Young Writers Society

Just tell me what you think, please. I don't need nitpicks, but opinions on the story overall would be quite lovely.

Áeryn collapsed into the threadbare armchair by the fire, letting out a sigh of contentment. Her stomach was full, and after days of saving up twigs and sticks and, finally, a sizable log, she had managed to start up a little flame in the fireplace. Auntie Grace was snoring quietly on her bed in the corner, and the wind whistled through cracks in the hut’s frame – it gave one a feeling of safety, knowing it was cold outside and yet being warm oneself.

The girl let her eyes slide lazily shut, words and thoughts and memories converging in her mind. It had been a good day, for food, for excitement, for everything. A good day to be alive. I wonder, she thought sleepily, why that silly old man looked so very scared. I’ve not seen someone that frightened since—

Two things happened at once; Áeryn leapt up, breathing very fast, and a great, wailing cry spiraled up through the suddenly foul air. Since the day Missus Jaren came back into town – without her children. The girl glanced over, to find Auntie Grace still asleep in the corner. Memories flashed through her head, memories of the red-haired woman, bruised, clawed, exhausted, stumbling back through Adolthair’s main gates. “They’re gone!” she sobbed, tears mingling with the dirt and stones that she had fallen upon. “Gone, dead, tor’ured to th’grave by those… those…”

A howl, not human and yet not quite animal, pierced the night air, wormed its dreadful way even into the cozy depths of Áeryn’s fire-warmed home. Monsters.

But what could one like she do, if something had gotten past the guards at the main gate? Even if it were true that she was half-Elf, she had no magic, no special strength or intelligence.

They’ll find me anyway, she thought, if they mean to pillage the whole town. I’ll die like a rabbit caged or a lion caught.

Áeryn mayn’t have believed herself anything important, anything extraordinary, but one thing she wasn’t was a coward. Giving Auntie Grace’s slumbering form one last, farewell look, she yanked the poker from the fireside and pushed back the heavy cloth that covered the front opening of the hut. Like sharp-edged icicles, late-fall cold pierced her cheeks, and pulled her long auburn locks away from her face.

She stood frozen for a moment, watching a plume of smoke rise up over the town. Silence, silence so complete that the girl could hear her own heart beating. Thump-thum, thump-thum, thump-thum.

A scream wrenched away the thin illusion of calm that surrounded Áeryn, and she started, as though caught hoping the growls, the smoke, the sickly smell of blood and death swirling around her could all be explained, put down to a silly trick or a very bad dream.

Taking the poker in both hands, she sprinted off down the wide, empty road towards the more populated part of town. If there were trouble anywhere, it would be at the main gates.

As she drew closer to her destination, the vague noise of discord and destruction grew and separated into a score of sounds. Someone was sobbing, and a baby’s thin cry joined in from one of the small houses nearby. A man was shouting, but far enough away was he that Áeryn couldn’t quite understand the words he spoke; yet, worse than all three, worse than the most horrible sound, was another voice. A harsh, cold, cruel voice, talking in a tongue Áeryn had never heard before – and yet, she knew what he was saying.

“… Just as we expected, Keirgork. Humans, qa! Cowards, all stupid cowards.”

There was a noise, like steel biting deep into flesh, and another shriek. The one who had spoken just before laughed viciously, and the girl realized a line of brick houses that looked suddenly rather flimsy were the only things separating the monster and her.

“But what’s this? Grashk! I smell Elves!”

She froze in mid-step, only just daring to look back over her shoulder. Two intimidating figures stood at the other end of the street, harbored in the shadows and unmoving, just as she.

“Why look ‘ere, Lieutenant. A lickle Elf-girl!” crowed the larger shape, and as it said this it stepped from the dark and into the moonlight. Áeryn gasped, stumbling backwards and falling into the dirt, the poker clattering down beside her. The smaller one moved to his side, and the moonlight, once so pure and bright, seemed to become crude, ugly while illuminating such ghastly creatures.

“I-I’m not a’ Elf,” she whispered, too terrified to move but with all her instincts begging: Run, run!

