The Blessed

[Erm... I'm not sure where I want to put what chapters where, so I'm going to label them as A1, A2, B1, B2, C1, C2... to follow the different storylines so yeah. The different letters signify different storylines. It's terribly confusing, I know, but I haven't figured out the proper order yet. Thanks!]


Chapter A1

Obedience to authority, loyalty to self, devotion to the cause. The life of a soldier. The life of this soldier.

Colonel Kiran Raiz balled his right hand into a compacted fist, his nails biting into the skin. He released a warm breath that fogged as it came out. He had been sulking about his quarters, a small improvised tent, for the past hour.

General Yakov’s plans lay on the table in front of him. He threw the parchment aside; this crusade was accomplishing nothing. Their siege on Mannith Tyr was failing, and the general knew it to be true. Yet here they sat.

The bottle to his left was too tempting to resist. He took a large swig, half of the liquor running along his face. It was some god-awful swill, but it went down the way he liked.

The pounding in his head slowly faded as that warm feeling came over him. He fell back against his chair and put his legs up on the table. He couldn’t help but mull over the complaints of his men. They were getting restless situated in this cold, bleak terrain.

A heavy breeze whistled through his makeshift abode whipping the canvas flaps. “Piss off,” he snapped at it.

There were minor skirmishes almost every day now, mostly Tyr military forces who had escaped death. They raided often, draining off what little supplies the Alkarans had. The Seigneur refused to send aid.

Kiran was about to doze off when a stout major stumbled into his quarters. “Colonel Raiz! You must see this.”

The colonel’s head twitched slightly to the side and he gave the Major Diggs a confused look. Diggs glanced at the grungy bottle and the corners of his lips turned down. He passed the colonel yet another piece of parchment, this one tagged with the seal of the Seigneur.

Kiran felt a shiver crawl over him even with the warm blanket of his booze. He broke the seal and read the message.

“Colonel, what news does the Seigneur send? Is it good?”

“We are to end this siege…” Kiran trailed off.

“So the treaty has been signed? We are going home. That truly is good news. I shall spread the word myself.”

“Hold it, major. We’re not going home.” He fell back into his chair and threw his boots onto the table. “Diggs, did I ever tell you what a decent man you are?”

Diggs sighed. “Sir, if we are not going home, then how is the conflict to end?”

The colonel took another swig, the clear liquid spilling onto his muddled uniform. “We take the city, Diggs. We kill them all.” He lifted the parchment for the major to look at. “Seigneur’s orders.”

Major Diggs grabbed the orders. “Colonel, those are not hardened soldiers behind that wall.”

Kiran flung the bottle at Diggs’ feet. It shattered on impact, showering the major’s boots with the stale alcohol. “Don’t you think I know that?”

He shut his eyes and rubbed his temples, the ache in his head returning.

“I should go.”

“No… I just think… Diggs, I don’t know what I think anymore.”

“What choice do we have?”

Kiran hesitated, eventually succumbing to what he knew would be the only answer. “None.”

Kiran pulled a small flask from his pocket and pulled off its cap. He dumped the last few drop into his mouth and erupted into a fit of coughing.

Diggs stepped over the broken glass and slapped his back. He kept his hand on the colonel and voiced his final appeal. “Perhaps Yakov could convince the Seigneur otherwise.”

He left Kiran in the tent to brood over the situation. It would be some time before he was sober enough to talk to the general.


---


He had always found solace in escape. There were few advantages to sobriety, one being the ability to converse with superior officers. Then again, that was hardly advantageous.

It had occurred to Colonel Kiran Raiz that if he were to truly have any hope of sparing lives, he would have to have his wits about him, and not the type that would get him punched in the face. General Yakov could be a forgiving man, yet crossing him would forever brand one. Kiran had done it on several occasions.

He nodded to the two sentries guarding the doorway as he entered the general’s tent, a much larger and more elaborate structure than his own. A hint of jealousy crept up inside him, yet Yakov was a general, and not only that, he was a personal friend of the Seigneur.

That fact, though, was exactly what he was relying on.

