Hero's Journey

Prologue

Late Evening, Wilday the 13th of Vanger, 658 AG (After Godswar)
A small village on the western coast of the Kingdom of Arcadia

Toshiko Ren had just sat down in front of a roaring fire and was savouring the aroma of a freshly brewed cup of tea when someone knocked on the door. Grumbling, he picked a lantern and walked over to the door. When he peered through the peephole, he smiled and quickly slid the bolts and opened the door. A young man in his early twenties stood before him wearing leather riding armour and a plain green, mud splattered tunic and pants and armed with a bow and sword. His clothing was drenched from the torrential rainstorm raging outside and he was gently cradling a tightly wrapped bundle. “Jiro, m'boy, get inside. What brings you all the way out here in this ungodly weather?”

Jiro stepped inside the farmhouse, shaking off the excess rainwater as Ren closed the door behind him and handed him a towel. As if on cue, the bundled emitted a small gurgle and Jiro loosened some of the wrappings to reveal a small baby just waking up. “Actually, I'm here because of him,” Jiro began as he looked over to the cup by the fire; “also, you wouldn't happen to have some more of that tea would you?”

Ten minutes later Yamasaka Jiro was sitting by the fire wearing dry clothes and nursing a cup of tea while Ren held the baby. “So lad, what possessed you to travel with a baby in this storm?”

Jiro smiled, “I'll be twenty six in spring, I'm not a boy any more Ren.”

“Ahh Jiro, you'll always be the freckle faced youth who could barely lift a sword that I met at the training grounds.” The two men shared a laugh. “However I hear that they finally accepted you into the ranks of the Royal Guard, all that hard work paid off.”

“You taught me well.” Jiro answered as he sipped his hot tea.

“So, what's the little tyke's name and who was the lucky girl.”

The young man spluttered into his tea nearly dropping the cup. “I'm not his father, and as far as I am aware, the boy has not yet been named.” Jiro finished his tea, reached into his satchel, and pulled a beaten leather document wallet. “What I am about to ask of you is no small matter, but there is no one whom I trust more.”

“Sounds serious,” Ren said sitting up straight.

“This letter,” Jiro continued as he produced an envelope from the wallet and handed it to Ren, “explains everything. In short, the boy is in need of a father.” Jiro opened the letter dubiously and began reading. As he did so, his eyes widened in disbelief. “The law of the land is quite clear on this matter,” Jiro explained, “in situations such as this there should only be one course of action. However the boy is an innocent and deserves the chance at a normal life regardless of the circumstances of his birth.”

Ren folded the letter and looked down at the boy. The child gurgled contentedly and yawned, oblivious to conversation going on around him. “What of the mother?” he asked.

“Sadly, we were too late to save her.” Jiro reached into his pocket, pulled out a handkerchief, and passed it to Ren. “Before she passed on, she made me promise to make sure the boy was given this.” Ren opened the handkerchief and from within, the blue crystal pendant sparked in the light from the fire.

“I'll do it on one condition.”

“What?”

“That you don't wait too long until your next visit,” Ren stood up and clasped Jiro's hand, “it's been too long old friend.”

Jiro smiled, “I'll try to visit whenever I can but my new duties keep me busy.” He reached into the wallet and pulled out a second envelope. “This is for the boy, when he is old enough this should explain everything.” Ren nodded and took the envelope as Jiro got up and gathered his gear. “Sorry to drop this on you and leave so suddenly but I have to get back to the capital before I am missed.”

Ren gently placed the now sleeping child down on a blanket on the floor in front of the fire and walked Jiro to the door. “I understand, but don't be a stranger for too long.” The two men embraced and then Jiro was gone, out into the storm. Ren closed the door went back to the fire crouching down next to the blanket he watched the tiny form sleep peacefully. “Well little cub, it seems you are in need of a name.”

Heya there! Welcome to YWS!

Don't get scared if my review is a little harsh. I try not to be mean

Grumbling, he picked a lantern and walked over to the door.

You're missing "up" in this sentence.

A young man in his early twenties stood before him wearing leather riding armour and a plain green, mud splattered tunic and pants and armed with a bow and sword.

Long sentence here. It sort of feels like it drags on with all this description of the man's clothing. If you wish, you could split it into two but I advise not to info dump so much Maybe gradually show the reader what the man's clothes look like.

“You taught me well.” Jiro answered as he sipped his hot tea.

The period after "well" should be a comma

“So, what's the little tyke's name and who was the lucky girl.”

This is a question. So you know what needs to be placed at the end, right?

“Sounds serious,” Ren said sitting up straight.

I'm interested. How old is this Ren and what does he look like?

Jiro opened the letter dubiously and began reading.

I think you meant Ren here not Jiro.

Ren closed the door went back to the fire crouching down next to the blanket he watched the tiny form sleep peacefully.

