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JaiaDrottsingr 04-15-06, 10:06 PM

Well, I want to sample my first chapter of my novel and I could use other people's opinions on how to improve it. ---------- Oddity Part One of The Eyes Series. By: Fen Dear Reader, I am pleased to say that this series will NOT be the only one with these characters; after all, Marzon went through a lot more than what he tells Jaia in chapter two. The Eyes Series will not stand alone, and, in answer to frequent questions from my family, the amber-eyed drow is Qilué Veladorn, the youngest of the Seven Sisters. New Line: Yours Truly, Fen New Line: Judgment. Those few who trust me still hold their prejudiced opinions about me, or at least my race. New Line: Exile. The knowledge that, for I am drow, others of my race are permitted to walk inside, or even towards, the famed city of acceptance, Silverymoon while I am attacked and beaten. New Line: I did not show any form of restraint to those so-called “goodly” Knights of Silver, and, in turn, I received the shattering of my arm and hopes. The one good thing I received from that encounter was the scar that runs from my temple to the side of my chin. New Line: The weapon that carved open my face seems to have, ironically, been broken and departed some of its magic into me when it cut me open. New Line: When I fled the encounter, I saw the same guards welcoming another drow onto the Moonbridge. She turned one amber eye at me before looking away. New Line: Luck. There are few moments in my life when I have thought about considering myself lucky, so this is not one of those tales. New Line: What does this contain beyond that which I have already mentioned? New Line: Deceit. New Line: Death. New Line: Despair. New Line: Drow. New Line: Jaia Chapter one: Keratis of the Bloodwood Paragraph: He opened one white eye and stared lazily into the fog, sat up, and fell back into the Elvish sleep, the grimace on his face showing that he did not approve of the reprieve from unconsciousness, however brief. Paragraph: White eyes, thought a resting raven before rejoining the steady stream of ravens flying overhead. Paragraph: His eyes were not white, besides the pupils, but dull silver that extended far beyond the iris should. The drow had red hair, seemingly spiked, each tuft a red flame, with a ponytail that was “held up” by a permanent green faerie fire. His skin, though still dark gray like that of his kin, had a bluish tint quite unlike that of the moon elves. His pupils turned so dark in the fury battle brings that if some one turned off the sky, you could still see them burning brightly. His clothes, unlike most travelers’ garments, were jet black, with boots and gloves to match. His Mithril chain-mail, spectacular by anyone’s standards, of obvious Elven make, and custom-fitted by his old friend Kris, was invisible under the jet black garments Jaia was wearing. Paragraph: He sat back up, panting, ears twitching and filled with noise. This noise was so quiet that the average drow would never have caught it, could even have passed for a quickling. His scar burned bright red twice and, with the help of the strange enchantment, added to the raised sound level. He heard voices, faint even for the drow’s hearing range which was, with the help of his scar, currently tripled. Paragraph: Standing up, he grabbed his pack and daggers, pulled on his boots, clicked the heels and ran impossibly fast, rivaling the speed of a quickling, even. He was there in a minute. Paragraph: “We need more mercenaries!” shouted the speaker, a villager, to a commoner-filled wagon. Paragraph: “Shhh!” hushed one of the wagon-riders, looking around as if he had heard something. Indeed, he had, for —most unlike him (or any drow for that matter) — Jaia was currently lax in stealth. Paragraph: Knowing his stealth had abandoned him, Jaia walked into view, his Mithril chain causing no restraint to his fluid movements. Paragraph: The loudmouthed villager let go a large exhale in… New Line: Relief? thought Jaia. Paragraph: “Sir drow––” Paragraph: “Jaia,” Jaia interrupted. Paragraph: “We are they of Keratis of the Bloodwood. Would you save us from this, our plight?” Loudmouth continued as though no one had spoken. Paragraph: “H–how much does it pay?” Jaia replied, still taken aback from the welcome, even expecting, greeting. Paragraph: “The Cause is sure to have treasure in his lair,” Loudmouth reasoned as if this was a deduction any simpleton could make. Paragraph: “The Cause?” Jaia asked seemingly insulted, for he was certainly more learned than any commoner was, his “family” had made sure he did not become any bookish wizard, though; they had oddly, for they were law-abiding clerics of Elistraee, preferred his natural proficiency at a thief’s way of life. Paragraph: The loud villager nodded and “whispered” with the same amount of sound a normal person would use to address the weather, “In an old vampire’s tomb, The Bloodcrypt.” Suddenly his voice resumed its apparently-normal, booming bark, “But you don’t need to be worrying about that, I mean, signs indicate the likeliness that it’s a minor