The room that housed the general’s main quarters was lit by the eager flickers of torches that had been placed in each corner. A bulky wooden slab sat in the center with maps and other scraps of parchment scattered about it; the shadows of the many advisors blocked the erratic light from reaching the table. The advisors pushed and shouted, the majority attempting to make their way up to the general to express their own version of some interminable rambling. The general sat at the very end of the table in a generous leather chair colored a blood red. He seemed busy, diverting one advisor to a shelf and another to a large piece of parchment. He looked up from the table and met Kiran’s eyes. They shared a brief glance that was immediately understood by both parties. Clear these fools from the tent so we can talk real business.

“Thank you, all,” the general said, raising his hands in the air to silence the crowd. “I have no more need of your services tonight.”

The advisors hesitantly filed out of the tent, bitter that their pedantic offerings were of no use to the general.

After the mass left, Yakov offered the colonel a seat next to him. “I thought you might come by for a visit,” he said.

“Thank you, general, for seeing me on such short notice.”

The general let out a small snort. “Well, considering you just barged on in here. I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye, but I believe we have more in common than you might think.”

“And what might you believe that to be, general?”

“Dmitri, please.”

Kiran paused. The general had never allowed the colonel to call him by his first name.

“Okay… Dmitri.”

“Kiran, the Seigneur has asked that we end this skirmishing with the Tyr forces, that we finally overcome Mannith Tyr in one final crushing sweep.”

“But sir, the city is filled with nothing but commoners. They have little to do with what has happened out here on the battlefield.”

Yakov smiled. “I told you we had much in common.” He pulled out two glasses and an elaborate crystal decanter filled with brandy. “Thirsty?”

“Yes, sir.” The general filled the glass and handed it to Kiran. He knew it was likely to relieve some of the pressure of this meeting, but Kiran also suspected Yakov was trying to soften him up for any blows he may entertain later.

“You received the sealed orders of the Seigneur, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Every colonel under my command received the same orders. It seems the Seigneur wished to give the impression that I could not change his mind. He may have thought I would have tried.”

“Would you have?”

“Surely.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

“There is nothing I can do to alter his stance. He has already told me as much.”

Kiran took a sip. “General, you command the armies. You could refuse his orders.”

Yakov slammed the glass on the table, spilling brandy over his hand. “Watch your blasphemous tongue, colonel.”

“General--”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“General, please. Lives are at stake. We must do what we can--”

“We must do what the Seigneur commands. He is the messenger of the Creator and He has spoken. We must obey or be condemned.”

“General Yakov, the Seigneur is indeed His messenger, but are His desires also those of the Seigneur’s?”

“Enough, colonel! I believe it is time you left.” The general downed the remainder of his brandy and stood. Kiran did the same.

He left the tent furious at the general and furious that he had only a glass of brandy in him. He scrambled back to his own shoddy quarters, thinking of nothing but getting his hands on another bottle.

The general had denied to countermand the Seigneur’s orders. The attack on the city would commence tomorrow morning. Kiran could do nothing to stop it.

Obedience.

Loyalty.

Devotion.

The colonel stretched the tendons of his right hand outward until they could no longer extend. In one swift motion, he balled his hand into a compacted fist, the nails biting into the skin. The air from his lungs demanded release and came out through his nostrils in one long rush. He opened his eyes.

Confusing. Too much sensory details, because it because superflous.

General Yakov’s plans lie on the table in front of him.

Awkward change from past to present tense. Try something like: General Yakov’s plans lay on the table in front of him.


(W007! f1r57 p057!)

I agree with Vampirewolf3's points.

Also,

‘The wind whistled through his makeshift abode scattering the tent flaps and giving this place a feeling of emptiness.’

- This place? It gives the impression that the narrator is in the tent, which is out of place with the rest of the piece. ‘The place’ would work better.


‘“Colonel Raiz! You must see this.”

Kiran’s head twitched slightly to the side and he gave the major a confused look.’

- Kindda confusing, because you first refer to the Colonel by this surname, and then immediately use his first name, leaving the reader (or me at least) rather confused on who you’re talking about.