You're missing "and" between door and went

~~~~~

This is an interesting story so far. And yes, it does sound rather cliched, but that doesn't matter. Sometimes cliched stories are fun Yet, I'm a might confused on some parts. But I'll tell you later on.

Description~ There isn't much description of the house or Ren. You explained what Jiro's clothing looked like but not much of him. But I assume you'll describe them more in future chapters? But, at least give the house a little description

Plot~ I'm not sure if you did this on purpose or by accident but you skimmed over some important matters concerning the baby. What were the circumstances of the boys birth? What do you mean he deserves to lead a normal life? Who was his mother?

Other than that--and the fact it is a cliched story (so far)--I enjoyed this piece. Maybe make it seem like it is cliched but add some quirky or uncliched subplot to the whole thing. Just my personal opinion. Good job!

If you have any questions or when the chapter is up, PM me!

Happy Writing!

Meadow

MeadowLark wrote:Plot~ I'm not sure if you did this on purpose or by accident but you skimmed over some important matters concerning the baby. What were the circumstances of the boys birth? What do you mean he deserves to lead a normal life? Who was his mother?

These things were left out on purpose for two reasons. Firstly, I only had a vague idea as to what was going on at this point. Secondly, and the main reason, I wanted to reveal these things slowly, as the character himself found them out.

This was my first real attempt at writing fantasy since a creative writing assignment in Yr8 English, 17 years ago (God, now I feel old). As I said, it's intentionally cheesy and cliche ridden. The title should give that much away

I've gone back and fixed the typos. I swear, I must have read this thing 20 or 30 times (I go back and reread the whole thing whenever I get stuck) and I never spotted them. Some of them I'm sure I did as I recall going back to change them. Maybe I didn't save?

Chapter One: Fifteen Years Later...

Morning, Corday the 9th of Tanot, 674 AG (After Godswar)
A small village on the western coast of the Kingdom of Arcadia

The spring sunshine shone lightly on the small sheltered cove, filtering through the trees that spread out from the top of the cliffs bordering it on three sides and casting dappled shadows on the sandy beach. 15-year-old Toshiko Kiba lay on his back on the wooden dock; his bare feet dangling in the cool water as he lazily watching the clouds pass overhead. High above, an airship soared between the puffy clouds. It was most likely a Galtaen ship carrying cargo, a few high-paying passengers and important diplomatic messages to the Arcadian capital of Comer some 100 miles to the north. Kiba watched its passage until it was hidden behind a bank of low clouds while absent-mindedly chewing on a blade of grass.

Corday was one of the few days that he was able to relax. Most of the week was spent helping his father on their small farm except on the odd days that he fell asleep during class at the small village school. Most of the village would probably already be at church engrossed in their weekly ritual of morning prayer. Although it was only the ninth day of spring, it was an exceptionally fine day and he planned to enjoy every minute of it by doing absolutely nothing.

Kiba stood a little over 5'5” and had a strong build thanks to the many years of working the farm alongside his father. With bright orange eyes and forest green hair, he stood out from the others in the village and consequently had few friends his age. He was rather plainly dressed with a black sleeveless shirt and a pair of his father’s old brown work pants with the legs cut short. The legs had originally trailed on the floor when he first started wearing them several years ago. Now they resembled knee-length shorts more than pants thanks to his growth over the last couple of summers. They still needed to be held up by a leather belt however and he had a new hunting knife strapped to his thigh, a birthday gift from his father last month. A pair of boots and socks lay discarded next to a water canteen, a red bandanna and a pack beside him. Tucked under his shirt was a pendent made up of a blue crystal 3/4 of inch long on a steel chain. The pendant was the only thing the Kiba had that belonged to his birth parents. Kiba also had a black tattoo on his right arm just under his shoulder of a four-pointed star. It had been there for as long as he could remember and his father had told him that it had been there when he had been left on his doorstep as a baby 15 years ago.

He closed his eyes and let the light ocean breeze ruffle his hair as he listened to the sound of the waves breaking on the shore and the calls of the gulls overhead. Slowly, he dozed off.

----

The soldier, dressed in bandit clothes, slowly crept up to the edge of the cliff and peered down onto the cove below. He saw a boy, no older than his own son, sleeping on the wooden dock jutting out into the water. Readying his bow he hesitated, but only for a second, his orders were clear. The future of the Empire was at stake and all threats to the Empire must be eliminated even if that meant the complete annihilation of Arcadia. Taking a deep breath, he knocked an arrow and took aim. At least, he thought, I can make it a quick death.

----

Kiba awoke with a start. Shielding his eyes, and without getting up, he looked up at the sun. It was still not at its zenith so Kiba supposed that it was still morning. Realising that his throat felt dry he rolled onto his side and reached for the canteen. No sooner had he done so did he hear a sharp thud and feel the impact of something strike the wood behind him. Sitting up he turned to look at the source of the noise and saw an arrow sticking out of the wood. Kiba looked at the arrow dumbfounded, his brain refused to think of anything other than the thought that if he had rolled a moment later or if the arrow had arrived a moment earlier it would have struck him in the chest.

He was still staring at the arrow when a second streaked down from the top of the cliffs and sliced across the top of his left arm. Kiba hissed in pain and shock as he grabbed the wound and looked up at the cliffs. He saw a man stand up, ready another arrow and begin to take aim. Looking frantically left and right, and suddenly feeling very exposed, Kiba dived into the water and ducked under the dock. Arrows peppered the water where he entered but as soon as he was under the dock, he was safe under cover, for now at least.

Staying as still as possible under the dock, he heard the clatter of stones as the man scrambled down the cliff face. Soon Kiba could hear the clomp of footsteps on the wooden planks of the docks as the man began to walk slowly down its length. Kiba held his breath, shivering in the cold water. “Come on boy, let's not make this any harder than it has to be,” said a low gruff voice as the footsteps came to a stop above Kiba's head. A sword was thrust the gap between planks narrowly missing Kiba's face. In panic, he thrashed backwards in the water and began to swim for all his worth the few dozen feet to the shore. Behind him, he heard the pounding footsteps as the man ran back down the dock towards the shore.

Swimming diagonally away from the dock, Kiba hit the beach running and headed towards the path back to the village, arms and legs pumping furiously. He only got a few yards before he was shoulder-barged from behind and sent sprawling to the floor. As he tried to get up, a savage kick to the side forced him back down, this time onto his back. The man planted his right foot on Kiba's chest pressing down and forcing all the air out of his lungs. Gasping for breath he watched as the man raised his sword above his head, point down, and prepared to bring it down onto his neck. Kiba grabbed the hunting knife strapped to his side and, perhaps for the first time in his life, uttered a silent prayer to Corean, Arcadia's patron god, before slashing at the man's right leg. The man howled in pain and stumbled as Kiba scrambled to get up, both of them tripping the other in the sudden tangle of legs. The man fell forward, crashing down on top of Kiba, grunting with the impact.

For a moment, neither of them moved, and then Kiba pushed the man off him to his side. Sitting up, Kiba realised that there was blood on his hands and chest. Apart from the arrow wound on his arm he didn't seem to be injured, looking to the man still lying face up next to him, he saw his hunting knife sticking out of his chest. He leant over him cautiously and prodded him in the side. Getting no response, he grasped the hilt of the knife and pulled. It needed both hands to pull it out and as he did so, he felt the blade grating against bone and as it came out, a spurt of blood followed. Kiba looked at the blood soaked knife, the blood on his hands and the wound on the dead man's chest. He tried to stand but found that his legs suddenly seemed to lack all strength and collapsed back to the ground. Kiba doubled over and vomited the remains of his breakfast onto the sand until there was nothing left but dry heaves.

