It’s stench hung distinctly in the air
so the enemy just may have that chance.
the less Falero’s there were in the world, the better
so he almost had to jog along side them so they could keep pace.
he would become of age
especially his father! — to always be loyal towards your kinsmen?
“Bad”
“I won’t run away and leave you behind you know that I can’t do that, I won’t!”
Dammit, the woman was casting a spell all this time and I didn’t even see it! he thought.
one of those damned creature had leapt at Alana, a mad joy in his insane eyes
Turning back to Lance she glared at him again but this time had a glint of understanding in them;
But Lance was pulled form his thoughts once again
that’s what put him on edge.
While Lance set to sniffing it delicately with his gifted nose,
his father had surpassed all the limits that eveLancene thought was impossible to reach.
He couldn’t touch him.
“You’re more like him than you know”
Lance looked at her he was going to say that he had his doubts on whether they would be able to return to Exitrius
but before he could utter a sound there was slight zip in the air before he was overcome by excruciating pain.
The figure drew closer, seemingly staring at the dying man. Though no one could tell for it’s hood hid the shooter’s face from view.
Lance cursed silently.
The said woman raised an eyebrow at her remark,
Dammit, the woman was casting a spell all this time and I didn’t even see it! he thought.
Lance took another deep whiff of the cool air before answering, “I can’t hear them anymore.” he whispered.
Her son shrugged indifferently, “I didn’t think we could lose them this quickly.” he said.
Review of Prologue by XxxDo.docBlood… Blood and death, everywhere. Its stench hung distinctly in the air, like a pesky mosquito that just wouldn’t leave you alone [It's probably just because I'm in a picky mood, but I didn't like this comparison. It took away from the tense moment you've already built up.]. The faint echoes of the clashing steel of swords and axes could be heard for miles. Cries of agony from each fallen warrior were easily discerned from the gentle chirping of crickets in the dense forest, which were ignorant to the distress around them [is it just me, or does this feel like awkward wording?]… All was mayhem in the royal city of Exitrius.
Men and women were fighting, dying, to defend their city. But three silhouettes could be seen darting into the forest, away from the fighting, for they were the reason for the bloodshed, the enemy had come for them, more specifically one of them. [Run-on sentence, and I feel like it doesn't work here. Also, it seems choppy. Try to find a way to make your wording smooth and seemingly effortles (though all writers know that it is certainly NOT effortless)]
His name was Lance Falero, the single son of the leader of the Union [This came out of nowhere. I mean, I know we're talking about one of the three figures running away from the battle, but still.]The enemy was after him, though they did have standing orders to kill Charlotte, Lance’s mother, if given the chance. In the eyes of the enemy, the less Faleros there were in the world, the better. So it was essential that she escaped with her son. The third figure went by the name of Alana Cain, she was a local priestess for the Union [Need a better transition.]. Saying that Alana and Lance were close would be a severe understatement. Though she wasn’t a prime target, if she got in the way of the enemy and their prey, she would not be spared.
Lance was by far the fastest of the three, but he didn’t dare leave his mother and Alana behind, so he almost had to jog alongside them so they could keep pace.
Dammit! he thought, How the hell did they break through the barrier? It should have held till dawn! Alana set it herself! Leaping over a particularly large root of an old tree [Comma needed] he cursed his youth. If I was just a bit older, I could actually have something to defend myself with!
This was indeed true, within three months time he would come of age and would be granted a sword. A few hours ago three months didn’t seem like that big of a deal [Very modern phrase. I guess if you want to keep it, that's up to you. But it does feel out of place and degrades the piece.]. But now those three months could now [Shouldn't put now's so close together. Reword.] be the difference between life and death. He hated being weak, not being able to protect the people that he cared for. He hated [Right here would be a good oppotunity to display a good vocabulary. Use a similar word for hated.] watching people suffer , and not be able to do anything about it. And most of all, he hated running away. To him, cowardice was one of the most despicable things in this world. His father had always told him that a world of cowards was a world running away from itself [Cool], and he hated running away. He hated making excuses, it made him seem weak, and he hated being weak.
[I see that you have a theme going with the hated, but it really would display your talent as a writer and add to this piece if you were to change that.]
