Actually, this my alternate begining. My orginal has little activity and a person who likes long, lengthy, frivolous speeches.
Here goes:
“The sentence for murder is death!”
In the shadows of the makeshift cell, the black-haired prisoner hid from the glares of the stocky guardsman. His face was turned to the floor between his boots, resting his forehead on his knee with an arm wrapped around his head, covering a ragged cut. The prisoner inhaled the stale air, fumigated with the reeking odors of alcohol and decaying straw. He brushed a stray strand back from his head, wincing as the hair snagged a pus-filled pocket. The prisoner refrained from holding it, not wanting the onlookers to realize the pain it caused him. It was a wound that his guard would have enjoyed to have given him. As it was, the slash was there as far as he could remember. He looked at his fingers. At least it had stopped bleeding. The two others looked in on him before continuing.
“Stock, he doesn’t even remember what happened.”
He snorted, “That’s what he says, and you agree, but since when are either of you two trusted?”
The prisoner cringed, his mind involuntarily taking him back to the crime. He woke up in a pool of blood, his eyes swollen and sticky, his hands blistered from the use of a sword. Glazed eyes stared into nothing, the crown was laying at his feet with the body of the fallen king straight across from him. A maid rushed in, screaming incoherently at the sight, her hazel eyes wide with surprise. Others entered, and the memory faded when the conversation resumed.
The cloaked man, frowned with his eyes steadfast on Stock’s, his cheeks sucked in slightly. “Stock, do you remember who you are speaking to?”
Stock silenced then. The prisoner saw the hard set of Stock’s shoulders and knew Stock wouldn’t back down a second time. Stock was that way. He refused to do anything without an argument first, and even his superiors had a hard time keeping him in line. The man shook his head in disapproval and turned away. Stock rounded on the prisoner the instant the other man left. “Murderer. Assassin. Regicide. That’s what they’re calling you on the streets, but I need something else to call you by.” He took a long drink from his flask.
The prisoner stirred, thirsty, but tried not to show it, since that would only provoke teasing. His parched throat was made drier by watching the wine dribble down the guard’s chin and weten his shirt. The guard sneered,
“Look at yourself, you pathetic infidel.”
The prisoner showed no emotion, used to such taunting.
Disgruntled at the lack of response, the guard sloshed wine on the ground in the cell, nearly yelling, “I don’t owe you anything!” Even half-drunk, Stock couldn’t help but feel something was wrong, that this shadow of a soul deserved better than this.
By science and blood, the prisoner was an elf, but he was no longer accepted by any society in the Promised Lands. Queen Desdemona herself had denounced any further reference to him as an elf. He was too great a scar to those he once lived among.
The prisoner stood, knowing his strength to be waning. He couldn’t remember his name, and search for it again with no success as he moved out of the way of the muddy puddle. His anger boiled over at the thought of execution. He had been nearly convinced that some of his family would step forth, to tell him who he was. Now the time was nearly out; he needed to do something now if he was going to live beyond tomorrow. He’d be executed the next day at sunset.
Ideas raced in his head. He could run, hiding until he proved himself innocent. He would live off the lands, interacting with no one. Even if he never recovered his memory, he could still live. The prisoner scoffed the dirt floor, his eyes searching the barn wall. A pile of horse dung in the opposite corner revealed its previous occupant. A breeze brought the unpleasant but increasingly familiar stench to him. He shivered, and cast a long look at the straw piled into a corner. If he got much colder, that stack of stems and horse crud would look mighty appealing to sleeping on the wine-soaked ground.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” Stocks voice was raised loud enough to be heard outside. Footsteps showed they’d heard him, and as Stock spoke, the rattling of keys turning in a lock could be heard, “I know you! You were planning to escape. I’ll bet that’s all you ever think about.”
The door burst open, one of the hinges breaking. Two more guards entered, swords drawn and ready for a fight. They were disappointed to see the prisoner calm and in perfect order. They frowned, but one of them looked relieved. He turned to Stock, ushering a young woman in. The prisoner thought she resembled the woman in his memory, but he wasn’t sure. She was holding a tray.
“This is the prisoner’s daily meal. I don’t suggest you eat it.” The woman was staring pointedly at Stock, but he ignored her. The woman left with a wink to the prisoner, who puzzled over her gesture. The two soldiers who had entered remained.
The prisoner salivated at the meal in Stock’s hands. Stale bread, tough meat and a cup of thick vegetable stew. Stock snorted, saying, “This isn’t a prisoner’s meal! Bread, meat, and stew! HA! Prisoners get no stew, least not on my watch.”
