with one hand holding his outraged belly. The big man wrenched open the door and hurled his bulk into the tempest. The splashing steps of his retreat were soon lost within the rain and wind.

Cally stared at the open door, mouth agape, and then whirled to look back at the woman. She stood with her arms at her sides, her stance disturbingly relaxed. Only her eyes betrayed vitality, her glance leaping across the space between them.

"A thrice-damned coward he is," Cally said as if to himself. He fidgeted with the knife. "A coward, I say! You think I need him? Don't flatter yourself, wench." He barked a defiant laugh that caught in his throat. "I can settle our business just fine."

The woman studied him a moment longer, and Cally felt a chill as he saw – he thought he saw – the slightest smile play across her cracked lips.

"Are you quite sure of yourself there, Cally?" the woman asked.

Cally blinked. To his surprise and profound distress, he actually considered the question. Cally was surprised because he knew the answer to the woman's question and – worse still – he knew that she did too. Such was the realization that caused him to drop his knife and to stumble blindly out of the tavern as if pursued by demons.

The woman gazed after Cally for a time, and then stepped forward to pick up the knife. Her right hand closed into a fist about the weapon, snapping the short blade from its haft. She crossed over to the threshold and tossed the fragments into the mud outside. Her left hand moved in midair, a desultory gesture, the crux ordinaria – the same symbol that scarred the back of that hand.

"May the Light show you forgiveness, my 'brothers,'" the woman murmured into the uncaring storm, "such as you deserve."

She then closed the door and turned to regard the innkeeper Selwyn, who stood in the middle of the room bearing a plate of bread, a steaming bowl of soup, and the very face of fear. "Milady?" he asked in a small voice.

•

A scant hour later saw the woman many leagues distant, charging hard against the tempest, spurring the great horse she rode along a mountain pass. Rain slashed against mount and rider, and fierce winds assailed them; lightning exploded just over their heads, deafening them, fitfully illuminating the jagged path. The woman rode on. The pass narrowed and curved without warning, and the footing became treacherous. Storm water coursed from darkly looming precipices, flooding the pathway. The woman rode on, urging her horse to greater speeds. Onward they climbed into the storm's raging heart, ascending as it seemed to forbidden heights where elemental forces held sway and brooked no human presence. The woman rode on, driven by need, drawn by a fatal vision that burned in her eyes with every lightning stroke – a vision of blood and bone, of corruption and death, and of anguish.

[0xDEADCAFE]

Well, better late than never, I always say. The story certainly hasn't suffered from age. I thought this was well written and enjoyable throughout. First, I was hooked on what the Wizard was up to, now I am equally interested in what the "herder's daughter" is doing. I wouldn't mind seeing a chapter a week at all, though I agree that's an ambitious goal unless you are a writing machine that was somehow just out of gas for a while.

To highlight one aspect, I thought the dialog in chapter 2 was very clever and believable. It really seemed like different people were speaking. My favorite line was probably where Selwyn puts Cally in his place: "Unless you plan to wield this rag, better you tend your own business instead of mine," Selwyn huffed. "Her gold's as good as anyone's – and more forthcoming than some, I've noticed." That just seems so much like what an Innkeeper might say.

The girl's speech was equally witty and sharp, especially:"So it's courtesy you're after, is it?" The woman's upper lip curled. "Is that what they call it here in your fair hamlet – courtesy?"

One area that was a little unclear (maybe intentionally so): you present the girl as big and rough and tough, yet, you also suggest some magic in her. For example, I assume she has the power to invoke fear, somehow. I can understand why Cally would decide against attacking her at the end, but dropping his knife and running off seemed a bit much, unless he was bedeviled in some way. You also seem to suggest that she has some power to lay curses on them: Her left hand moved in midair, a desultory gesture, the crux ordinaria – the same symbol that scarred the back of that hand.

"May the Light show you forgiveness, my 'brothers,'" the woman murmured into the uncaring storm, "such as you deserve."

She's a very interesting character indeed. As is the wizard, although he felt a bit flat at first. Until: "I shall not be long," he said to her. He paused a moment, cocking his head in mockery, as though awaiting a reply that could not come. A great bit of characterization, there.

The very last paragraph might be the weakest part. It paints a dramatic image, but compared to the rest of your writing it seems a bit rushed and maybe a tad florid. Not to overemphasize this criticism -- it's not bad at all -- but if what you're going for is a chapter-ending teaser, I feel you could do it with a lot less, maybe just one or two sentences. On the other hand if you really want to paint the full picture you present, it might be better to take a bit more time with it.

