Young Writers Society

The intro to my WIP book- hope it gives some context to things I've already posted, once it's all edited I'll consider uploading the whole book... maybe.

Any feedback would be amazing :D I haven't had many people read the drafts from the book yet, so highlight anything that isn't clear/ confusing.

“How did it go again? That story, the one they read to children so long ago?... Could you tell it to me, mother? Tell me how they saved the world again.”

In ancient times, before the Storm swept away life, two men lived their lives in a quiet village, untouched by time. One was Alexander, a farmer who made his living by sowing wheat. He was simple, never wanting any of the extravagancies life could offer; he put his family before everything else. As long as they were happy, so was he. His friend, who we now know as Moros, was a different man, however. He had only a daughter to look after, his wife having left after she was born, and he strived only for knowledge. She was brought up a lonely child, having her father, his books and nothing else.

Their lives played out all as it should have until a rupture was torn between the two when Moros’ research went too far, and awoke the Creator from its eternal sleep. It cursed the man for awakening it; the god had put itself to slumber to supply the world with power, and without that supply, life started to wilt. A burden was put upon him that day-if he had dared to wake the Creator, he’d suffer the burden of becoming it. The power of that which made all was suffused into a mortal, which in turn morphed him into a demon, forced by his semi-conscious mind to destroy everything he had once loved. The mistake cost hundreds of thousands of lives as the vengeful spirit inside him spread across the realm, burning everything it could.

There was a survivor, however. Alexander was granted the other half of the Creator’s power to counter his former ally, putting two against each other in a god’s cruel game.

One which annihilated everything.

Moros was defeated by the hands of Alexander, and put to rest in the same place the Creator was before, deep underground- not to be disturbed.

With a startle, the boy awoke. It must have been a bad dream, a dream of hells or monstrous beasts, or maybe the loud thuds and noises outside. The reverberations of the swing of an axe ran through the walls of the house, as another tree was felled for lumber. One annoyance of living inside a glade in the forest was the constant noise that penetrated Tyr’s quiet, but then again, his brothers were never helpful either, especially from the fact they all shared a room. He threw out his hand to the side of his bed by the window, fumbling for the book. It absolutely enthralled him; knowing that deities so powerful existed on different planes, in the heavens, and he never wanted to stop learning about the countless numbers of them. Maybe, when he grew of age, he’d be like his mother- a cleric, a healer of light, a beacon of light in the world of darkness. Or perhaps like his father, a knight in full plate, wielding long, shining blades, and protecting those who cannot stand up for themselves; he could become one of the warriors in the books he adored. It was a possibility, not just a dream; adventurers and heroes were always needed to maintain the peace. He wasn’t as strong as Argyll, or as cunning and intellectual as Alrec, but there was certainly still a place in the world for him.

The future was indeed fascinating.

Most days started for Tyr at the reasonable time of about quarter past six in the morning, largely because his mother believed that waking early was incredibly beneficial for any living creature, and avoided negative habits. The first meal of the day came at about eleven, and the last at eight at night, between these the three boys usually got up to their own tasks and play within the boundaries of Bailing Glade around the surrounding forest. Alrec was normally holed up in the local library, reading the same books over and over until his mind was like a vessel of lore, and Argyll helped as much as he could around the village; whether it was drawing water from the well, keeping stock of cattle, or aiding his father, who returned the favour in extra knowledge of warfare. All of them were trained by William- taught the ways of the battlefield, how to use many different ranged and martial weapons, every basic piece of information a soldier would need to know. Though spite all this, the last he wished for was for his sons to fight for a living. He only bestowed upon them the of battle to help them survive in the world. William knew more than anyone how dangerous it was to simply live life.

It was Solem that day- the day of the sun. A pity, I suppose, that the sun refused to shine upon that small glade when it needed it most.

The young boy clattered down the large staircase outside his room, running down them with great speed. It appeared that he had awakened a while after his family, for as he came to the sitting room he found them all looking over the same book in Mary’s hands, absolutely enthralled.

“Good morning?” Tyr poked his father on the shoulder, looking up at him curiously. “What are you spending this good morning doing?”

“Not sleeping through it, of course. Hello, my dear,” she came up to her feet, kissing him gently on his golden head, “how come you’re up so late?”

“A bad dream, I suppose. I’m not quite sure, if I’m honest.”

“A shame. We were just reading through the chapters when Deus finally seeks his vengeance on Pallos in the castle. Your favourite part, so I made sure to stop them before we read too far.” Mary smiled warmly, passing over to the stove over the fire. She took off the boiling kettle by its wooden handle and poured out five cups of its contents into small mugs resting on a small table. Argyll dabbed his thick finger into one of them, immediately exclaiming in pain as it scolded him.

“That’s your one now.” Alrec remarked, cut down quickly by his father residing over him. Next to each other, they looked like doppelgangers; the young child had inherited all of his father’s features, even those he did not wish to, including a strangely wonky nose. He took it in stride, however, and always boasted out to the other children that he would be just like William one day, or at least find a way to mirror his achievements in some way. The man moved away to the dinette, where he laid out fresh bread and assorted fruits, and set plates out for the five of them. All three children eyed the delicious food greedily from their chairs, smiling to each other with mischievous grins, of which their mother acknowledged.

“Food at the table, boys, but take one piece at a time. If you’re hungry for more you ask.” Mary beckoned them over to sit, taking her place at the table’s head, while her husband took the opposite. The three scrambled for seats, and Argyll pushed Tyr out of the way in order to get a seat closer to the food; the young boy rolled his eyes, and sat on the chair adjacent to him.