necromancer, incapable of reawakening a vampire.” Paragraph: Tiring of the unhelpful, non-straightforwardness of the answers, Jaia repeated, “Signs?” with more than a hint of boredom and impatience in his voice. Paragraph: “We sent our three best warriors to investigate the reason the ravens just started migrating into the wood, worst mess I’ve ever seen. I mean, how much worse can it get than the hollowed head of one, the…” he paused then continued with, “over-mutilated mush in the arms of the first which I guess would be the remains of the second. The third, well, the third was the oddest looking thing I’ve ever laid eyes on. It would have been a normal skeleton if it didn’t look as if some one had torn each bone into parts then attached to the other pieces where it didn’t belong.” Paragraph: “Minor was an understatement, then.” Jaia felt so sick that he knew no one could be making this up. Paragraph: “Come; let us go to Keratis so we may discuss this in further detail. Vor will show you whom you’re working with, if you agree with the terms, of course. Do you?” Paragraph: “Yes.” Section Break Paragraph: Vor was an overweight, balding, blonde man that seemed to have been anticipating the arrival of Jaia even more than the thundering, blundering villager who greeted Jaia. Paragraph: “Well, you’ve heard the basics and that’s pretty much all you need to know,” Vor walked across the room and picked up two long daggers. “We can give you weapons to enhance your chance of defeating the possible undead creatures you will encounter, and––” Paragraph: “No,” Jaia shouted as soon as the word “give” was said, his eyes were in the transition to twilight when Vor finally registered his answer. Paragraph: “That’s what the others said, too,” grumbled Vor. “Well,” he continued, “to each his own! Paragraph: “And so, may I introduce the Calimshite, Marzon.” Paragraph: The tall man, two feet taller than Jaia’s four-foot-nine, with stark white hair, pale skin, and a musket attached to his belt that was entering the room seemed quite the opposite than how the normal Calim would look. No, no dark skin or hair, no lengthy sword, and that breeze that floated through the door at his arrival… Never mind. Paragraph: “And the Elven priestess of Correan Llantheon, Biella,” he stated even less enthusiastically than before. Paragraph: “I will not work with a drow,” Biella glowered at Jaia then stated even more bluntly, “For I cannot trust him.” Paragraph: On sudden impulse, or whatever caused this, Jaia blurted out, “Trust. What is trust to make you, what is trust to make all of us, even him here,” he paused, pointing his finger at the villager, “trust in our employer, in ourselves, in each other? Do any of us know each other than those two?” again pointing at the villager but Vor as well this time. “Why do we trust people? It’s because they are good, because we are good. Do not trust on first judgment, elf, for it might just save your life.” Paragraph: “So you’re saying Vor’s not trustworthy,” she exclaimed triumphantly, thinking she had won. Paragraph: And at the same time, the words ‘I have no idea why I said that’ escaped Jaia’s lips. Paragraph: “The drow’s going, Biella, and that’s that!” Vor shouted at her also at the same time. Paragraph: “Then get going shall we?” These words came from Marzon this time, his accent the only hint of his southern heritage, But, Jaia pondered, is that an accent of the Calimshan? Section Break Paragraph: Walking beneath the still constant procession of ravens, the sulking trio, or the sulking duo and the unemotional follower, headed deep into the wood, which, unlike its outward appearance, turned out not to be a grove but a full fledged forest, though somewhat smaller than that. Paragraph: They came to a three-way fork. An old signpost covered in ivy was lying in the dirt until spotted, picked up, shaken, and turned over by Marzon. Paragraph: “It has three arrows, one to a trail and it says: Bloodcrypt ahead, travelers would be best to go back now and have a chance of survival. Oh, that’s really helpful right now, discourage us and make us go back.” Paragraph: Jaia, not listening, said, “Yeah, great,” with the air of one having just been told that everything in the world’s fine. He was looking between the trails and a resting, the only resting, raven intently. The birds separated and went to a random trail, the third having the smallest amount of birds. Paragraph: The trails were as thus: The widest empty, the one in the middle, bare except a trail of human, or humanoid, footprints, and the final, overgrown, barely recognizable and, ironically, with the most perches. Paragraph: White eyes, the resting raven thought as it flew into the third path, rejoining the continuously thinning line. Paragraph: “The third,” Jaia remarked by instinct. Paragraph: Surprisingly to all, Biella agreed, “Yes, the least used will be the least guarded, but I still say we should stick to the trees.” Paragraph: “The third it is,” conceded Marzon. “Shall we?” he asked pulling a tree back and motioned for Biella to get in. Paragraph: “With pleasure,” she replied. Paragraph: Some time later, the fog