I hate to end on a down note when so much of this was so good. Good stuff! I look forward to more. :thumbsup:

[coldwave]

Thanks much for the comments, 0xDEADCAFE! I'm glad you enjoyed reading it, and appreciate your putting your finger on a couple of points that, well, needed fingering:

One area that was a little unclear (maybe intentionally so): you present the girl as big and rough and tough, yet, you also suggest some magic in her.

The vagueness here (in the altercation with Cally and Brogan) was on my mind as I wrote and revised this chapter, and was more or less intentional. You're right in that she has a great deal of magic about her in addition to being a physical sort. I wanted to hint at that without being highly overt - to sort of have the magic leaking out of her a bit, if that makes any sense. That brings us to your additional comment here:

For example, I assume she has the power to invoke fear, somehow. I can understand why Cally would decide against attacking her at the end, but dropping his knife and running off seemed a bit much, unless he was bedeviled in some way.

A large part of this - to my thinking - was Cally's basic cowardice being exposed as he faces a woman who is more than his equal and nobody's victim. Others may read that differently. But another element I was hoping to inject here was a subtle effect of the woman's innate magic or spiritual force on these two brigands. It shouldn't be very loud magic, because that's not necessary with foes like Cally and Brogan. But maybe I should make it a little more evident what's going on here...It bears thinking about.

You also seem to suggest that she has some power to lay curses on them...

Not a curse, but a blessing - albeit a rather half-hearted, even sarcastic blessing - the sign of the cross.

She's a very interesting character indeed.

I've become very fond of her - but then, she's been on my mind a lot. Big plans for our mystery woman.

The very last paragraph might be the weakest part. It paints a dramatic image, but compared to the rest of your writing it seems a bit rushed and maybe a tad florid. Not to overemphasize this criticism -- it's not bad at all -- but if what you're going for is a chapter-ending teaser, I feel you could do it with a lot less, maybe just one or two sentences. On the other hand if you really want to paint the full picture you present, it might be better to take a bit more time with it.

That last bit was the easiest part to write, and maybe that should have been a warning, eh? Florid, yeah. :o I see how it might be jarring, as it's so different in tone than the rest of the chapter. I was going for a different tone here, an illustration of the urgency that sent her across the the desert, and may have gone too far in the process. That passage may feel more appropriate as the rest of the story is told, though.

I hate to end on a down note when so much of this was so good. Good stuff! I look forward to more. :thumbsup:

Not to worry; everything you remarked on semed valid to me, and worth the consideration. Hope to post more soon. I've had a lot of time to think about this storyline, and I am looking forward to continuing!

[RevenantsKnight]

*looks at last post date* Gah...apologies for not getting this up earlier. On the new Chapter 1: as before, Chapter 1 does a pretty good job with the description and overall feel, though there’re a few new thoughts here and there that I guess I missed the first time. Other than that, I don’t have that much more to say (go figure) except that it still held me in well enough, even with the new criticisms, so congrats. Anyway, here’re some badly delayed but specific comments:

The azure flames raged silently as they rose to the height of a man; when they vanished like a candle blown out, the wizard remained.

Guess I missed it the first time, but the comparison in the second part isn’t quite right, I think; the candle doesn’t vanish when you blow it out, the flame does. “...like a candle’s fire...,” perhaps. Or you could just go with it as it is to avoid repetition and hope the reader can follow along for the ride...it’s not particularly problematic, I’d say.

The damp air felt heavy and cloying against his face, his neck, his bald pate, pressing with the weight of countless tons of unseen stone above.

Nice bit of extra detail on the physical description.

The odor of earth and decay filled his nostrils. The wizard knew this scent well, for he had visited many such catacombs and deep places in his time. A sound came to him, the drip of water in a far corner, seeping through some crack in the walls. It was well into the late season of rain that accompanied the turning of leaves. The wizard sensed that it was raining even now, far above him.

I guess I was a little struck by the strong images here the first time I read this (and they’re still good here, by the way,) because on a second read, I noticed that you use the same structure to open each of these sentences: first a subject, and then the verb. There is nothing wrong with that structure in and of itself, but if you chain this many of them next to each other, it does start to feel a bit repetitive. While you do vary up your structures in some parts of the story, others have this sort of this-and-then-that feel to them. I’d suggest changing one or two of these here, because I’d argue that the repetition calls attention to itself, and since there doesn’t seem to be a strong thematic reason for that focus, it distracts the reader from the story.

The sepulcher sat hidden, as if by design, in a pool of darkness. The wizard turned toward the vault in haste – or as much haste as his aged limbs would allow – and let slip a cloth sack from his hands. The bag struck the stone floor with a hard crack that betrayed glass within. The sound echoed throughout the room.

Perhaps a bit more than the above example, this felt like a list, and it is a chronological sequence of events, which doesn’t really help that impression much. While chronological is probably best here, it makes it a bit more helpful to break up the reporter-like feel in such cases, since they’re so focused on the what.