After a few minutes, Kiba staggered away from the body and over the dock. In an attempt to get rid of the acrid taste of bile in his mouth, he picked up his canteen, swilled some water, and spat it out. A spasm of pain from his arm reminded him of the arrow cut and he picked up the bandanna from next to his boots and tied it tightly around the wound stopping the bleeding. His mind was racing, it may have been an accident, and the man might have been trying to kill him, but he had killed someone. This brought up the question of why. Who was the man and why did he try to kill him? Kiba put on his boots and socks, picked up his pack, walked back to the body, and knelt down next to it.

He looked like a bandit, the clothes certainly fit the part, but Kiba supposed that bandit swords wouldn't be in such good condition. It looked relatively new, and from the stories he had heard from merchants, the local bandits usually used crossbows and not bows. He was still trying to make sense of everything when something in the corner of his eye attracted his attention. It was a thick column of smoke rising above the treetops. As he watched, he realised what he was actually seeing was several small columns coalescing into one as they rose into the sky and they were coming from direction of the village.

Kiba jumped to his feet, if he could see the smoke from here, a fire in the village would have to be a huge one. He set off running down the beach towards the path back to the village but when he got to the foot of the cliff, he stopped. Something was wrong, apart from what had just happened. Deep down, he couldn't explain it, but he knew that something very bad was going to happen. He went back to the body and picked up the sword and bow. Something told him that he might need more protection than what his knife could provide. Now wearing the dead man's scabbard and quiver, he set off back to the village unsure of what he would find.

The village was a couple of miles down the coast on the other side of the headland. It took Kiba nearly half an hour to hustle down the forest path but he eventually reached the top of the valley looking down on to the natural harbour around which the village was built. Several buildings were burning, most noticeably the church and the inn, and even from here, he could see large numbers of armoured men setting fire to houses and cutting down anyone they came across. In the village square, Kiba could make out a group of men in more elaborate armour standing guard around an individual dressed in plain traveller’s clothes. He was holding a staff from which a blue light emanated from a crystal on the top. Behind them stood what could only be described as a ripple in mid air. Kiba assumed this was some sort of magical portal as every so often a soldier would walk into the ripple and vanish or would appear out of the ripple as if he had just strode off the parade ground.

He began to make his way down the slope, carefully picking a route between the trees and to the rear of the village in order to minimise the chance of being seen. Since most of the soldiers seemed to be concentrated at the harbour and the houses on the valley floor, Kiba decided to cut through the church yard and as he crept between the rows of gravestones he saw a small boy running down the path parallel to the yard. He recognised him as the eight-year old son of the innkeeper, Busamaru. Little Busa, as people in the village tended to call him, was a good kid that often followed Kiba around the village. To his parent’s annoyance, and Kiba's amusement, he had started to imitate Kiba. He was about to call out to the boy when he heard shouts from further down the road and several arrows flew through the air striking Busamaru in the back. Busa fell to the floor screaming and Kiba could only watch helplessly from behind a gravestone as two soldiers caught up with Busa and repeatedly stabbed the boy with their swords, cutting his pleas for mercy short.

Kiba slumped behind the gravestone biting on his lip hard enough to draw blood and fighting back tears. He was scared, confused and more than a little angry. Kiba couldn't understand what was happening and why. Arcadia had been at peace for over a century and although it was a small kingdom, it didn't really have any enemies. Why would someone attack his village and in this way? They weren't important, just a small fishing and farming village. The smoke from the church was drifting across the graveyard and underneath the smell of burning wood, he could smell the grotesque stench of burning meat. What had they done to deserve such butchery?

Behind him, the soldiers were laughing and joking. Kiba could feel his blood starting to boil and his heart was beating so loudly that surely they could hear it. “I wish more of them had put up such a fight as this brat, it wouldn't have been so boring otherwise.”

“I know what you mean,” answered the second, “why should we get stuck with this pissant little village.” Their accents were definitely foreign and Kiba couldn't place it.

“I think this kid was the last,” the first one speculated. Kiba's grip tightened on the sword, his pulse racing and a red mist beginning to encroach on the edge of his vision. He was seconds away from getting up and charging them when the first soldier continued. “Once Sergeant Leifsson and his patrol gets back from sweeping the farms to the south we should be able to get out of here.” His anger vanished in an instant and was replaced by a cold dread. His home was to the south and most likely his father would still be there.

Using the smoke as cover, he crawled along the ground away from the soldiers and over the wall around the graveyard. Now hidden from the soldiers, Kiba sprinted into the woods on the southern slope of the valley, weaving between trees and vaulting over undergrowth. The village's farms were located in a series of cleared fields on the forested flats to the south of the valley and it took Kiba only a few minutes to run up the slope and down the path that led to the Toshiko farm.

When he got to the edge of the hollow the farm was situated in, he skidded to a stop. In front of the farmhouse were four soldiers, two of whom held Kiba's struggling father tightly by the arms and forcing him to his knees. As he watched in horror, a third soldier drew his sword back and stabbed him in the stomach. Kiba screamed out as his father slumped to the floor clutching his stomach. The soldiers turned, momentarily surprised, readied their swords and began to charge towards the boy. Kiba reached behind him pulling out the bow he had taken, he knocked an arrow and fired without thinking or even taking the time to aim. The arrow streaked through the air striking the soldier who had stabbed his father in the neck. He went down instantly in a spray of arterial blood accompanied by a gurgling scream. Kiba knew that he wouldn't have time to ready another arrow so he dropped the bow on the ground and drew his sword. With a wordless battle cry of rage, he charged towards the soldiers, his sword held above his head.

Although the only sword training he had ever received was listening to the bedtime stories of great knights and epic battles told to him by his father, Kiba seemed able to hold his own even against three trained soldiers. He parried the first attack, twisting around and ducking under the second bringing him face to face with the third soldier. Kiba swung his sword at the soldiers midriff but the soldier deftly stepped to the side and parried the blow sending Kiba stumbling. He recovered quickly enough to block two simultaneous blows that nearly forced him to the ground. Somehow, he found reserves of strength he didn't know he had and pushed the blades back with enough force to send one of the soldiers sprawling in the dirt. The third soldier, who had forced him to stumble earlier, turned around bringing his sword smashing down in an overhead strike. Kiba parried the blow one handed, holding the sword in his right hand while punching the second soldier in the stomach, winding him. Kiba was so focused on the second and third soldiers, he forgot about the first soldier that he had knocked to the ground. The first soldier kicked the side of Kiba's legs knocking him to the floor. Kiba rolled over almost instantly into a combat crouch just in time to receive a pommel bash to the side of the head. He brought his sword up as he staggered backwards, stunned by the blow. He never saw the third soldier swing his sword but he felt the blade as it sliced across his chest. Kiba lost the grip on his sword as he collapsed to the floor, his fall helped by a second sword blow to the back. His vision faded and he lay motionless on the ground, his blood soaking into the dirt.