So what if he hadn’t become ‘of age’ yet? So what if he hadn’t been presented a sword? [Again, so what is amoderm phrase. For a piece that seems so medieval as this, I would try to stay away from those.] He’d kill those bastard’s with his bare hands. He was no coward. [Okay, a little character inconsistency here. You've expressed that your MC is very strong, hates cowardice, and has a certain need for revenge. Well, if it were me, I wouldn't be running than, despite the danger to my life. Perhaps express a certain fear in your MC, too, to make it more realistic that he's running away from all that's important in his life?] Hadn’t people like Vadrian, Jyro, Garamond, and his father — especially his father — taught him to always be loyal towards your kinsmen? Wasn’t that the most important quality in people such as themselves? If so then why did they just leave these very people to fight and die so he wouldn’t have to? He hated having to turn his back on his people just so he could escape, having them die for him just so he could run away. He hated running away. [Then he probably wouldn't, seeing how strong his emotions/honor is on the subject. If something was extremely important to me, such as never writing again to save my sister's life (bizarrely), but something was at stake if I didn't write, I would choose my sister ANYWAY, because I coudln't have the guilt of her death hanging over my head while I wrote on. See?]
Lance was yanked from his thoughts by a sharp yelp of pain that was closer than any of the other sounds of battle. Looking back he saw that his mother had tripped over the large root that he had just cleared. He backtracked quickly to help. [Lots of pronouns. Try to cut back.]
Alana was already examining her ankle [The way you put this, I thought she was looking at her own ankle. Reword.] by the time he reached her, “Laz, I think she’s twisted her ankle, there’s no way she’s running on this. You’ll have to carry her.”
Lance looked at her, “How bad is it?”
“Bad.”
Lance cursed silently.
At that moment a triumphant roar from the enemy was heard, and the air was starting to reek of their stench. They were closing in… fast.
Lance looked at Alana, about to tell her to run. Except…oh no, she was
getting that look in her eye again. That look that said she was about to do something heroic, stupid-heroic.
“Don’t you even think about it!” he snarled.
Alana glared at him, “You know that it’s the only way! Your mother’s hurt, and you know that I don’t have the strength to carry her!”
“I won’t run away and leave you behind, you know that I can’t do that, I won’t!” [If he can't leave her, than why can he leave his people? They seem equally important to him as she does.]
“Now is not the time, Lance!” Alana growled, using his real name as a means of admonishment, “We have to get you and your mother out of here!”
“But —” Lance started. [Being picky again, but I like began better.]
“No!” Alana shouted. The sounds of the bloodthirsty villains were getting [Becoming louder would be better] closer. “Save your mother! I’ll hold them off.”
“Alana,” whimpered Charlotte, who was now on her son’s back, “please, there must be some other way. We can’t just leave you.”
The said [huh?] woman raised an eyebrow at her remark, “You can, and you will. You both know perfectly well that they came for you.” She sighed and for only a second she looked scared, but the look was gone as quick as it had come, “Besides, it was my barrier they broke through, I made this mess and I will be the one to clean it up.”
Lance started to argue again but like last time he was cut short. His mother gasped in surprise and he leapt backwards as a light blue sheen materialized out of nowhere. A barrier of holy energy now separated Lance and Alana.
Dammit, the woman was casting a spell all this time and I didn’t even see it! he thought.
Alana smiled sadly at Lance, “You can’t help me now even if you wanted to.[Coma instead]” she whispered.
“Alana,” groaned Lance, “please, don’t do this, I can still get away. I could — ”
“It’s too late for that.” Alana snapped.
Lance blinked at her sharpness.
Alana sighed. “Just go Lance, get your mother to safety.”
Lance looked at her, he wanted to say something to her, ‘be careful’ ‘I’ll come back for you’ but before he could open his mouth, one of those damned creatures had leapt at Alana, a mad joy in his insane eyes, his extremely long nails outstretched, intent on murder. [Describe this creature to the reader. I can't picture it, and that takes away from the moment that I would have enjoyed otherwise.]
The thing would have killed her, had it not been for her quick reflexes. Turning swiftly, she [Her name would be better used here] reached into the folds of her robes and produced a thin, sharp dagger. With a flash of silver and crimson and a cry of surprise, the thing laid dead at her feet, it’s throat slashed.
Turning back to Lance she glared at him again but this time had a glint of understanding in them, having been so close to death; she realized that she might not see him again.
“Go!” she hissed, “I’ll be fine, just get Charlotte out of here!”
“But —”
“GO!” bellowed Alana as she turned back to face the wave of hell-bent assassins.
He looked at her one last time before he turned and fled. He hated himself for it, he felt like a coward and a traitor [Again, just seems completely inconsistent to me. You'd think he'd rather die fighting, though he's not good at it, than running as a coward.]. But God forbid if Alana was even hurt severely, the spell would probably break and he would be hard pressed to defend himself and his mother. Again he cursed his youth.
For how long he ran, he didn’t know. He was worried sick, if anything happened to Alana, it would be his entire fault. What would he do if — ?
But Lance was pulled from his thoughts once again, he stopped mid-bound, sniffing the air cautiously, something wasn’t right. His instincts were screaming at him to run, but why? The air was as clear of their stench as it was this morning.
His mother sensed his unease. “Laz, what’s wrong?”