But for the most part, this seems okay, and is a good start for the story (it certainly works in bringing in the readers attention - very important for any story with multiple chapters).

Thanks you two for the comments. And I especially appreciate your professionalism vampirewolf after I had a lot of criticism on your piece. (I suppose that leet at the bottom isn't as professional )

I've fixed up the story a bit, hopefully it will be a bit clearer and not so detail-happy.

Oh, and Sureal, it was meant to be inside the tent... I tried to make that clearer this time around too.

[reposted above]

Clear these fools from the tent so we can talk real business.

Shouldn't these been in quotes?

“Dmitri, please.”

D-e-r-i-m-i-t-wha? (Hard to pronounce, so hard to remember).

“We must do what the Seigneur commands. He is the messenger of the Creator and He has spoken. His people must obey or be condemned to the eternal reprobation of His love.”

Aha! Seigneur is a priest! (Jumps with joy for having discovered something that has not been directely slapped into my face!) I'm right, right?

He left the tent furious at the general and furious that he had only a glass of brandy in him. He scrambled back to his own shoddy quarters, thinking of nothing but getting his hands on another bottle.

Must drink brandy! Gasp! Need brandy! (Anyways...)
I only sidetracked because there was nothing else wrong with this peice of work.
Keep on writing!!!

Dee-mee-tree. It's a russian name.

Skirmish.
I noticed that word, this time through reading it.
Aren;t skirmishes small battles? Why is it that big of a problem then?

Well, small skirmishes normally do nothing but rack up casualties. That's why the Seigneur wanted them to finally end the small, useless battles by taking the city.

And by the way, the Seigneur is a religious leader, so I suppose you could say he is a priest in some way.

First chapter--first piece.

Well, more than to return the favour, I was curious to read something you'd written, Tri--other than the brief Fools' Duel entry a few months ago.

In dialogue and action, on its own, I got a practical sense of the men--rather military, naturally. Dialogue felt on point. But the sentence structure broke the flow entirely. Similar length and almost the same structure--subject/verb; he did, it was...etc.

The colonel balled his right hand into a compacted fist, his nails biting into his skin. He exhaled deeply and opened his eyes to reveal the inside of the improvised tent his men had constructed.

Impression of the colonel is immediate with that opening. ^_^ Second sentence falters--if he opens his eyes, he sees a tent. If he opens them and reveals a tent, to whom is he revealing it? To himself?

'He exhaled[...]and opened his eyes; [in the dusk? in the dim light?] the inside of the improvised tent was revealed'

My suggestion, scattered, above. It is, in the end, a rather passive sentence--and that may be what strikes a dissident chord as much as the 'reveal' difficulty.

General Yakov’s plans lay on the table in front of him. He threw the parchment aside; he had already memorized the city layout. He gripped the bottle to his left and took a large swig. It was some god-awful swill, but it went down the way he liked.

Above, an example of the subject/verb repetition. It works well for tension; for emphasis--but it's consistent throughout.

Kiran flung the bottle at Diggs’ feet. It shattered on impact, showering the major’s boots with the stale alcohol. “Don’t you think I know that?” He shut his eyes forcefully and rubbed his temples, the aches in his head returning.

Perhaps paragraph after his dialogue? And 'aches' might be more easily 'ache' unless he has different sorts of pain in his head? Vaguely picky, on that point.

Kiran and 'Raiz' threw me off for a moment--the same person apparently. And Diggs seemed a little slap-dash, as if his character were there to ask the right questions, so that Kiran could answer and explain the story.

If Kiran speaks like so with contractions--

“Hold it, major. We’re not going home.”

Why does Diggs speak so very precisely?

“Colonel, we must do something. We cannot allow this to happen. Those are not hardened soldiers behind that wall.”

Those are my thoughts, a little off-the-cuff. The opening sentence is engaging at first; and I like the scene. But the litany of listing action drags it all down to less than involving...hard to keep at what seems so blase.