"Siliera!" the wizard hissed; he flung out his left hand in a sweeping gesture.

As this is worded, it certainly works. However, I’d suggest restructuring this to exclude the semicolon, because the pause it suggests between the speech and the gesture seems a bit odd; it reads a little as if he says the word, then waits a second and finishes the spell. Something like “...hissed, flinging out his left hand...” might get the simultaneity down more, if that was your goal.

Forces though which a man might govern that world.

That should be “Forces through...,” I’d think.

There was no sound save her own breath.

I think this should be “...save that of her own breath” to be grammatically correct, though you probably could just leave it as is, too.

The woman had stopped gasping, had indeed stopped moving at all.

I’d word that as “...gasping, and had indeed...” though I don’t know if it’s strictly necessary.

"I apologize for this ill-treatment, my dear," the wizard rasped, his voice like parchment.

“Like parchment” didn’t quite do it for me in terms of an image, as it’s not a sound in and of itself. “Like the rustle of parchment,” perhaps?

He set the jars in a line near the guard's body, and then withdrew a thin and glittering blade from within the folds of his cloak. He set this also near the woman's paralyzed form. "I shall not be long," he said to her. He paused a moment, cocking his head in mockery, as though awaiting a reply that could not come.

As mentioned before, there’s a bit of a list-like feel to your narration at times, and this is another one of those. Though the elaboration such as “...as though awaiting a reply that could not come” is good and keeps this from being just the facts of the story, there’s still enough of that impression to make this read a bit like a detached report, which is just harder to get into. Again, the fix for this isn’t too bad; just varying a sentence structure or two will help.

Overall, Chapter 1 was still a fun read, even though I knew what was going to happen and found some new things to pick at...hope those suggestions help. If things go my way, I’ll have comments on Chapter 2 up some time tomorrow. Thanks for posting!

[The Last Melon]

Great. I post a story, what, an hour or two before you and I get ignored?

But enough whining - I can do that somewhere else. I'm also new to the forum, and posted a comedic Diablo II story here - although, as is the custom concerning me (grr), it was ignored.

Well, that was formal. Very good story - I also hope to see more!

[RevenantsKnight]

First off, apologies to coldwave for this, but some things need to be said:

Great. I post a story, what, an hour or two before you and I get ignored?

...I'm really not sure what the heck you meant by that. Note that the last post to coldwave's story was made nearly a month ago, and I just happen to be behind in replying. My reply to his story has nothing to do with me "ignoring" you...that was me taking care of unfinished business, and the next post I make here will be the same.

But enough whining - I can do that somewhere else. I'm also new to the forum, and posted a comedic Diablo II story here - although, as is the custom concerning me (grr), it was ignored.

Check your PM box on the forum. There're a few thoughts in there about why I haven't posted on your story. If you have any questions about that, please send them to me by PM instead of filling up a thread. And in the future, if you have complaints or something like that, please do not place them in someone else's story thread; the best way to deal with that is usually to put them in your thread as a politely worded request for reviews.

Again, sorry about that, coldwave. I'll get the reply to your next chapter up soon.

*ends thread interruption*

[RevenantsKnight]

Interesting...overall, Chapter 2 was a bit more engaging than Chapter 1, I’d say, though its general qualities were rather similar. I think the action worked pretty well, and the occasional bit of list-like structure didn’t seem to snag as much to me. It’s still there at points, though, so it might be worth addressing. Anyway, here’re some specific comments:

Two men huddled over ales at a low table near the back where a passageway led to the kitchen and the adjoining inn. The proprietor idled with his patrons, apron stretched tight across his belly, a soiled rag limp in his left hand.

The description here’s good in that it gets a bunch of details down in a short time, but it does so in what seems almost like a checklist to me; it reads as if you identify the character, detail number one, detail number two, and on to the next subject. This wasn’t too bad of an example of that, but I just think that this could be a bit more fluid in how it reads by switching up the sentence structure in one of these.

As the force of the gale reached new heights, winds howling like souls in Abaddon, the front door of the tavern burst open.

Hrm...I don’t know if you want to use much in the way of Biblical/Judeo-Christian religious references in a Diablo story, because while it obviously has some influences from that tradition, Blizzard seems to have gone out of their way to avoid using such references and really don’t leave a lot of room for them, in my opinion. The concepts of Heaven being absolute Order and Hell being absolute Chaos don’t quite fit with the theology, I think. Additionally, the major religion, Zakarum, seems to be the closest thing to Christianity, though it’s obviously different in several significant aspects such as the lack of an espoused Savior coming to earth and its non-condemnation of all magic as witchcraft. Given the extent of its reach, it seems like it’d preclude any similar church from existing as well.