getting thicker, the birds stopped flying, not just the ones who had just arrived, no more birds flew at all now. A raven flew down and spoke to Jaia. Paragraph: “Hello, White-eyes,” she said. Paragraph: “Um, uh, Jaia,” blushed Jaia, unaccustomed as any to a talking bird. Paragraph: “I am Urabon the last of sane birds who dwell here, for they are now the Birds of Baator, and I am alone. Paragraph: “I must warn you, turn back now! The danger The Cause sends is greatest for you, and only you are his prey.” As if sensing his answer, Urabon said, “I shall try and hold them back, but I do not expect to do much good.” Paragraph: She flew back into the trees, taking down about five ravens and leaving twenty. As if on cue, those remaining swarmed down on them, ten stormed Marzon, seven surrounded Biella, and two remained for Jaia, the last had fled. Paragraph: Marzon pulled out a large curved dagger, Biella a thick club and Jaia pulled out his two daggers, tossed one into the air, and throwing the other into the closest raven, which surged with electricity and fell neatly into Jaia’s outstretched palm. The other bird, sensing its misfortune, was flying away when Jaia caught his other dagger and chucked it straight at it, the bird fell down to the ground, dead. Paragraph: Jaia checked how the others were faring. Marzon, unsurprisingly, had already finished off six, no, seven in the time it took Jaia to pull off that amazing but short maneuver. Biella, however, was doing less well. She had also killed off two but was now being bombarded by three ravens while a fourth was digging for her artery. The fifth, though, flew straight at Jaia pecking his forehead. He stabbed it with the now barbequed-raven-free dagger, the shock finishing it more than off. Paragraph: He couldn’t see clearly, blood obscuring his vision and only one goal in mind: Save Biella’s life. Without dropping his dagger, he grabbed the raven and pulled it off her arm. And stabbing her in the process. Paragraph: The last raven taken care of, she gazed at him, murder in her eyes, she said, “You have attacked me. You have tried to kill me.” Paragraph: “I did not, I grabbed the raven off you before it killed you, see?” he raised his dagger hand, still clutching the raven. Paragraph: “It did look like he was trying to help you,” Marzon agreed. Paragraph: “Look, if I try to betray you, you can have my boots.” Marzon laughed at that, and Jaia, suddenly much weaker, muttered “I need… potion…” THUD, Jaia fainted. Paragraph: He woke up five minutes later, eyes white again. Paragraph: “We’re at the crypt. You go first, I gave you the potion,” it was Biella talking. Paragraph: “No thank you, I think I’ll stay home today,” Jaia yawned. Paragraph: “Come on, first one in gets the first share of treasure,” Biella taunted, having no idea how effective this would be. Jaia practically flew to the cave entrance, noticing on the way the engraving on the tomb. An ornate rose carved perfectly into the stone was desecrated by the crude engraving of a skull on and surrounding the rose. Paragraph: “Hurry up, we haven’t got all day!” he yelled at them, Paragraph: They got there shortly, almost as eager as he was to get their hands on that treasure. Paragraph: “Okay,” Jaia said, ducking through the three-foot entrance to come up in front of two skeletons, partially decayed skin hanging from the bones, one’s tibia and the other’s ulna both gnawed. And the smell, the stench of rotting flesh, the odor of decay, it was so incredibly putrid that Jaia had to bite his lip and swallow to keep from vomiting. Paragraph: He jabbed mostly at the loose skin, his dagger doing nothing. Disgusted, he stabbed with his left and, as he found out, daggers may not have any effect on undead skeletons, but shocking does. Marzon and Biella came in right when the skeleton fell to the ground, electricity still surging through its body. Paragraph: Marzon sprang on top of the other skeleton, then, as it crumbled beneath his weight, Biella shouted, “Stairs!” Paragraph: Jaia kicked the smoldering skeleton, saying, “Send the choir a letter that says we’ve got a new conductor for them.” Marzon laughed again. Paragraph: “Okay, we’ll go up in order Marzon first, then Jaia, and me last,” she said, eyes filled with loathing as she mentioned Jaia. “But wait, Marzon,” she took a flask out of her belt and poured over her club and Marzon’s jambiya, the curved dagger glistened with a heavenly wink. Paragraph: “But what of me?” Jaia asked. Paragraph: “This is holy water blessed at the hands of Correan Llantheon, an enemy of all drow, it’d do you more harm than good,” she admitted, expression changing as she asked, “Unless you’d convert?” Paragraph: “I shall never leave my deity,” Jaia growled. Paragraph: They went up the curving stairs, one by one. At the end, they found an armored wizard, not responding until Jaia came up. Paragraph: In words that only Jaia could understand, he whispered, “I’ve been waiting for you, Jaia.” He angled his head skyward and laughed; he laughed a cold, cruel, mirthless laugh, the laugh of an enemy, the laugh of a drow. Paragraph: Clicking his heels, Jaia enclosed the