--I'll get to the second half soon as may be. ^_^

Chapter B1


Representatives Arthur Darius and Gaius Linus--beloved brother of the Seigneur--navigated the harsh corridors of the Hall of Mannith Tyr. The armies of Seigneur Linus sat outside the city walls, fending off the several pesky scuffles assailed by committed Tyr nationals . It was the hope of the two to come to an agreement that would benefit both.

“Peace is in sight,” Arthur said. “I can feel it.”

“Perhaps,” was all Gaius offered.

Arthur fidgeted with his hands as he sauntered alongside his colleague. Gaius kept his head high and straight, walked with the dignity one of his office would command, and maintained an arrogance as cold as the corridors they walked. He scratched at his balding scalp; even that was done with poise.

Arthur had trouble keeping up. Diplomatic envoys, negotiation techniques, alliance systems, he knew little of these things. But his tenacity in the Senate had given the Seigneur all he had needed for a reason to send Arthur Darius. And now here he was, negotiating one of the most important treaties in Alkaran history.

Gaius spoke once again, “I suppose I should give you a small warning about the Premier and his aides. They will try to get information out of you through very simple means. They might ask you a question about your life, something completely trivial, but beware. These questions are meant to warm you up to other, more fattening questions that could give away military positions or ways to infiltrate our political structure. Sometimes the personal questions themselves are meant to seep out information they could use.”

“All of this sounds very complicated and quite unnecessary.”

“Well you’re wrong about that. It is terribly necessary.” Arthur and Gaius reached the doors to Premier Ausev’s study. “Oh, and one more thing. When we enter, there will be an enormous, regal-looking gentleman.”

“Premier Ausev?”

“No,” replied Gaius Linus, “that was how Ambassador Felix lost his assignment negotiating this treaty. There’s another tip, Arthur, never assume. The man who Ambassador Felix assumed was the Premier was actually a decoy. Premier Ausev is instead a short, balding redhead. He will be dressed in a simple white robe, something that will attract very little attention.”

“Quite the deception, Gaius.”

“Indeed, one that fooled poor Felix, and now he is off in some godforsaken hole in the desert. I told you the Premier was adept.”

“I see what you mean.”

Gaius and Arthur entered the study. It was an enormous room filled with oak-paneled walls and bookshelves. The shelves were dusty and unkempt, although they seemed to be put to good use by the Premier. Books lay on the floor, some open, some stack several lengths tall. Light poured through a series of stained-glass windows from the right side of the room, casting a colorful display upon the stone ground. In the center of the room was a large oak table scattered with several papers.

The two representatives of Alkar met a waiting delegation. Gaius said nothing, so Arthur did the same. As Gaius had said, there was an enormous man sitting across the table from them. His stature and groomed facial hair gave him the presence of a king, yet Arthur had been warned that he was not the Premier. If he had not heard it from Gaius’ own mouth, he would have not believed it. They waited what seemed like several minutes until Premier Ausev moved over to the other man and whispered in his ear. The short man was indeed not what one would consider very regal. He looked ordinary in every sense, and in some ways, he had a look of incompetence. But Gaius had told him that Ausev was completely the opposite. Arthur already had an appreciation for this man.

The larger man left and Ausev took his place in the chair across from Gaius and Arthur. He folded his hands together and bowed slightly towards the other end of the table. Gaius did the same, and Arthur followed a bit behind. Gaius whispered to Arthur while papers were spread across the table, “It’s the way Tyrs greet. It comes from some ancient superstition. I’m not quite sure of the reason, but they don’t like to shake hands upon greeting. It is a sign of the utmost respect if you have the opportunity to shake a Tyr’s hand. It means you have gained their complete trust.”

“Have you ever shaken the Premier’s hand?”

“No.”

The Premier snatched a couple of papers from his advisors, looking at them intently. He handed one back to his aide, who promptly disappeared behind a bookshelf. He grabbed another sheet, showing some effort at looking busy. Arthur began to sweat and nervously asked Gaius, “Why is it taking so long?”

“You’re playing right in to his trap, Arthur, just be patient. He will begin when he is ready.”

He began. “Greetings Representative Linus, it is good to see you again. I once again regret the missed opportunity to meet with your brother.”