The soldiers, panting heavily, gathered around the boy's body. One of them kicked him in the side but received no response. Believing him to be dead, one of them picked up the sword that Kiba was using and examined it. “Hey, this is one of ours! How did this little bastard get a hold of it?”

The third soldier took the blade. “That's Gunnasson’s; I'd recognise that pommel design anywhere.”

“It belongs to Kiba now,” said the boy, his voice deeper and more guttural than before “and he'd like it back.”

The three soldiers turned back to the boy who was rising to his feet. As they watched, the blood from the vicious cut across his chest stopped flowing and the sides of the wound closed together and healed. What was more disturbing was the boy's face. His orange eyes seemed to burn and glow with an inner fire that had not been there before and appeared more animal now than human. His incisor teeth had become actual fangs and two-inch claws grew from the tips of his fingers and thumbs. A row of spines pierced the back of his shirt and a six-inch spike grew out of each of his elbows. The boy growled and took a step forward and the soldiers fell back, suddenly afraid. One of them hissed “titan-spawn” lowering his sword and turned to flee. The boy leapt through the air, over the heads of the two soldiers that had held their ground, and landed on the fleeing soldier's back driving him to the ground. Ignoring his screams, the boy grabbed both the man's arms and pulled. With a wet and visceral sounding tear, they ripped free. He turned to face the two surviving soldiers, whose faces were white with terror, and charged at them while screaming in a language not heard in the mortal world for nearly 700 years.

A few minutes later, Kiba's vision cleared and he sat up and saw a scene of absolute carnage. Around him lay the “bodies” of the three soldiers that had attacked him. They appeared to have been torn limb from limb and a wide swath of the ground around them was sprayed with blood. Kiba himself was covered in blood, but even though he vividly remembered his stomach being cut open and being stabbed in the back he didn't seem injured at all. Even the arrow cut on his arm from earlier seemed to have healed. Rather than trying to explain all this, Kiba picked up his sword, the bow, and raced down the dirt track to where his father was lying.

As Kiba knelt down next to his father, his eyes fluttered and he coughed up blood. He ripped the bandanna off his arm and pressed it onto his father's wound hoping to stop the bleeding. “Kiba...” his father spluttered.

“Don't talk; we need to get you to a healer.” Kiba was not listening as he ran into the farmhouse and came out carrying some rags to use as bandages and a small vial. “Sandown is only eight miles inland. If we leave now we can make it before nightfall.”

“Kiba...”

“We'll need to use the wagon,” Kiba continued as he hastily applied a yellow ointment from the vial to the wound and dressed it with the cloth rags, “that wound is too deep to ride with.” He was about to run to the barn to get horse hitched to the wagon when his father gripped his arm and stopped him.

“It's too late for me son...”

“I'll ride ahead then and bring the healer here, without the wagon I can be back in a quarter of the time.” He tried to pull away but his father's grip was surprisingly strong.

“Kiba,” he said softly, “even if you tried, I'd be gone long before you even got there.” Kiba slumped to the floor feeling helpless. “Listen to me...”

Kiba slammed his fist on the ground, “If I weren't goofing off like usual, if only I'd been here...”

“Then they would've killed you too.” His father interrupted. Tears welled up in Kiba's eyes as he began to accept the inevitable. “There was nothing you could've done.”

“I could've tried.” Kiba said quietly, barely a whisper.

Ren tried to laugh but instead could only manage cough up more blood. Kiba used one of the cloth rags to wipe the blood away. He helped his father up and leant him carefully against a hay bale to make more comfortable. “Kiba, you may be many things but you are not a killer.” Kiba looked away when his father said that. “Listen to me; there are things I should've told you years ago. Things about your real mother and father. The time just never seemed right and you never asked about them.” Ren's eyes unfocused and he seemed to look off into the distance as if remembering something. “How was I supposed to tell him, no child should ever have to shoulder this burden.”

“Tell me what?”

Ren's attention turned back to his son, “It doesn't matter. Under my bed there's a box, inside it there is an envelope. The letter within explains everything.” Kiba had to lean in close, his father's voice growing faint. “Regardless of what it says inside I want you to know this. I have never once regretted adopting you. Even if I was your birth father I would not love you more. You have a good head on those shoulders and a strong heart. You've been the best son a father could ask for and I'm proud of you.” His eyes unfocused and his entire body stilled.

“Father, wake up,” Kiba shook his father in desperation, tears now streaming freely down his face. “nonononono you can't die,” he held his father close to his chest and rocked back and forth sobbing for some time.

Eventually he laid the body of his father carefully on the ground and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. He knew there wasn't much time; eventually someone would come looking for the missing soldiers. Kiba picked up a shovel, walked over to the apple tree in the middle of the yard and began to dig. It didn't take him long to dig a hole big enough and deep enough for Kiba to gently lay his father in and bury him. He had no stone to mark the grave with so he took out his knife and carved his father's initials in the bark of the apple tree.

Still in a daze, he walked into the farmhouse and went upstairs. He grabbed some random clothes from his room stuffed them into his father's old backpack along with some food and supplies from the kitchen. Remembering his father's words, he went back upstairs and looked under his father’s bed. Sure enough, there was a small wooden box hidden underneath some spare blankets. Sitting on the bed he cautiously opened it. Inside there was a pouch containing more than a dozen gold coins, more than Kiba could remember seeing in his entire life. There was also silver disk about an inch and a half across with a small hole at the top, possibly to thread a chain through. One side was a design etched in gold of three swords arranged point to pommel in a triangle. On the back was an engraving that read “Toshiko Ren” and then something in Old Arcadian, a language that Kiba couldn't read let alone speak. At the bottom of the box was envelope addressed “For The Child.” Kiba looked at the envelope for several minutes, wondering whether he should open it.

The decision was made for him when he heard the sound of a galloping horse approaching. Kiba stuffed the contents of the box into his pocket and picked up the backpack. Making sure he had all his weapons, he crept to the window. In the yard, there was a man with bloodstained clothes wielding a sword on horseback, his back to the window.

“Ren! Kiba! It’s Jiro, are you still here?”

Heya there. Me again. Just one quick note: Try posting the chapters seperately in new threads. It just seems so much easier for another person to review your prologue and point out things the other reviewer never caught. Then you get more feedback Oh, and try not to flood the forums with your work. It's one of the rules

But since I'm here, I'm going to review Chapter One. It's a lot to review, but I enjoy writing long ones

15-year-old Toshiko Kiba lay on his back on the wooden dock; his bare feet dangling in the cool water as he lazily watching the clouds pass overhead.

The bolded part should be changed to fifteen-year-old. Don't ever use numbers in your writing unless it is a rather large number.

It had been there for as long as he could remember and his father had told him that it had been there when he had been left on his doorstep as a baby 15 years ago

.

I don't understand. Why didn't Ren tell him that Jiro had given him the baby? Or does Kiba not know who Jiro is? Also, change "15" to fifteen.

Kiba slumped to the floor feeling helpless.

You do this throughout the whole thing. If the whole chapter happened outside, then wouldn't it be ground or earth instead of floor? I would change that