Lance took another deep whiff of the cool air before answering, “I can’t hear them anymore.[Comma]" he whispered.
His mother knitted her eyebrows together in confusion. “Isn’t that a good thing?” she questioned.
Her son shrugged indifferently, “I didn’t think we could lose them this quickly.[Comma]" he said.
He [Too many pronouns. Use names, or the boy.] looked a lot calmer than he really felt. What was going on? Did Alana really kill all of them that quickly and was heading in their direction right now? Or was it the other way around? Could it be? Was it really, truly possible that Alana was —?
He shook that thought out of his mind. It was too horrible to imagine, so he didn’t indulge. Instead he opted to take care of his mother’s injury. He wouldn’t allow himself to feel pain, not now. He couldn’t allow let himself be weak. He hated being weak. [Hmmm. Yet he can run away so swiftly.]
Bending down carefully, he set his mother down [One too many down's so close together. Reword.] gently and examined her ankle. It was starting to swell, and already turning a nasty shade of purple.
Lance set to sniffing the air delicately with his gifted nose, still searching for hidden perils, while probing his mother’s injury.
Charlotte looked at him with a fondness only a mother could have. While watching him inspect her ankle she said, “You’ve really grown up, Lance. My little boy has truly grown into a man, just like your father.”
Lance smiled softly at her, “I’m nothing like my father,” he mumbled, touching the sensitive flesh tenderly. “I’ve got a long way to go before I reach his level.”
He believed what he said, his father had surpassed all the limits that even Lance himself had thought was impossible to reach. His father wouldn’t have run away, his father would have stayed and fight. He couldn’t measure up to him, at least not now.
“You’re more like him than you know,” Charlotte said softly, as though reading his mind. She had an almost annoying habit of being able to do that.
Lance shrugged, he wasn’t in the mood to argue, “Listen mom [Mom, huh? I think mother would be good here, instead. Mom is, again, a newer phrase, I think.], I think we may have to bleed this out, and chances are it’s gonna hurt.”
“Doesn’t it always,” Charlotte chuckled, “I’ll have dear Evelynn look at it once we get back.”
Lance looked at her, he was going to say that he had his doubts on whether they would be able to return to Exitrius, that there was a high probability that Evelynn was dead, but before he could utter a sound there was slight zip in the air and he was overcome by excruciating pain. [Need to expand. This is put too quickly, too emotionlessly (is that even a word? *shrugs*). As a reader, I want to feel his pain. I want to know where it hurts. Just need to pull me in more efficiently.]
The world seemed to spin before his eyes, things like his screaming mother sounded more like a background noise, an unpleasant buzzing in his ears, and all he felt was pain. The earth could have opened up for him to drown in the boiling, liquid iron of Earth’s core and he wouldn’t have noticed [Nice].
Coughing up blood, he looked down dazedly to see the shaft of an arrow jutting out of his chest, blood everywhere, just above his heart. The world was still spinning, faster and faster; he was getting dizzy and edges of darkness began to creep into the boundaries of his vision. He knew he didn’t have much time.
Falling on the ground helplessly he heard his mother’s horrified shriek. A figure adorned in white robes, the hood hiding the face of his attacker, was approaching them from the direction that they had just come. That could only mean…
Alana.
Alana was dead, and it was all his fault. He had been a coward and had left his people behind; his comrades had most likely paid for it with their lives. He had been disloyal and had abandoned Alana; she had paid with her life as well. He had gone against his people, against his instincts, against his training. Drowning in his guilt, in his pain, he wished to die, just so it all could end, so he didn’t have to live with the pain of failure. This whole night he spent running away, why not run away from the pain too?
The figure drew closer, seemingly staring at the dying man. Though no one could tell for its hood hid the archer’s face from view. He — or was it a she? — raised the bow it was carrying. Drawing an arrow slowly it aimed straight at Lance [Missing a comma]. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his mother shielding him, intent on protecting her fallen son.
No, he thought, not mom [mother] too.
Though no matter how much he wanted to do something — scream for his mother to run for her life, to save herself — he couldn’t. When he opened his mouth, all that came out was the scarlet proof of his injury, of his failure. The arrow in his chest seemed to block out any coherent thought in his conscious mind, the pain — emotional and physical — had a hold over him, a pain that, for the first time in his life, he couldn’t conquer. He couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, let alone speak. He cursed his weakness, cursed his youth… cursed himself, for he had failed again.
The figure pulled the string taught, looking at Charlotte all the while. The thing was going to kill her without a second’s hesitation, for one moment time seemed to stop and… it released the arrow.
The deadly projectile soared through the air, towards the woman giving her own life to protect her son; all Charlotte could do was scream. The arrow flew straight and true, its silver arrow-head glinting menacingly, promising the empty nothingness of death…
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