“I truly am sorry, Premier Ausev, but as you know, my brother is busy planning our campaign strategies on our southern front. I fear I am all you will be able to work with.”

“Well it has been a pleasure to work with you so far, Gaius. I am sure we will be able to get this treaty prepared and signed soon enough. Now, who might I have the pleasure of meeting here with you?”

“Premier Ausev, this is Representative Arthur Darius. He is Alkar’s foremost expert on alliance formation.” Arthur gave Gaius a look of confusion and consternation, even slight anger.

“Truly? Well, then this is an honor since we will be allies in the true sense. Tell me Representative Darius, what do you think of the Tenemaru Exchange?”

“Um… the, uh, excuse me?” Arthur cleared his throat.

“The Tenemaru Exchange, you know. Let’s see here, page seven, clause fifteen. Yes, right here.” He pointed to a page on the mess of papers sitting on the oak table.

Gaius interrupted. “I apologize, Premier Ausev, but I am afraid that my dear friend here has not had the chance to so much as lay eyes upon the treaty. He was just newly appointed by my brother, you see.”

“Yes, I do. A pity, really. I was looking forward to discussing that with one so qualified as yourself.”

“Well, yes, Premier, we have discussed it several times before and you know we stand firm on that matter.”

“I suppose an old man can only hope that you change your mind, but alas, I am sure that you will not. Very well, we shall move on.” The Premier grabbed the treaty and flipped through a few of its pages. “If you will, please look at page fifteen, clause twenty-seven and you will see the new addendum we added…” The Premier handed the page to an aide who delivered it to Gaius. He read it intently, his eyes moving along with each line.

He came to one section of the clause and started grunting in disapproval. He cleared his throat, “No, no, this is no good. The Seigneur and the Kingdom of Alkar cannot accept this section of the treaty right here. It says ‘thus, it shall be noted that the city of Mannith Tyr and its outlying provinces shall be granted the choice to retain their current religious convictions or those of their choosing and that the city of Mannith Tyr and its outlying provinces only may enforce the peace against those religious convictions that are not considered acceptable in accordance with Tyr law.’”

The Premier stared at Gaius, speechless. Gaius stared him back. The brief silence in the room made Arthur uncomfortable.

He tried to calm the situation. “Gaius… please explain to the Premier why this addendum is not acceptable.”

Gaius broke his stare from the Premier and looked at Arthur with bitter disdain. “What the Premier needs to know,” he looked back at Ausev, “is that we cannot accept the free reign of false adulation. When Mannith Tyr becomes our ally, they will have to accept the Seigneur as the divine ruler. He is the word and the hand of the Creator.”

Premier Ausev gauged Gaius’ words for a brief moment before he spoke. “Gaius, surely you know that Mannith Tyr’s past has long been racked by the religious intolerance of the Trydians. Our very foundations are based upon the fundamental belief in freedom of religion. We are a people dedicated to free worship, and would never force our people to make the religion of Alkar our only religion. We would be quite happy to allow your religious supporters to worship along with the rest of our people, but we could never compel the rest of Mannith Tyr to follow in those convictions.”

“Premier, you do not have a choice in this matter. This mandate came from the Seigneur himself and is not negotiable by any means. Mannith Tyr will bow to the will of the Seigneur or we can consider these diplomatic sessions over.” There was an alarming finality to Gaius’ words and Arthur was almost convinced that the two would be taken prisoners right there as a bargaining chip to prevent a conflict with Alkar.

“My advisors and I shall discuss this over the night, Gaius, but I am afraid that we will most likely come to the same conclusion. It is just too much to ask of us.”

“It is the only thing we ask of you. This treaty, if signed, reaps you more benefits than you could possibly imagine. The question is, Premier Ausev, are you a believer?”

With that, Gaius rose and stuck out his hand for Ausev to shake. “We should be on our way now, Premier.”

Premier Ausev looked at the outstretched hand with contempt. With nothing else to say, he folded his hands together and bowed to the two representatives of Alkar.

Quick note or else my grammar neurons will go crazy.