The prisoner’s stomach growled, and his hopes sank when Stock seized the stew and bread, tossing the meat on the ground inches out of the prisoner’s reach. Stock broke the bread into three pieces while the prisoner retrieved the meat with his foot to drag it within finger’s reach. The other three watched him as they shared the stew and bread. They shoveled the bowl clean as the prisoner tore into the hard boar meet (the taste revealed the origin) to hide the longing for something better tasting.
After he finished the first bite, the prisoner muttered in his hoarse, scratchy voice, “I hope you get what’s coming to you.”
The offending trio laughed, then talked together for a time about various subjects. Suddenly, Stock doubled over in pain, clutching his gut and muttering some colorful words. He fell over onto his side while the others rushed to help him, recoiling when vomit hit the floor. The stench of it gagged even the prisoner, though he didn’t retch like the two soldiers did. Groans and curses issued from all three. The prisoner kept his face turned aside to keep down his own meal. After what seemed to be hours of listening to heaving and splattering noises, the prisoner wondered what could be done to help. He realized he could do nothing. Even if he tried to call out and somehow succeeded in being heard, he’d be ignored. He used to yell a lot, one of the causes for his failed voice.
The trio continued to writhe in pain and horror while the prisoner slammed his side against the barn. He cracked a board, letting in glorious fresh air, and revealed that no one was anywhere near the barn. Dismayed, the prisoner sank down as his legs failed. He waited until, one by one, all three inhaled their last breath. The deaths occurred from fifteen to twenty minutes after they’d eaten his meal.
The prisoner felt a stab of relief and regret that he would have been the dead one if Stock had listened to the lady. The night passed slowly, reeking of vomit, and an uncomfortable sense that dead eyes watched him sleep in a sitting position.
Points:
Time spent:
Canary word: Present
Possible AI signals:
Original Text:
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125,018 Literary Works • 672,861 Reviews
Wow, it seems that fantasy writers are related to royalty!
About our history, no one tells me anything. They just don't want to. It's like, they are hiding something, something dark and evil: twisted:: twisted:: twisted: Personally I won't be surprised, considering the fact that my grandma and the grandma before her was a (semi)druid, and a LOT of strange things have been happening around the family lately. Weird, scary and cool 
Who knows It just may pop up, that we are an arcane family.
I like it. I guess thats all i can say. (I think everyone else has alredy edited it anyway)
FINALLY got round to looking at thins. Stupid internet time limit. *mutters to self* Ahem. Excuse me and ignore my mutterings.
I don't understand what this is saying. SHould it be "For an instant he thought, That is the most beautiful sunrise I have ever seen" without the comma? THat's the only way I can make any sense of it anyway.
That's all I spotted in that section anyway.
I think you described the his cell really well, no one would want to be there. And the fact that everyone hates him is a really good point for conflict. One itsy bitsy little nit-pick. I think in ch 1 that you use the words "the prisoner" to discribe him to often. But that's really really itsy bitsy nit-picky. I hope you're still writing this, it's interesting, but I know it's been here ages and ages.
He he! Mine too, but the good and evil get a bit mixed up.
*blushes and feels guilty for having let it get so far off-topic*
OK, here's something to get us back on track. Don't have much time.
CHAPTER 2
Word spread quickly about the unfortunate deminse of the three guardsmen. Each time it was re-told, the details grew more exaggerated, until the dead trio had been drug through the bars and savagely beaten, dying when their brains splattered on the floor.
As was fit for the prisoner's mood, the day started with dready clouds. The prisoner watched the sun come up over the mountains. For an instant, he thought, That is the most beautiful sunrise I have ever seen. Then he realized that it was the only one he HAD seen, as far as his memory went. He stood tied outside while people cleaned up the barn. He had the eyes of all who passes by on him; he could feel their glares, as he'd felt for the entire march.
(Got 2 go now)
you know what? I'll just start a new topic for Chapter 2...
Do you really want me to crack my moderator whip?
Keep to the topic guys, royalty discussions in the Lounge!
Wow it seems that fantasy writers are realted to royalty!
About our history, no one tells me anything. They just don't want to. Its like, they are hiding something, something dark and evil 
Personally I wont be surprised, considering the fact that my grandma and the grandma before her was a (semi)druid, and a LOT of strange things have been happening around the family lately. Weird, scary and cool 
Who knows It just may pop up, that we are a arcane family 
It has a bit, if you want to discuss swearing go to the Lounge.
This should really just be for commenting on the story guys...
In my opionion there aren't any bad words. Just bad intentions. They're just words. I use swearing in my writing because that's how most people talk. At least how people talk informally. Swearing in and of itself does not bother me. But seriously this thread has gotten really off topic and should probably continue in the Lounge forum.