“What’s that, gik-ken?” chuckled the first, tossing the scraggly black hair from his yellow eyes. He wore no shirt, no tunic or jerkin, and the brown breeches covering his lower half were threadbare, stained with fresh blood. These things were not, however, what had sent Áeryn staggering to the ground, for any brigand could look so. It was his skin, his mottled green and grey skin that had so disgusted her. Scars riddled his body, old and new, some oozing black pus, and his smile was the mere mockery of happiness, a sneer that revealed blackened teeth behind dark-silver lips.

Áeryn opened her mouth, but no sound came out. He was coming ever closer, and his companion, a skinnier, smaller version of himself, stayed only just behind.

“Keirgork, fetch the others,” he said over his shoulder, and the sneer widened on his horrible face.

“Aye, Captain.” The lieutenant turned to go, and then stopped, asking, “How’ll I get ‘em to come, Captain? Th-they won’t want to, if they’re ‘aving any fun.”

The captain gave a wheezing laugh. “Tell the filthy scum I sed so. Tell ‘em we found a lickle Elf.”

“Aye, Captain,” he repeated, and sped back around the corner.

By now, the hulking orc-man had reached Áeryn’s side. He looked down at her, half-risen from the dirt, eyes wide and trembling like a hare beneath a poised knife. With a suddenness that made her flinch, he tilted his head slightly to the left, eyes glinting in the white light of the moon. “Where did you come from, eh, gik-ken? What’s a pretty lickle Elf doing in an nasty, filthy place like this?”

“I-I’m not… not a…” She tried to deny it again, but her voice would not work at all as she wished it to.

“Not an Elf? Grashk! Even I cannot miss it. No, don’t lie to the captain,” he said. She realized that at some point since she had first heard him speaking, he had switched to the Common tongue. It sounded nothing if not perfectly horrid – every word was cruel, calculated, sickly sweet.

Perhaps it was merely instinct, but she lifted a hand to one ear. It was, and certainly had not been before, pointed. Heart racing with a mixture of fear and wonder, Áeryn pulled a lock of hair before her eyes. The color – and this could not merely be due to the light of the moon or wild imagination – was smooth when it had been frizzy, richly auburn where it had been bordering on a scraggly brown.

“They’ll be ‘ere soon, lickle Elf,” he said, and her eyes snapped back up to look at him. The orc fell to one knee, and then reached out to capture one of her curls in a bloody hand. He studied it curiously, an expression of mingled disgust and fascination on his face.

She tried to stand, but his other arm snaked almost carelessly around her middle and pulled her back down beside him. He hadn’t yet looked up from his conquered strand of her auburn hair.

“You know,” he said, and his harsh voice was very quiet, “you’re going to die soon.”

Áeryn didn’t want to ask how.

The captain looked at her for long moments, and there seemed to be some argument going on behind his horrid yellow eyes. He frowned, and then, as though it had been decided, caught up the flask hanging at his side and brought it to her lips.

“Drink,” he ordered.

She didn’t resist. The icy-cold liquid slid down her throat like oil, and as it did so, a feeling of absolute numbness spread through her body. Everything seemed to blur out of focus, as though she were suddenly very drunk. Hours passed, or perhaps only a few seconds, and then, through her heavy stupor, Áeryn felt pain. Pain like a white-hot needle slipped under one’s skin, like boiling water poured down one’s back. The captain, the town, and the orcs were forgotten; there was no room for anything but that unending, unforgiving pain. Somewhere, far away and in the back of Áeryn’s mind, she heard the orcs cheering.

And this, this was naught but a beginning.

Hi Sela! Your story was quite interesting. Now, I don't do the whole nit-pick stuff. I talk about the characters.

Now, I won't go too into detail unless you want me to. (Which means you'll have to PM me.)

I'll just do Áeryn. Apparently she's half-elf, correct? But she doesn't believe that. She seems to be just a simple town girl. But it turns out she's very brave. The only thing is, I don't quite understand her. It's like you're holding back a bit on her character. Try letting loose. Let the character take control. When you write, you create an image in the reader's mind. The only problem is, you don't show enough characteristics with her to let us fully see her.

This is one of the tricky things with characters. For the first few chapters, you don't know your character. It's just a stick figure. But as you get further and further in the story, your character starts to blossom and you end up with a masterpiece. The trick is to let your character be independent. Don't keep it caged up. Let it out so we can undertand it!

Overall, I really liked your story. It was well written. I hope you write more. And these are all my opinions, so you don't have to listen to them if you don't want to. I hope this helped! Let me know when you post more!