~~~~~

Yes, it isn't long like I promised but I could hardly find anythign to pick apart! Good job!

Description~ I loved the description in this! It was wonderful. No, I'm not just saying this to be nice. I truly loved the imagery and the scenes you painted. The first part there where you were describing Kiba seemed like a bit like info dumping. In my opinion, I would show to your reader what Kiba looks like gradually. So it's not so much to take in.

Characters~ You killed Ren? How could you? Great character development in here already. I was surprised by the little twist there when Kiba turned into that...er...thing. Your characters are quite realistic and I love that in a story! I just hope Jiro is in the story more. I liked him in the prologue ^_^

I shan't comment on the plot as I'll just it's interesting and cliched at the same time. I still like though But--personal opinion here--it jsut seemed like everything happened so fast! Like one minute the MC is sleeping and relaxing, then the next he's killing people and his whole village is slaughtered and his father is dead. It seemed to happen so fast.

Oh a tip that I got from Rosey Unicorn that may help you catch some of the mistakes in your work: Leave your story for a few weeks before going over it again. You'll defiantly find mistakes. It works

PM if you have any questions or when the next chapter is up. I'm hooked already!

Happy Writing!

Meadow

I try to post at least one review before I post something. But its hard to spot things that other reviewers have missed sometimes and I'm wary of just making a flood of "that's great" posts.

I was always taught at school that numbers 13 or above should use numerals while numbers 12 and below should be spelled out. Maybe, they were wrong to teach that but its what got ingrained in my head.

And damn that pesky floor getting in the way of the ground.

But--personal opinion here--it jsut seemed like everything happened so fast! Like one minute the MC is sleeping and relaxing, then the next he's killing people and his whole village is slaughtered and his father is dead. It seemed to happen so fast.

The speed is intentional. To put it in perspective, imagine if the United States wanted to completely destroy say the Isle of Wight (without using nukes). I'm sure if they put their mind to it, they could manage to do it in a day or so That's pretty much the same as the power difference Eldala and Arcadia. The Arcadian's were taken completely by surprise by a foe that was superior in every single way; manpower, resources, magic, intelligence (the non-IQ kind) and tactics. Furthermore, Arcadia had no idea that Eldala was even planning an invasion of their country. As will be stated later, the two countries traded with each other quite often. Over the few chapters, how and why the invasion was so successful is outlined in more detail. Suffice to say, the war is already over. Arcadia lost.

Oh a tip that I got from Rosey Unicorn that may help you catch some of the mistakes in your work: Leave your story for a few weeks before going over it again. You'll defiantly find mistakes. It works

Yeah, I wrote this thing over a year ago now and I'm still finding mistakes.

Chapter Two: Country's Fall

Morning, Corday the 9th of Tanot, 674 AG (After Godswar)
Several miles outside of the village of Benbridge, home to the Toshiko's

At just over 6ft in height, Yamasaka Jiro was a powerfully built man that rode his horse with confidence. His black hair was tied back into a ponytail that reached down to the base of his neck. Jiro had always considered his striking blue eyes his best feature and even though he was now in his 40's, they still had that boyish twinkle about them. He was dressed in a white short-sleeved tunic over the top of which was worn a dark green pocketed waistcoat made of tough fabric. His tan pants were made of the same material as the waistcoat and he had metal knee guards strapped over the top of them. Jiro had similar protection over his elbows, shoulders and metal plates were fixed to the backs of his gloves. A pair of horizontal scabbards at the base of his back held a pair of matched short swords and on his left forearm he wore a leather bracer with a silvery jewel embedded in its centre.

Although his appearance suggested that he was a somewhat roguish adventurer he was in fact an experienced warrior having been a member of the Royal Guards since the age of 22. He had been the youngest individual to be accepted into its ranks for generations, a fact that he was very proud of. Jiro thought that the achievement was due in no small part to the training he had received from his instructor Toshiko Ren. He had taken the nervous young squire and moulded him into a capable soldier.

Jiro whistled as he rode his horse through the woods to the east of Benbridge. So far, the start of spring had been glorious and today was no exception and Jiro was looking forward to seeing his old friend and mentor again. It had been over a year and a half since he had last seen him and he had planned to visit last month but his duties had kept him away. In the left saddlebag pouch was a tightly wrapped parcel. A belated birthday present for Ren's son. Kiba had a keen interest in hunting and according to Ren's letters, was “a devil with that home-made bow of his.” When he was in Galtea several months ago, he had seen an item that Jiro thought would make a perfect present. Obtaining it was difficult to say the least, but he thought it was worth it. Fifteen years ago, he had left the newborn boy with Ren and had kept a close watch on him as he grew. He had feared that one day, his decision to disregard the law and let the child live would prove to be an ill-advised one. That one day, the boy's titan-nature would prove too strong to resist and on that day, Jiro would be the one that would have to put him down. Thankfully, as Kiba grew it became clear that the decision Jiro had made was the correct one and that Ren had been the right choice as surrogate father. Ren had raised the boy well and instilled within him a strong sense of right and wrong. As far as Jiro could sense, the boy did not have one evil bone in his body, regardless of the blasphemous circumstances of his birth. Of course, Jiro admitted to himself, he had lost his objectivity on this matter years ago.