If they curse around me, I usually look at 'em wierd or glare. That works wonders.
I'll let them, but I'll try and get away with out much notice. My friend's don't curse, except in certain situations or just one word for some reason.
I never cuss either. That's one of my reasons for not wanting to write it...
I refuse to let anyone curse around me.
It's not. Curse words are so common. Instead, delve into the character that's being insulted's psyche to find what word that describes something horrible about him would insult and hurt him the most. Save the cursing, it's easy to do. I've only cursed once in my story, and it was just in frustration. Too much cursing, to me, takes sophistication away. But that's just an opinion of a girl who never curses.
Actually, my problem comes with insults. I don't want to cuss, but that seems to be the only way to make it sting.
I need to work on my story during the holidays.
Don't you just hate it when your characters are having a conversation and suddenly someone says some thing and you don't know how to follow it to get to the next bit?
I don't think I've got any mercenaries in this story. It's good vs evil. I'll work on Ch2 tonight, maybe.
Heh. I don't have any mercenaries in my story!
I do have a kind of shadey embassador/spy!
I have to wonder. Only, Owen is just looking to save his skin.
What is with mercenaries?? Lol! Are we all obsessed?
LOL. Elyas? Naw, he just knows what's right. Though he is a bit of a rogue.
Oh! A wizard! I thought he was a shadey mercenary or something!
I'm torn between two possible plots for ch 2...no, not anymore. I'll write this here so I don't forget. Owen is about to be killed, and then some guy appears and helps him get away. That guy is the one Stock was talking to in the beigining. He's a wizard.
I've got French, Canadian Indian, French Canadian, English, Welch, Scotch-Irish, Swiss, German, and untracable possible African. Maybe others...
Yeah, I don't always show instead of tell because of how much it takes up and slows the story and how you have to think really hard to do it.
Thanks. I had to scratch my head a bit on how to include some things without 'telling' it. I'm still playing with a couple ideas for chapter 2.
What rocks the most is that, before I knew I was related to any royalty except a Swiss Baron of Austria, Queen Elizabeth was my favorite royal person to learn about! Now, come to find out, I'm her cousin!!
On my dad's side, one of my something-great grandfathers or uncles and two great-something uncles were at the battle of Gettysburg(forgive spelling). They were in Picket's Charge, and one of them picked up the flag and carried it all the way to the place they had to captured. And my grandfather says that when he was shot and dropped that flag was the turning point of the Civil War.
Also, my family on my dad's side owned some of the tea tossed overboard in the Boston Tea Party.
I doubt I'm related to any royalty, but my anscestors were the Vikings. And Nazis. And there's been new addition of 'Soviets' to the family.
Yes! Making all that money and such is fun!
I read it, and it's better! Nice job on describing the wound, made me shiver a little. And that stuff about the hay as a bed on the spilt wine. Says how unclean that place is(alond with the dung). I'd hate to be stuck in there, especially with those bodies...
That's so cool!
I think I'm related to some random ancient king in Denmark.. *shrugs* I don't find it very interesting, myself, until I'm related to someone either famous or royalty lol. My mother has hundreds of pages on our family, and she loves tracing our roots. Of course, that involves telling me the same story 10 times of how my great-grandfather was killed by a bear..
You really are, Crysi? Truthfully, I'm a some-number cousin of Queen Elizabeth I(the Tudor one, although I don't think there's another Elizabeth I), my ancestor Sir Henry Wyatt, the elder was Ann Bollyn's(I think the spelling's wrong) cousin, and also a poet that's in the Encyclopedia. And his son Sir Henry Wyatt, the younger led a revolt against Queen Mary I, which failed at least partly because the other organizers abandoned the attempt. And I'm also an illegitimate decendant of King John(the something), brother of King Richard the Lionhearted, son of Elanor of Anquitane and King Henry II. If you'll remember you're Disney animated movies and legends, King John was also one of the nemises of Robin Hood, and also a thumb-sucking, maneless lion(Disney). Also, I'm a decendant of Swiss and French nobility. I've seen the names of two or three castle my ancestors owned(and built). I have royal blood everywhere. My grandmother says, "Once you're related to royalty, you're related to all royalty." She's the person that's traced this all for us, and still tracing.
Lol, we just learned the word regicide in English.. Technically, it's the murder of a ruler, not necessarily a king. When Abraham Lincoln was assassinated, for instance, that was regicide.
Did I mention I'm Lincoln's 6th cousin 5 times removed?
Yeah, I've got the game. I love it. Age of Empires II. I think we used to have the first, but I'm not sure. gosh, I haven't played it in a while. I loooved building up a civilization and then destroying my numerous enemies and making $$$ by trading
.