Don't worry about the active vs. passive. That's not your concern. What you will want to do is vary your forms from the preterite, the imperfect, and the past perfect.

Preterite: I kissed her.

Imperfect: I was kissing her.

Past perfect: I had kissed her.

I might have gotten the names of these forms mixed up with each other, since I learned about them in Spanish, but still.

It's the mark of an experienced writer to vary the tenses in these ways. When I was studying this in Spanish, my teacher told me that these were sophisticated ways of telling what had happened. These different tenses give more variety to the words and ends up creating a richer picture.

Remember: passive tense means that there is no main subject doing the verbs. So it's passive, i.e., out of the way. These other forms can just be as active as the preterite. Plus, it would make your story seem less Dick and Jane.

Play with the tenses a little bit. Read it out loud and edit the sentences to make it smoother. At the moment, it is NOT reading smoothly at all.

Chapter C1


It was a storage home for death. Large pick-shaped blades, deep-gouging spiked barbs, ragged teethed saws, and several chains linking one tool to another. They littered the aged shed’s walls.

Marion awoke, sore from the straw bed, or rather lack of bed. The owners of the shed had been friendly enough people; they had allowed him to sleep in it after all. But after one night’s rest with all those tools above his head, Marion had his reservations.

He heard barking outside the shed.

A small window, its panes dirtied with years of grime, let in a few patches of sunlight. Marion rose and took his sleeve to it, wiping away some of the dirt, enough to get a good view outside.

A man stumbled out of a farmhouse and went to his dog. He struggled to silence the crazed animal. It was enough to give Marion concern.

He collected up his possessions and stuffed them into his bag. He slung it across his shoulder and rushed out the enormous timber doors.

The dog barked louder now, saliva foaming at the corners of its mouth. The owner looked in his direction.

“Morning there feller, and I’m sure you had a good night’s rest?”

“I did.” Marion moved to quickly pass by the man and get back to the road, which sat a quarter mile to the north, but was blocked.

“Aye, then. The missus would be happy to whip up some fastbreaks, if it please you.” The man winked. “She was a tad peeved about me making yourself sleep in our feedshed. ‘It’s the least we can do,’ she says. Who am I to disagree ‘bout some toast and lard when she’d easily cut me from gettin’ other necessities? Know my meaning?”

“Certainly,” Marion let out lightly. “No reason to upset the missus over fastbreaks.”

“That’s what I says.”

“Unfortunately, my good sir, I need be on my way. Important business, and all. I’m sure you understand.”

The dog started leaping from the ground, barely contained by the rusted chain that held it to an iron bar protruding from the ground. The owner tried to hush him as best he could, but the dog was not heeding his commands.

“No day’s business is started ‘thout fastbreaks, least not in my home. I don’t know where you come from.”

“I assure you, I must go now.” Marion eyed the dog which seemed to have its pupils nearly the full way back in its head.

The owner brought his attention from Marion to his pet and back again. Marion saw the look of suspicion on his face as plain as day. He better get control over this situation and soon.

“Aye, and which man’s sort has business that’s much too important before he can get a good day’s rations in his belly?”

“Point taken. I’ll be partaking in the missus’ fastbreaks. I’d not want you to think me some disregarder of the law.”

The man’s countenance settled. “Aye. She’s a good cook, I say. None like her ‘round these parts.”

He led Marion into the house. It was nicely decorated for such a small structure, likely the efforts of the missus. A table and chairs dominated much of the small kitchen. The owner pulled out a chair for Marion and the missus brought over a meal of toast with lard, and a glass of goat milk. It was meager at best.

Marion took a bite of the toast and smiled, then washed it down with the milk. The owner and his missus began eating after they said a prayer to the Twelve.

“So,” the owner said, “I see that dagger at your hip, and I’m wonderin’ what a man does who carries a dagger such as that.”

Marion looked down at the dagger’s hilt.

“Was a gift.”

“Quite a gift,” the man pushed.

“Yes, it was.” Marion folded his cloak over the dagger, covering it from view.

“So what’s your business ‘round these parts? You seemed rather in a hurry to get someplace, you didn’t want no fastbreaks.”