Although he appeared to be casually ignorant of his surroundings, Jiro was paying close attention to the bushes that ran either side of the dirt road. A few minutes earlier, he had heard the sound of movement from with the bushes that alerted him to the presence of at least four individuals. They appeared to be shadowing him from within the undergrowth and if he was not mistaken an ambush would take place any moment. He was not disappointed for soon enough his keen ears heard the sound of bowstrings being released.

Four arrows, two from each side, whistled through the air passing each other exactly where Jiro had been a fraction of a second earlier. Jiro had dismounted in one fluid motion, leaning back and rolling to the side, landing in a crouch grasping the hilts of his two swords. His horse had galloped off down the track and out of sight, just as she was trained to. She would return when Jiro called for her, meanwhile he had the men in the bushes to deal with. From out of the undergrowth stepped four grubby men in bandit attire, each wielding a bow with sword strapped to their belts. Slowly they arranged themselves in a circle around Jiro.

“So it's to be four against one, I appear to have the advantage then.” Jiro taunted confidently, if not a little arrogantly.

One bandit, slightly cleaner than the rest, took a small step forward. “We got you surrounded mate, if you haven't noticed,” he retorted. Jiro mentally marked him as their “leader.”

“No, I've got you precisely where I need you to be.” Jiro looked into the leader's narrowed eyes and smiled.

The bandit leader scowled, “And just what use do you think those nice shiny swords are going to be, you take one step and you'll become a human porcupine before you get close enough to use them.” Jiro had to admit that he had a point. One of these days his overconfidence is going to get him killed. “Kill him.”

On their leader's command, three of the bandits loosed their arrows. Jiro turned side on to one arrow letting it pass by and embed itself harmlessly into the trunk of a tree. He swept his twin swords upwards, the sun glinting of their blades as he intercepted the two remaining arrows. The arrows ricocheted off the parrying blades into the chest of the bandit leader. As Jiro span to face the archers, the bandit leader looked down at the arrows embedded in his chest in confusion as he dropped to his knees before limply slumping forward. “Captain Hakisson!” screamed one bandit as he dropped his bow drew his sword and charged at Jiro. He easily rolled under the bandit's wild swing and thrust one of his swords into his back. Spinning round the hapless bandit, he back thrust his other sword into the man's neck nearly decapitating him. Jiro turned towards another bandit and flung his sword at him. The blade struck him in the stomach, embedding itself up to the hilt. After the seeing his comrades dispatched so effortlessly, the final bandit nervously stumbled backwards, turned and fled. Jiro sighed and raised his left arm. The jewel embedded in the bracer glowed softly and an ethereal light flowed upwards from its silvery surface. The light coalesced into a spectral form in the shape of a small crossbow, complete with a ghostly bolt already loaded. With a mental command, the crossbow fired and the bolt flew across the space between Jiro and the fleeing bandit leaving a white streak in the air behind it. The bolt struck the man square in the back, exploding in a burst of energy that surged throughout the man's body and sending him crashing head first into a tree.

When the bandit regained consciousness several minutes later he found himself naked and tied tightly to a tree. Next to him were piled the stripped corpses of his comrades and next to them was a neat pile of their possessions. Jiro sat on a log across from the man eating an apple, peeling it with a small dagger. “Packs a hell of a punch doesn't it?” he asked between bites.

“I aint saying nothing,” spat out the bandit.

“You know what you are,” said Jiro as he pointed to the bandit with his knife, “you're a question. And I hate a question without an answer. Let's start at the top shall we.” He got up and crouched next to the bodies of the bandits. “This man,” he said prodding the nearly headless bandit, “called this man,” pointing at the leader's body, “Hakisson. That's not a local name is it? Then there's the matter of your accent. I've been to every province in this Kingdom and none of them have an accent quite like yours.” He turned to the pile of weapons. “Usually in this region its crossbows, but bandits with bows I can accept. What I can't accept is this sword. See the design of the blade, the distinctive markings and patterns in the metal, this shows it was forged somewhere in the Eastern regions of Eldala.” The man watched Jiro through gritted teeth, beads of sweat beginning to form on his brow. “Almost every aspect of you screams bandit ... except this sword, your accents, your names, and the fact that each of you have had a shoulder tattoo obliterated with a hot blade. All that says that you are not bandits at all, but Eldalan troops. So here's the question, and it's strictly pass fail, what are a group of soldiers from the Empire of Eldala doing in the woods of west Arcadia?”

Jiro waited for an answer but the man just stared at him defiantly. He shook his head and went over to his horse that was tied to a nearby tree. Taking a canteen out of one of saddlebags, he took several large gulps. There is more than one way, he thought, to pry the truth from unwilling lips. Jiro put the canteen down and reached back into the saddlebag. Down at the bottom, there was a small pocket and from within that he pulled out a small silver chain. A small ivory hammer, no larger than a thumb was attached to the chain. It was the symbol of the Hedrada, the god of justice and knowledge. Tossing the chain back and forth from hand to hand, we went back to his prisoner and knelt in front of him.

“This,” Jiro said as he started to place the chain around the man's neck, “is called a Confessors Chain. Anyone who wears it is compelled to speak nothing but the truth.” The prisoner tried to twist out of his grip but Jiro smacked the back of his head against the tree, stunning him, and finished fastening the chain. “Let's start at the beginning. What's your name?”

“Gelir Idmundsson,” answered the man without hesitation.

“Good, where were you born?”

“Stockdon.” Jiro nodded, he knew Stockdon. It was a coastal city in eastern Eldala.

“Now, what were you doing here?”

“We're attached to the 2nd Battalion. Our orders were to infiltrate Arcadia along with the 1st and make our way to our assigned targets.”

“And then what?” Jiro prompted sternly.