The three men looked up to see a cowled figure on the threshold. The stranger looked slowly about as though taking measure of the place, then stepped inside and shut the door. The men watched in uncertain silence as the newcomer approached a table near the fire and dropped a packroll that thudded upon the plank floor.

This was probably the worst of the list abuse, but overall it wasn’t too bad, I’d say. While it does seem a little like a point-by-point breakdown of what happens, it didn’t bog me down too much. That said, I’d suggest maybe shuffling around the arrangement of the second sentence to something like “Looking slowly about, as though taking measure of the place, the stranger paused for a moment, then stepped inside and shut the door.” Since you already have the narrator’s focus on her with “a cowled figure on the threshold,” it seems like the shift to her could be implied instead of spelled out at the start, which would help with the repetitive structure.

The newcomer stripped away wet gloves and tossed them onto the table; bare hands pulled back the dripping cowl, uncovering cropped brown hair matted above a high brow and hooded eyes.

Minor nitpick: I’d word that as “...her bare hands” for clarity.

"We've a room available if that's your pleasure, that is, if you're meaning to stay the night."

Hrm...“we”? I didn’t get the impression that the other men were workers at the inn, which is what this seems to imply.

"Perhaps I should, were I staying the night. I am not."

Nice. Gets a lot across about the character in a small, natural-sounding package.

He paused a moment, awaiting some word of thanks or of dismissal, or even a curt nod.

The transition from the previous sentence to this one here felt a little abrupt to me; while it’s not a big deal, really, it seems to jump over some time, and that shift could be managed a bit more with something like “Finishing, he paused...”

"Her gold's as good as anyone's – and more forthcoming than some, I've noticed." The innkeeper vanished into the recesses of the inn.

I second 0xDEADCAFE’s remark on this line; nicely done. In fact, I’d suggest ending the paragraph on that note, working “The innkeeper vanished...” into the next sentence so it sticks a little bit more in the reader’s mind.

"We've fresh company for a pleasant change."

Well, you do a pretty good job of sketching out even the throwaway characters (if that’s what they are.) I do have to whine a little, though: they fit the stereotypical “ignorant ball of hormones” image a bit too well. Semi-drunken throwaways they might be, but they just seemed a little bit too unrestrained to be realistic.

His name was Brogan and he, too, eyed the woman.

Hrm...maybe it’s just me, but I’d suggest trying to introduce Brogan’s name in conversation, as opposed to in narration. This just seemed a bit awkward.

The woman did not turn at their approach, nor did she seem to take note as they assumed stations on either side of her. Brogan settled into a chair to her right, while Cally set his foot upon a chair to her left.

This seemed a touch repetitive to me; personally, I’d make this into one sentence by cutting “they assumed stations on either side of her” and finish the sentence with the second part.

She might have been asleep – or made of stone – but for her bright gaze that mirrored the firelight.

Another nice image.

"You might call us the welcoming committee for stray lasses," Brogan offered.

That sounded too modern. “Welcoming committee” is not a phrase I’d expect to see until well after the medieval age, or even the Renaissance.

"I have ridden through drought and darkness to reach this hovel, through lightning and torrents to endure your odious speech."

This was one of the few lines that didn’t quite sound natural to me. I can see this as part of a dramatic speech, perhaps, but not as something someone would use to tell someone to buzz off in conversation.

Cally's look of triumph was swiftly replaced by consternation, however, as Brogan staggered across the room with one hand holding his outraged belly.

A few minor points: first, I’d use something other than “outraged” here, since that suggests more of a capacity for violent action than what Brogan or his stomach could likely do right now. After all, he’s not hurling continuously or anything, is he?

The big man wrenched open the door and hurled his bulk into the tempest. The splashing steps of his retreat were soon lost within the rain and wind.

I’d suggest combining these sentences, so that it doesn’t seem quite as much like one action after another, and so that his departure, being of minimal significance to the overall story, is a quick and relatively unnoted one. That’s just me, though.

Only her eyes betrayed vitality, her glance leaping across the space between them.

I particularly liked the image here. :)

To his surprise and profound distress, he actually considered the question. Cally was surprised because he knew the answer to the woman's question and – worse still – he knew that she did too.

Hrm...for some reason, this didn’t pull me into the story. I think it feels too removed from Cally and what’s actually happening here; this is a somewhat dry narration of what he feels, and that just isn’t the same as seeing his emotions take effect. It doesn’t create a strong image for the reader, I think, and reads with a lack of urgency; both factors prevent this from being as powerful as it could be. This would be a possible place to work in a little more about her magic, too.

Her right hand closed into a fist about the weapon, snapping the short blade from its haft.

I didn’t like this image too much at first, because it sounds as if she’s squeezing it like a ball of paper or something, which should mess up her hand. Not sure what you should do about this...