wizard in faerie fire, “burning” bright red. Sure enough, the wizard turned invisible right when Biella crested the ridge, disappearing as well. This time it was Biella who laughed as a giant hand slapped the flames, knocking the wizard back several feet. His helmet flew off him, cracking as it hit the ground. Then the wizard reappeared, his bald head reflecting the scarlet flames. An arrow flew at Jaia, barely missing him but, instead, blinding him. Paragraph: With the second thud that night, Jaia fell to the ground, writhing as an unknown spell hit him somewhere near his navel. Fire, real fire, licked the side of his face as he fell, once again, unconscious. Section Break Paragraph: “Wake up, drow!” Biella shouted at the sleeping lump that was Jaia. Paragraph: “What’s that sm-sm-smell,” Jaia yawned, his nose filled with the lingering smoke. Suddenly he remembered who he was, jumping up only to yell, “Have we looted the body yet?” Paragraph: “NO!” came the foreseen (and quite loud) reply. Paragraph: Jaia ran there, kneeling to a stop (or slide). He searched thoroughly and found a broken wand, the obvious armor, a sack of gold (which he pocketed before the others could notice), and, he drew his breath, a dagger, thick as its guard at the middle of the blade, the pommel was a pale pink ruby carved into the likeness of a vampire and the knife itself was the color of dried blood. Paragraph: “I get this,” he said, pointing to the obvious choice. Paragraph: “It’ll cost you some gold to pick first again.” Biella smiled smugly as he tossed the sack of newly acquired gold at her. Paragraph: “So, shall we be going downstairs, then?” Marzon asked tiredly. Paragraph: And so they did. After discovering a basement staircase, they climbed further down into a treasure hold. Paragraph: The hold was unremarkable except for the presence of an open coffin, a chest and the rim of a door. Where the door should have been, however, there was a small stretch of blank wall. Paragraph: Jaia did not rush there this time but looked avidly for any traps. Spotting none, he pulled out his lock pick and sneaked carefully towards the chest, wincing at each sound. He unlocked it easily and, pulling it open, let out a shriek not unlike that of a little child who had just received a new toy. He pulled out a signet ring with the same engraving that marked his newfound dagger and, smiling ear to ear, pocketed it. Paragraph: Marzon chose a belt and two rings, Biella, five potion bottles, and Jaia, besides his ring, armor. Paragraph: “So,” grinned Jaia, smiling so widely the ends were in danger of joining, “shall we say hi to those of Keratis?” Paragraph: “We should check up on them, yes, but I don’t think we should enter the village,” Biella stated as unemotionally as Marzon did when not laughing. Paragraph: “Why?” Jaia asked resolutely. Paragraph: “Guys,” Marzon said, “as much as I enjoy chatting around in a necromancer’s tomb,” he let the sentence hang at that. Paragraph: After leaving, Jaia stared hard into the fog, looking intently. Somehow, he knew that he would see something, if anything was there. “I don’t––” Paragraph: “Shhh!” Biella interrupted, continuing with a, “There’s two men in the shadows and one of them is biting the other’s neck!” Paragraph: Jaia needed no further prompting, not even the rustle of the bushes; clicking his heels together and running towards Keratis before the other two even started to follow. Section Break Paragraph: A skeleton walked by, axe in hand and acting much as the yelling commoner did. Paragraph: “Well, Keratis is enslaved or summoned,” suggested Jaia. “Let’s go now, shall we?” he was pulled back by Biella. Paragraph: “Where would we go?” she asked. Paragraph: “Well, the only towns I know near here are Baldur and Easting,” admitted Jaia. “Easting’s pretty much north, though.” Paragraph: She pulled out a map, saying, “Easting is the only on I have on here, and that’s barely a town!” Paragraph: As half-resignedly as usual, Marzon said, followed by the usual unusual breeze, “Easting it is.” Section Break Paragraph: All that night they ran, no one saying a word. All the following morning they walked, for no one had slept. Paragraph: They arrived at Easting that afternoon, Biella explaining only briefly that she would meet them at an inn, the Western Gatehead, after contacting Easting’s little known witch doctor. Paragraph: After she had left, Marzon suggested, “See what you can find out about Biella and Keratis, will you?” Paragraph: Jaia did just that, a tall man in a yellow waistcoat saying, “I travel all the time, but Keratis isn’t known to me.” He received several similar answers and also gathered, from those who would talk to him, that Biella was an honest, goodhearted elf that seemed to have ties in all the right places. Paragraph: He told that to Marzon who responded with, “But neither one of us trusts her.” Paragraph: When they arrived at the Western Gatehead, which, ironically, was next to eastern gate, Biella pulled them away before they had even entered. She led them to a shabby old shack, knocked and waited. An old withered man opened the door and bade them enter.