Ten minutes later Jiro had the information he required and was galloping through the woods towards Benbridge. He was still several miles away and it took him nearly an hour to close the distance, all the time praying that he was not too late.

What he had been told chilled him to the bone. The man had explained the Eldalan plan. How hundreds of soldiers had crossed the border secretly and took up positions around the towns and cities posing as bandits or travellers. Eldalan Rangers had gone ahead disguised as merchants and infiltrated the towns. As he talked, a dawning sense of realisation had overcome Jiro. The Royal Guards had been receiving reports over the last several months of massive troop movements within Eldala and a build up of forces in their northern coastal cities. It had been presumed that they were preparing for an attack on the Calastian Hegemony. The two countries had been enemies for generations so it had been a fairly safe bet. But surely, Jiro asked, any troop movement that size towards Arcadia would've been seen weeks in advance. The man's answer was frighteningly simple. Each of the Rangers carried a simple staff that had a special headpiece, an enchanted crystal. When used, it created a portal between the Ranger and the attack staging grounds in Eldala. Suddenly it all became clear; the Empire would be able to 'port legions of troops directly into the hearts of Arcadian towns and cities. There would be no warning, the Empire would have complete surprise and it would be a complete rout. It was already too late to warn the capital; according to the man, the attack was already under way. With him being under the control of the Confessor's Chain, Jiro had no reason to doubt this. When the man had explained the intent behind the attack, Jiro felt sick to his stomach break. This was no invasion, this was genocide. The Empire of Eldala intended to wipe out every last Arcadian and lay the entire country to waste. Worse still, if what the man had been told was true, all this might be Jiro's fault. Just before he had left the man to the forest's mercy, he had told him that if any harm had come to Ren or Kiba, he would track the man's soul down in the afterlife and make him suffer for all eternity.

As he approached the outskirts of the village, Jiro heard shouting and the sounds of fighting from a clearing ahead. Charging into the clearing, he saw three Eldalan soldiers facing off against a single youth wielding nothing more than a broken staff. Behind him stood a woman armed with a small dagger shielding a small girl, probably her daughter, from the men. The boy was badly injured; sporting numerous cuts and bruises, yet still, he held his ground. Standing between the soldiers and his family, waving his staff like a club. Clearly, the soldiers had been toying with him for their own amusement.

Using the element of surprise, Jiro charged his horse straight at a soldier that appeared to be moving in for the kill. With a downward slash, he struck the soldier's neck cleaving the head cleanly from the body, a spray of blood in the air marking his death. Jiro dismounted and landed with both swords drawn between the family and the remaining two soldiers. Unlike the last group he had faced, this time he was in no mood for banter and he immediately advanced on his enemy. Jiro's sudden appearance had stunned both of the soldiers but one of them, an archer, recovered quickly enough to let loose an arrow at the new arrival. Jiro was so intent on the soldier in front of him that he failed to notice the approaching arrow. Yet when it struck him square in the shoulder blade, he didn't show any sign of noticing the impact. Ignoring the pain, he leapt forward and attacked the soldier in front of him, his blades forming a whirling windmill of death ahead of him. The man tried in vain to block Jiro's blows, but there was too many and the blades moved too fast. Within a few brief seconds, the man's chest became criss-crossed with slash marks and the blood flowed freely. As a killing blow, as the man staggered backwards under the onslaught Jiro opened his stomach with a single slash to his abdomen and he was dead before his body hit the floor. The remaining soldier was still attempting to knock another arrow when a barrage of spectral bolts from Jiro's bracer struck him in the face. He screamed and clutched his face, sinking to his knees, as the flesh burned and sizzled. Jiro finished him off with a double stab to the back of the neck.

“Ichiro!” cried the woman behind him as she rushed forward to catch the boy as the collapsed backwards. Jiro ran over to her as she cradled her son, up close Jiro could see that although the wounds were serious they were not fatal. The woman begged him to help as he reached into a saddlebag and pulled out a small leather pouch. Inside were some bandages, several vials and small metal flask. “Take this and give him three caps,” he said giving her the flask. “It should help dull the pain and speed up the body's natural healing process.” She did as she was told as Jiro took one of the vials and began to apply the yellow ointment from within to the boy's injuries. “This should staunch the bleeding and ensure that the wounds do not get infected.” The boy tried to cough up the foul tasting potion but his mother held his nose and forced him to swallow it, obviously used to giving medicine to a reluctant child. Jiro reached behind him and pulled out the arrow from his shoulder, wincing with the sudden pain, and discarded it. “Peno isn't it?” he asked as he began to dress the boy's wounds with bandages, “Kyojima Peno, you're Yuji's wife right?”

“Yes,” she said nodding looking at Jiro slightly confused, “do I know you?”

“Probably not, I'm an old friend of Ren's.”

“Old Man Toshiko? You must be Jiro, he talks about you often.” Jiro smiled, he knew how much Ren hated that nickname.

“Can you walk lad?” He asked as he helped the boy up. Ichiro took a step forward gingerly and after feeling no pain nodded. “What's happening in the village?”

She told him how suddenly, soldiers started pouring out of a hole in the air in the village square. When they started torching everything and cutting down anyone they came across, they had tried flee but a group of soldiers had started chasing them.

“They just started killing everyone,” Ichiro began, “and then they came after us. Dad and Piro stayed behind to hold them off.” His eyes were red as he held back tears. They appeared far older than they should be and gave the impression of having seen things no child should have to see.

Jiro knelt in front of him. “Take it,” he said pressing one of the soldier's swords into his hand, “you keep protecting your family.” He turned to Peno, “Keep to the woods. They have patrols watching the roads looking for anyone trying to escape. Try to avoid the towns and cities, the same is happening there. Make for the border.” As he climbed up onto the saddle of his horse, Peno grasped his good shoulder.

“You're going after Ren and his boy aren't you,” Jiro nodded, “be careful, we saw soldiers heading in that direction before we left sight of the village.” Jiro thanked her, mounted the horse and rode off.