She then closed the door and turned to regard the innkeeper Selwyn, who stood in the middle of the room bearing a plate of bread, a steaming bowl of soup, and the very face of fear.

Heh...nice ending note.

A scant hour later saw the woman many leagues distant, charging hard against the tempest, spurring the great horse she rode along a mountain pass.

I can deal with the shift in the tone here, but as 0xDEADCAFE pointed out, it seems like you’re trying to do a bit too much for an ending and not enough for a portrait of the scene. Anyway, one of my major complaints with this section is that it’s perhaps too heavy on the drama and stuff of legend, if you know what I mean. There’s thunder, lightning, a journey over “narrowed and curved” mountain roads into the “storm’s raging heart” at “forbidden heights where elemental forces held sway and brooked no human presence,” driven by “a vision of blood and bone, of corruption and death, and of anguish.” It all seems perfect, really too perfect, for this sort of medieval adventure tale where there is no mediocre, only great and grandiose or insignificant. I don’t deny that such imagery can be effective, but after a certain point, it pushes the boundaries of believability perhaps too much.

Also, I’m assuming that the repetition of “The woman rode on” in previous parts was intentional; unfortunately it didn’t quite come across as a good use of emphasis to me, because its calmer feel contrasted with the drama of the rest of the paragraph, and in the balance, it came out as a clash as opposed to some sort of balancing act.

With all that in mind, though, I didn’t think this part was too bad, actually; it did accomplish what you’ve stated as a goal, that is, it did create a good sense of urgency for me. So, I’d say that there’s enough of a core here to make your intent work very well, and that it just needs some refining into either a longer scene or a short, punchy teaser sort of bit. Either way could work, I think.

Overall, this looks pretty interesting, and read fairly well, a few bumps here and there aside. You’ve definitely got my attention, anyway. Sorry for taking so long to get to it, and thanks for posting!

[coldwave]

Rev, you took considerably less time to comment on the second chapter than I took to write it, so no harm there. Thanks much for your replies to both pieces; I'll need to come back and address a couple of the points you raised, because I've been on the go all day and I'm flat tired. :yawn: More to come, though.

[coldwave]

Well. First I couldn't access the forum for a full day (and not for the first time; anyone else have that problem?). Then, last night, I wasn't allowed to post replies. Now, of course, I've forgotten everything I was going to say.

Rev, thanks again for your comments on both chapters of the story. I'm going to reply to some points you raised as best I can (I'm, er, at work). From Chapter 1...

The azure flames raged silently as they rose to the height of a man; when they vanished like a candle blown out, the wizard remained.

Guess I missed it the first time, but the comparison in the second part isn’t quite right, I think; the candle doesn’t vanish when you blow it out, the flame does. “...like a candle’s fire...,” perhaps. Or you could just go with it as it is to avoid repetition and hope the reader can follow along for the ride...it’s not particularly problematic, I’d say.

Noted. That did bug me at the time, but for some reason I just couldn't rework it.

The damp air felt heavy and cloying against his face, his neck, his bald pate, pressing with the weight of countless tons of unseen stone above.

Nice bit of extra detail on the physical description.

I added it with you in mind. ;)

The odor of earth and decay filled his nostrils. The wizard knew this scent well, for he had visited many such catacombs and deep places in his time. A sound came to him, the drip of water in a far corner, seeping through some crack in the walls. It was well into the late season of rain that accompanied the turning of leaves. The wizard sensed that it was raining even now, far above him.

I guess I was a little struck by the strong images here the first time I read this (and they’re still good here, by the way,) because on a second read, I noticed that you use the same structure to open each of these sentences: first a subject, and then the verb. There is nothing wrong with that structure in and of itself, but if you chain this many of them next to each other, it does start to feel a bit repetitive. While you do vary up your structures in some parts of the story, others have this sort of this-and-then-that feel to them. I’d suggest changing one or two of these here, because I’d argue that the repetition calls attention to itself, and since there doesn’t seem to be a strong thematic reason for that focus, it distracts the reader from the story.

This is most intriguing! It's not something I've noticed as I've written this story, and I don't know if this pattern exists in other stuff I've done. At a quick glance, it looks as though the subject-predicate chain pops up most often in "pure" narrative descriptions, maybe, and perhaps less so where dialogue intrudes. In your comments on Chapter 2, you suggest shuffling the arrangement of such sentences to avoid a sense of repetition. That's a thought...though I'll confess that I prefer the more direct style. It's worth thinking about, though. I'll be interested in seeing if other folks pick up on that.