“My business is my business.”

“Aye, I’ll give you that. Was rather rude of me to ask in the first.”

Marion finished off the milk and toast and rose. “I must be off. Nice to meet you, missus. Superb fastbreaks.”

The missus smiled and nodded.

“I’ll see you out,” the owner offered, and they exited the farmhouse.

The rattle of the chain shook Marion as the owner’s dog choked
itself to get at him. He took a quick step back as the beast jumped for his face.

“Settle, girl,” the owner shouted and grabbed her around the neck. “You know, she never done this with strangers ‘fore. Weirdest thing.”

“Yeah,” Marion chuckled. “Thank you for the accommodations.”

“Welcome any time.”

Marion edged his hand to his coin purse, but the owner shook his head. “No need.”

“I’d like to pay.”

“No need.”

Marion shrugged and started for the road. It wouldn’t be too long before he was in Anziatu, where he would do what he had been commissioned to do.

The stench of manure filled his nostrils and he did his best to put it out of mind. There were few animals left here, some goats and chickens, and Marion wondered if the tools in that feedshed would ever see use again.

Passing through a small ditch filled with mud and tall reeds, he heard a man’s voice yelling. He spun around and watched as the owner’s dog sprinted toward him. The dog’s chain jumped up each time its feet hit the ground, slowing it, but not stopping it. It leapt at Marion’s throat.

There was nothing else he could do. Right as the dog reached him, he let loose the whitefire. The air rippled with heat, a medley of scarcely visible waves reaching every which way. He pushed the heat wave forward . Hair singed and flesh burned as the dog let out an agonizing yelp. It crumpled to the ground, helpless. It was panting slowly, still alive, but Marion knew that would not last long.

He brought up his arm to end its suffering.

The owner of the farmhouse came through a patch of reeds and looked at his dog, and then at Marion. “I knew you was vexed!”

He rushed Marion, pitchfork in hand.

Marion turned and released the whitefire.

The owner broke off his charge and fell to his knees. The wave engulfed him, his clothes slowly burned away and his skin blistered and cracked. He dropped the pitchfork, and landed on his side.

Marion pulled back on the whitefire and brought it under his control. All was quiet.

The owner let out one last mad scream releasing a puff of smoke from his charred lungs. The smell was terrible.

Marion quickly finished off the panting dog and ran for the road, eager to get on his way before the bodies were discovered.

It was several minutes before he heard the missus scream, the echoes of her crazed wail bouncing over the empty land.

So I get to be the first to crit C1? *dances*

owners of the shed had been friendly enough people;

This sounds awkward: I would consider cutting the word "people" and seeing how that works.


I like the old man's dialect. Usually those kind of things annoy me, but this worked, at least for me, just fine.

Marion saw the look of suspicion on his face as plain as day. He better get control over this situation and soon.

In the third sentence here I assume you mean for the "he" to mean Marion, but it wasn't very clear. And because you were talking about the other man in the previous sentence, it might be best to clarify.


Your description, the setting (or the bits and pieces I grasp from this) and even the food help create a nice picture in my head of Marion's surroundings. You definitely have a talent for this.

"So what’s your business ‘round these parts? You seemed rather in a hurry to get someplace, you didn’t want no fastbreaks.”

It's not a big deal either way, but this might read a little better if you broke up the last bit ("you didn't want no fastbreaks") into a sentence of its own, or else used a semi-colon instead of a comma before it. Just a thought.

The owner let out one last mad scream releasing a puff of smoke from his charred lungs

The owner let out one last mad scream, releasing a puff of smoke from his charred lungs


I really liked the ending to this, mainly because of the sort of suspense and suspicion you kept up throughout the entire piece. The whole time I felt the dog was sort of eerie, so the ending came off really nicely for me.

Throughout that whole thing, though, I kept wondering what fastbreaks were. Is that their term for breakfast, or...?

Yeah, go ahead, laugh at me. XD

Anywho, nice work. I enjoyed reading this piece and it was fun to critique.

Yes, fastbreaks was just my neologism for breakfast. Does it sound too out there? Thanks Cass!