Riding in a circuitous route around the outskirts of the village, he kept inside the tree line to remain hidden. On one occasion, he got a clear view down the valley into the Benbridge and could see the burning buildings and the carnage that had taken place in its streets. He finally made it to the flat plateau to the south of the Benbridge where the farms were located. As he rode past the burning farms with the butchered remains of those that had lived there, he urged his horse on, anxious to get to the Toshiko farm and dreading what he might find there. When he arrived in the hollow, he was confronted by a sight that shocked even him. On the dirt track leading down to the farm through the fields, he saw the remains of four soldiers. Only one of them was intact, apparently killed by a single arrow to the neck. The others appeared to have been torn apart and blood was soaking into the ground in all directions. Not even one seemed to have all their limbs still attached and each of them had a look of abject terror frozen on their faces. As Jiro looked at the bodies, one of them even seemed to have been beaten to death with his own severed limbs. For a moment Jiro was at a loss to understand what could have happened to the soldiers, the brutality displayed was inhuman. In that instant he realised that there was one thing that would have the strength and ability to do this, and potentially it lived right in this hollow.

Gathering the reins, he charged his horse down the track into the farmyard. There was blood soaking into the dirt and there were signs of a struggle. Drawing his sword, he tentatively called out.

“Ren! Kiba! It’s Jiro, are you still here?”

For a minute, the only answer Jiro received was silence but then he heard the sound of the farmhouse door opening behind him. He turned his horse and readied his sword, preparing himself for whomever or whatever came out. As Kiba stepped out, Jiro nearly collapsed with relief. Lowering his sword, Jiro slid out of the saddle as the boy dropped the pack he was carrying. From the look on his face, he did not need to ask Kiba about his father. Jiro walked over and embraced him, Kiba was filthy, his clothes were covered in blood but he was very much alive.

I don't understand. Why didn't Ren tell him that Jiro had given him the baby? Or does Kiba not know who Jiro is?

Forgot to respond to this. Ren didn't tell Kiba that Jiro was the one that gave him to Ren to adopt. Kiba thinks that "Uncle Jiro" is an old friend of his father's. Although Ren has never hidden the fact that Kiba is adopted, he kept the whole thing about Jiro's involvement a secret. As far as Kiba knows, his parents were Galatean merchants who were killed when their airship went down during a violent storm (or something like that, I never really settled on that "story" was going to be). One of those little white lies used to hide something big an awful.

Hey there.

If you're having troubles writing a review, then just study how others do theirs. Point out grammical errors, missing words, overly long sentences, awkward sentences, etc. It's actually quite simple once you get the hang of it But it's okay to say the story is good as long as you comment on the plot or any flaws. Then once you write more reviews, you can post your chapters seperately, thus recieving more reviews. It's quite helpful really

I'll just do a quick review for this chapter as my eyes are quite sore from staring at the screen. The chapters are quite long but I enjoy them.

At just over 6ft in height, Yamasaka Jiro was a powerfully built man that rode his horse with confidence

.

Hehe, I read what you wrote but still: six feet Just keep an eye out for those words, even though it is against what you were taught. You do it lots throughout the chapter.

From out of the undergrowth stepped four grubby men in bandit attire, each wielding a bow with sword strapped to their belts.

I think you should put an "s" on the end of swords.

“So it's to be four against one, I appear to have the advantage then.” Jiro taunted confidently, if not a little arrogantly.

Change the period after "then" to a comma.

“Captain Hakisson!” screamed one bandit as he dropped his bow drew his sword and charged at Jiro.

Make this part its own paragraph. So everything isn't all mumble jumble.

Next to him were piled the stripped corpses of his comrades and next to them was a neat pile of their possessions.

This sentence is awkward sounding. Try rewriting it to something like:

Piled next to him were the stripped corpses of his comrades and next to them was a neat stack of their possessions.

The two "pile" and "next to" were/are a little repitive but what can you do about it, eh?

“I aint saying nothing,” spat out the bandit.

Oh. Tsk, tsk. This is rather cliched isn't it?

“You know what you are,” said Jiro as he pointed to the bandit with his knife, “you're a question. And I hate a question without an answer. Let's start at the top shall we.” He got up and crouched next to the bodies of the bandits. “This man,” he said prodding the nearly headless bandit, “called this man,” pointing at the leader's body, “Hakisson. That's not a local name is it? Then there's the matter of your accent. I've been to every province in this Kingdom and none of them have an accent quite like yours.” He turned to the pile of weapons. “Usually in this region its crossbows, but bandits with bows I can accept. What I can't accept is this sword. See the design of the blade, the distinctive markings and patterns in the metal, this shows it was forged somewhere in the Eastern regions of Eldala.” The man watched Jiro through gritted teeth, beads of sweat beginning to form on his brow. “Almost every aspect of you screams bandit ... except this sword, your accents, your names, and the fact that each of you have had a shoulder tattoo obliterated with a hot blade. All that says that you are not bandits at all, but Eldalan troops. So here's the question, and it's strictly pass fail, what are a group of soldiers from the Empire of Eldala doing in the woods of west Arcadia?”

I advise splitting this huge thing into different paragraphs. It won't seem so crowded and mumble jumbled

Tossing the chain back and forth from hand to hand, we went back to his prisoner and knelt in front of him.

We? I think you meant to say he

“Take this and give him three caps,” he said giving her the flask. “It should help dull the pain and speed up the body's natural healing process.”

Make this its own paragraph. The woman was speaking before this part. Whenever a new person starts speaking, a new paragraph beings

“You're going after Ren and his boy aren't you,” Jiro nodded, “be careful, we saw soldiers heading in that direction before we left sight of the village.”

The bolded part is a question. Shouldn't there be a question mark instead of a comma?

~~~~~~

As I said in the last review, I love the description you put into your work. I enjoy the battle scenes being described so nicely and the setting. But as I've said before, don't describe your characters in one big block. It's a thing we call info dumping and it's quite annoying to read what the character looks like right off the bat. Try showing us what your characters look like.

Examples:

Dovair bowed, his sandy coloured hair falling in his face. "Yes, sir?"
Her emerald like eyes stared at his face, as if she was in a trance.

Slowly but surely, describe your characters. It's more exciting to find out what they look like like that

I also want to point out that you have some overly large paragraphs. Perhaps you could try and split them up as not to overwhelm your reader.

You also used "floor" somewhere in here. Unfortunetly, I forgot where it was Just thought I'd point that out to you

PM if you have any questions.

Happy Writing!

Meadow

I'm impressed. Please PM me when the next part comes out!