The sepulcher sat hidden, as if by design, in a pool of darkness. The wizard turned toward the vault in haste – or as much haste as his aged limbs would allow – and let slip a cloth sack from his hands. The bag struck the stone floor with a hard crack that betrayed glass within. The sound echoed throughout the room.

Perhaps a bit more than the above example, this felt like a list, and it is a chronological sequence of events, which doesn’t really help that impression much. While chronological is probably best here, it makes it a bit more helpful to break up the reporter-like feel in such cases, since they’re so focused on the what.

A little clumsy here; I got the details down, but didn't tidy them up.

"Siliera!" the wizard hissed; he flung out his left hand in a sweeping gesture.

As this is worded, it certainly works. However, I’d suggest restructuring this to exclude the semicolon, because the pause it suggests between the speech and the gesture seems a bit odd; it reads a little as if he says the word, then waits a second and finishes the spell. Something like “...hissed, flinging out his left hand...” might get the simultaneity down more, if that was your goal.

Gah. No need for a break here. "Flinging," yes, exactly.

Forces though which a man might govern that world.

That should be “Forces through...,” I’d think.

Yep. Actually, I kind of hate that sentence fragment.

There was no sound save her own breath.

I think this should be “...save that of her own breath” to be grammatically correct, though you probably could just leave it as is, too.

Your version's better.

The woman had stopped gasping, had indeed stopped moving at all.

I’d word that as “...gasping, and had indeed...” though I don’t know if it’s strictly necessary.

Inserting an "and" here does feel unnecessary to me...even though I'm probably fudging on the grammar a bit.

"I apologize for this ill-treatment, my dear," the wizard rasped, his voice like parchment.

“Like parchment” didn’t quite do it for me in terms of an image, as it’s not a sound in and of itself. “Like the rustle of parchment,” perhaps?

Yea, verily.

He set the jars in a line near the guard's body, and then withdrew a thin and glittering blade from within the folds of his cloak. He set this also near the woman's paralyzed form. "I shall not be long," he said to her. He paused a moment, cocking his head in mockery, as though awaiting a reply that could not come.

As mentioned before, there’s a bit of a list-like feel to your narration at times, and this is another one of those. Though the elaboration such as “...as though awaiting a reply that could not come” is good and keeps this from being just the facts of the story, there’s still enough of that impression to make this read a bit like a detached report, which is just harder to get into. Again, the fix for this isn’t too bad; just varying a sentence structure or two will help.

Agreed: this is definitely a place where the ingredients weren't fully folded in, as they say in cookbooks.

Now...can I get in your comments on Chapter 2 before I have to go back to work? Let's find out...

Two men huddled over ales at a low table near the back where a passageway led to the kitchen and the adjoining inn. The proprietor idled with his patrons, apron stretched tight across his belly, a soiled rag limp in his left hand.

The description here’s good in that it gets a bunch of details down in a short time, but it does so in what seems almost like a checklist to me; it reads as if you identify the character, detail number one, detail number two, and on to the next subject. This wasn’t too bad of an example of that, but I just think that this could be a bit more fluid in how it reads by switching up the sentence structure in one of these.

I see what you mean, and I agree. Varying the sentence structure here shouldn't be too hard. More folding-in.

As the force of the gale reached new heights, winds howling like souls in Abaddon, the front door of the tavern burst open.

I don’t know if you want to use much in the way of Biblical/Judeo-Christian religious references in a Diablo story, because while it obviously has some influences from that tradition, Blizzard seems to have gone out of their way to avoid using such references and really don’t leave a lot of room for them, in my opinion.

You'd certainly want to be lighthanded in mixing in Christian elements, and would want to make sure they were at least consonant with the tenor of Zakarum as presented in the Diablo mythos. However, Abaddon is indeed part of the Diablo canon, mentioned by name: it's accessed from the Frigid Highlands in Act V.

I like to think of Abaddon as an infernal gated community, literally one of the Burning Hells. Apparently, Hell has subdivisions. :lol:

The three men looked up to see a cowled figure on the threshold. The stranger looked slowly about as though taking measure of the place, then stepped inside and shut the door. The men watched in uncertain silence as the newcomer approached a table near the fire and dropped a packroll that thudded upon the plank floor.

This was probably the worst of the list abuse, but overall it wasn’t too bad, I’d say. While it does seem a little like a point-by-point breakdown of what happens, it didn’t bog me down too much. That said, I’d suggest maybe shuffling around the arrangement of the second sentence to something like “Looking slowly about, as though taking measure of the place, the stranger paused for a moment, then stepped inside and shut the door.” Since you already have the narrator’s focus on her with “a cowled figure on the threshold,” it seems like the shift to her could be implied instead of spelled out at the start, which would help with the repetitive structure.