Err, back to the topic, I edited the chapter. See what you think. (I edited the first post.)
You have the game!?! Which one?!
I've got both! Actually, I've got nearly all of the Age of Empire games...(there needs to be a geek smiley, I'd use it right now and any time I mention my games...)
And you're welcome! Wow, I helped without even really comenting(again) on your story!
YESS! THAT'S why I looked that word up! I saw it on that game!!! It's been bugging me for a while.
THANK YOU PERRA!!! 
Reason I know the meaning of the word is because is a type of game setting you can play in Age of Empires II.
Love those games....
Here's the definition from Britannica Ready Reference Dictionary:
LOL. I seem to do that a lot.
regicide
n [L reg-, rex king + E -cide--more at royal] (ca. 1548)1: one who kills a king 2: the killing of a king -- reg.i.ci.dal adj
Does this clear stuff up? I saw that word once, couldn't remember what it was, and spent nearly two weeks straight looking for it.
Thanks Winter and Perra. I'll edit the chapter in a second.
I agree with the 'His face was downturned' part, but the only other thing I can think of is 'His face was turned to the floor' or 'His face was turned down'.... Anyone with ideas, feel free to share them.
No, you've got the definition wrong. Regicide is the killing of a king, and not a genocide.
"His face was turned downward," there's not a particular reason for this change. Just the phrase down turned rubs me the wrong way for a reason I can't describe. So keep it if you like it.
In these first few paragraphs I really need to see, smell, and taste this place. What's it like? Especially since the point of view character appears to be the prisoner. Desribe the cut on his head. How big is it? Is it bleeding alot or a little? Did he get it from a guard or something else? How does it feel? Is the wound clean or is it becoming infected with gangrene? In a fantasy middle ages prison it's probably infected.
I'm not sure if this works. I mean its your word as far as I know but it strikes me as being like genocide and you can't really call soemone a genocide. Perhaps a Regicidist? No, that sound silly. I may be off on this one.
Ooh infidel. Regicide is religious genocide, isn't it? After the guard speaks place the prisoner's response in a new paragraph.
Disgruntled
Start a new paragraph here too. You're coming back to what the guard is doing. I'm a little confused as to why the guard says "I don't owe you anything." Is this the prisoner talking? I'm a little thrown off by this.
thought
I don't have this word in my dictionary and I don't know it. If its a word you made up think about whether it will have a particular resonance with the reader. I'd suggest to change it to "said" or perhaps "muttered" or "grunted". Said is the best though. Its kind of a modern writing rule that about 95% of the time use said, asked, and replied. And almost always said. Its not my rule, I just follow it.
I don't have too many nit picky things in this story. At least not upon running through it quick. Which I unfortunaly must make this post quick now because I've got to run to work. I might get back to it, but I don't think I have much else to say. Its a wonderful start. Try to flesh out your description and show, don't tell. Try to fit one instance of all five senses somewhere in here if you decide to revise. Keep at it. Good work.
I made the changes you suggested. They sounded good to me. Anyone else have something to add?
Ah, I see now. I think we usually assume that writers aren't explaining things until later.
But I was pretty sure that you might be explaining why the maid was 'helping' him later.
The answer to that wouldn't be revealed until later, but she wasn't trying to help him. It was a mistake that the guards ate it. However, now the 'mysterious' deaths get blamed on him, so she really didn't help much.
You sure did. Two of those were typos, and now I know they're there. you pointed out a couple interesting ways to rephrase stuff. (This is exactly why I joined)
And as for him being kept in a barn, I should explain that they're moving him with a large escort, sort of a parade before the good citizens of Neren (the country).
Interesting. I liked how you have a murderer with hardly any memory of the murder(and of a king!) as the main character.
Here are some critiques;
I think this should be "The black-haired prisoner hid from the glares of the stocky guardsman in the shadows of the makeshift cell.
It should be "The cloaked man frowned with his eyes....", no comma inbetween 'man' and 'frowned.' Commas mean a pause, and there is no need for one there.
You should have 'used to such taunting' after 'the prisoner,' and have commas around it. Remember, whenever you have something in commas after a word, it's talking about that word. Such as, in your original sentence, it's saying that emotion is used to the taunting, which doesn't make since. I hope I explained this well.
It should be 'searched,' instead of 'search.'
There's a typo in that sentence.
Someone accused of murdering a king is being kept in a barn? Is there no prison around, or a tower in a castle(if I've got the time setting correct)?
Who turned to Stock and ushered her in? The releived one?
After reading the whole thing, I must wonder why someone who might've been the first to see the prisoner at the scene of the crime would help him.
I beleive that is all I can critique. I hope I helped!