That section is unforgivably awkward, and I'd be embarrassed to divulge how much time I spent on it. Much of the problem stemmed from trying to conceal the gender of the newcomer until the cowl was pulled back, which in retrospect seems awfully hokey to me. More here...

The newcomer stripped away wet gloves and tossed them onto the table; bare hands pulled back the dripping cowl, uncovering cropped brown hair matted above a high brow and hooded eyes.

Minor nitpick: I’d word that as “...her bare hands” for clarity.

See? Clunky. Gah.

"We've a room available if that's your pleasure, that is, if you're meaning to stay the night."

Hrm...“we”? I didn’t get the impression that the other men were workers at the inn, which is what this seems to imply.

Innkeepers always speak in the editorial we...er, don't they? Brogan and Cally are indeed just loutish patrons, not employees. It's probably worth changing the sentence to avoid implying otherwise.

"We've fresh company for a pleasant change."

Well, you do a pretty good job of sketching out even the throwaway characters (if that’s what they are.) I do have to whine a little, though: they fit the stereotypical “ignorant ball of hormones” image a bit too well. Semi-drunken throwaways they might be, but they just seemed a little bit too unrestrained to be realistic.

Unrestrained? You haven't seen these guys when they're really in the cups. :lol:

"You might call us the welcoming committee for stray lasses," Brogan offered.

That sounded too modern. “Welcoming committee” is not a phrase I’d expect to see until well after the medieval age, or even the Renaissance.

I looked right at that bit and had every intention of changing it. I have no idea why I did not. Substituting the word "council" here might work wonders.

"I have ridden through drought and darkness to reach this hovel, through lightning and torrents to endure your odious speech."

This was one of the few lines that didn’t quite sound natural to me. I can see this as part of a dramatic speech, perhaps, but not as something someone would use to tell someone to buzz off in conversation.

I wanted high dudgeon here, but I think it just goes on a bit long.

Cally's look of triumph was swiftly replaced by consternation, however, as Brogan staggered across the room with one hand holding his outraged belly.

I’d use something other than “outraged” here, since that suggests more of a capacity for violent action than what Brogan or his stomach could likely do right now. After all, he’s not hurling continuously or anything, is he?

Not sure I agree with that...

The big man wrenched open the door and hurled his bulk into the tempest. The splashing steps of his retreat were soon lost within the rain and wind.

I’d suggest combining these sentences, so that it doesn’t seem quite as much like one action after another, and so that his departure, being of minimal significance to the overall story, is a quick and relatively unnoted one. That’s just me, though.

...but I do agree with this.

To his surprise and profound distress, he actually considered the question. Cally was surprised because he knew the answer to the woman's question and – worse still – he knew that she did too.

Hrm...for some reason, this didn’t pull me into the story. I think it feels too removed from Cally and what’s actually happening here; this is a somewhat dry narration of what he feels, and that just isn’t the same as seeing his emotions take effect. It doesn’t create a strong image for the reader, I think, and reads with a lack of urgency; both factors prevent this from being as powerful as it could be. This would be a possible place to work in a little more about her magic, too.

I left something out here...which is weird. Its inclusion would most likely not solve the problem, though. It is remote, somewhat removed at a point where we'd want to be even closer to Cally (if we could stand it).

Your idea about working in the magic (which 0xDEADCAFE touched on too) could indeed help here...

Her right hand closed into a fist about the weapon, snapping the short blade from its haft.

I didn’t like this image too much at first, because it sounds as if she’s squeezing it like a ball of paper or something, which should mess up her hand. Not sure what you should do about this...

You shouldn't worry. She's a tough girl. :lol:

A scant hour later saw the woman many leagues distant, charging hard against the tempest, spurring the great horse she rode along a mountain pass.

I can deal with the shift in the tone here, but as 0xDEADCAFE pointed out, it seems like you’re trying to do a bit too much for an ending and not enough for a portrait of the scene. Anyway, one of my major complaints with this section is that it’s perhaps too heavy on the drama and stuff of legend, if you know what I mean. There’s thunder, lightning, a journey over “narrowed and curved” mountain roads into the “storm’s raging heart” at “forbidden heights where elemental forces held sway and brooked no human presence,” driven by “a vision of blood and bone, of corruption and death, and of anguish.” It all seems perfect, really too perfect, for this sort of medieval adventure tale where there is no mediocre, only great and grandiose or insignificant. I don’t deny that such imagery can be effective, but after a certain point, it pushes the boundaries of believability perhaps too much.

Also, I’m assuming that the repetition of “The woman rode on” in previous parts was intentional; unfortunately it didn’t quite come across as a good use of emphasis to me, because its calmer feel contrasted with the drama of the rest of the paragraph, and in the balance, it came out as a clash as opposed to some sort of balancing act.

With all that in mind, though, I didn’t think this part was too bad, actually; it did accomplish what you’ve stated as a goal, that is, it did create a good sense of urgency for me. So, I’d say that there’s enough of a core here to make your intent work very well, and that it just needs some refining into either a longer scene or a short, punchy teaser sort of bit. Either way could work, I think.

It's a lot. It's almost certainly too much, or at the least it really is too much of a break in tone with what's come before. The setting is far from Selwyn's prosaic inn in every sense, and I thought the tone should reflect that.

Perhaps I should approach it - perhaps my protagonist should approach it, literally approach it - a bit less abruptly.

Well. If it's to be brief - and I think it should be brief, this closing scene - then it must be pulled back a bit.

And that's that! Thank you very much for the attention you've given the story-so-far. I'm slogging through Chapter 3 and would really like to have it up by the 27th.

[RevenantsKnight]

Hi, coldwave; a few extra thoughts on all this:

Inserting an "and" here does feel unnecessary to me...even though I'm probably fudging on the grammar a bit.

Either way works, really...it's more of a nitpick than anything, so don't get too hung up on it.

You'd certainly want to be lighthanded in mixing in Christian elements, and would want to make sure they were at least consonant with the tenor of Zakarum as presented in the Diablo mythos. However, Abaddon is indeed part of the Diablo canon, mentioned by name: it's accessed from the Frigid Highlands in Act V.

I like to think of Abaddon as an infernal gated community, literally one of the Burning Hells. Apparently, Hell has subdivisions. :lol:

Heh...an infernal gated community. Funny. Regarding that game area, though...it doesn't appear to be a particularly notable region of Hell, and therefore may be too obscure a reference for most readers. I've run characters through that area before (which is more than some players do, I suspect,) and the first reference that jumped out at me was the Biblical one, not the game one. While you're certainly correct that it's in the game, my feeling is that most readers will miss that detail altogether.

Much of the problem stemmed from trying to conceal the gender of the newcomer until the cowl was pulled back, which in retrospect seems awfully hokey to me.

I think you could run with keeping that unknown for part of that paragraph, certainly; it seems to me that this could work. Most of what I was commenting on was the sentence arrangement and presentation, which could be varied without seriously changing the meaning.

Unrestrained? You haven't seen these guys when they're really in the cups. :lol:

Heh, fair enough; they're just more...forward than most people I know.

Not sure I agree with that...

You know, on a second reading, I'm not sure I do either. It's probably fine as it is; sorry about that.

[coldwave]

Thanks, Rev! My replies:

You'd certainly want to be lighthanded in mixing in Christian elements, and would want to make sure they were at least consonant with the tenor of Zakarum as presented in the Diablo mythos. However, Abaddon is indeed part of the Diablo canon, mentioned by name: it's accessed from the Frigid Highlands in Act V.

I like to think of Abaddon as an infernal gated community, literally one of the Burning Hells. Apparently, Hell has subdivisions. :lol:

Heh...an infernal gated community. Funny. Regarding that game area, though...it doesn't appear to be a particularly notable region of Hell, and therefore may be too obscure a reference for most readers. I've run characters through that area before (which is more than some players do, I suspect,) and the first reference that jumped out at me was the Biblical one, not the game one. While you're certainly correct that it's in the game, my feeling is that most readers will miss that detail altogether.

Interesting. I'd never heard of Abaddon before playing DII - the drawbacks of not having a classical education - but considered it fair game for exploitation in the story simply because it was included in the game. Your remarks suggest that even though Abaddon is canonical (to the game), it may still be too obscure for use here (because many players skip that sub-level)...or else it is not sufficiently distinctive from the "real world" Abaddon.

I'll confess that I haven't decided what to do about it, or if I should indeed do anything about it at all. But Abaddon is indeed obscure, no arguing with that...and maybe that should inform my thinking.

Much of the problem stemmed from trying to conceal the gender of the newcomer until the cowl was pulled back, which in retrospect seems awfully hokey to me.

I think you could run with keeping that unknown for part of that paragraph, certainly; it seems to me that this could work. Most of what I was commenting on was the sentence arrangement and presentation, which could be varied without seriously changing the meaning.

That portion of the chapter certainly needs to be revisited, and the structure rearranged. I think any changes I make may still include taking the mystery of the newcomer's gender out of the story...it just felt like such an overriding concern, and I think it clouded a lot of my thinking regarding the passage's structure.

I wince now just thinking about it. Yick.

Unrestrained? You haven't seen [Cally and Brogan] when they're really in the cups. :lol:

Heh, fair enough; they're just more...forward than most people I know.

Same here, thank God. Yes, they are rather undiluted. Actually, Cally and Brogan are thematically important to the story...though probably not in any way that they would appreciate.

Thanks for the follow-up comments!