Prologue:
The Starfall of Haraax
Aaron was playing in his homes back yard, fenced off to keep the foxes from killing the hens. He was but eight years of age, turning nine on the morrow. His home was a large black stoned castle, at which his father was teaching him magic that he said if he was caught learning he could be burned by the witch hunters. In this land of men, the land of Artildon, magic was shunned, especially the particular magic he wasbeing taught. His father had told him that the starfall would be that night, and his eyes were stuck gazing at the sky expectantly. He had never seena starfall. He wondered briefly what it would be like. Suddenly, the first white streak fell across the sky, and he gasped. Soon, the sky was full of falling stars, like rain that never reached the ground.
“Papa! Papa the stars are beginning to fall!”
His father was inside, reading a book as his mother cooked a meal. “Papa! Come and see!” He gazed once more atthe sky, and saw the most terrifyingly beautiful sight that he’d seen in h.is short life. A stone—or a star?—was falling down at huge speeds, fire trailing from it, butnot normal fire. This fire was dark, black with cold dark magic so palpable that an eight year old could easily see it. It landed with a deafening crash into the ground some half a mile away. A crater the size of a castle was all that was left of the horse pastures. He took off at a run, as fast ashe could to see the fallen star, curiosity winning over fear with every step he took. The crater wasn’t even smoking, even though the object that blasted it away must’ve been hotter than the sun. He ran up tothe edge of the crater, and peered inside ofit. Inside he saw nothing at first. but upon closer inspection, he saw a thin silvery chain, half buried in rubble. He took a step forward, and instantly the edge of the crater crumbled under him, and he fell into the crater. The stones were not hot, not even warm. In fact, they were quite cold, an aura of glorious dark power about them. The aura got thicker as he neared the chain stuck in the rubble. He reached out and touched it slightly, fearful that it might contain some malicious intent. Instantly, as his finger make contact with cold metal, a sort of lightness and strength filled him. He poked it again, the same thing happened, and suddenly he understood that which he could not before. He reached for it again, and this time he grabbed it. A black fire as black as the cloak of death spread across the chain though it did not burn. The boy didn’t flinch. He heard his father call, probably for dinner, but he didn’t listen. He was transfixed by this chain. He pulled, and the rubble fell away like it was nothing revealing a dark amulet of black crystal with silver metal wrapped around it that radiated power. The amulet seemed weightless. Pictures flew through his head, sights and sounds and feelings that could only be of godly origin.
I am Haraax, the dark goddess, and your new master, said a voice, gentle and irresistible. You, boy, are worthy of the Amulet of Haraax. May you wield it with great purpose. Here is your task. Your family will only try to stop you. Deal with them. They have to die.
“Yes, Haraaxof the dark realm. I serve you.” Said the boy, a grin spreading across his face, knowing that he could do it. He was invincible. He could do anything, for the amulet had shown him how. He raised his hands, and he lifted up into the air. He gathered up a great amount of dark energy, and blasted it in the direction of the castle. The castle was obliterated, and all that previously lived therein were dead. Aaron knew then what he must do.
Go to Ploran’s peak. There is a cave on the mountain, where you can build your empire. Go now, before you are seen. Said the voice of the dark goddess.
“Yes my goddess.” He muttered, and darkness shrouded him, and he was gone.
Meanwhile, another star fellto the earth. It landed in a lake, in the center of the continent. It won’t be discovered for 300 years.
300 years later:
Chapter one:
A Dwarf and an Elf, a fighter and a mage.
Kollek was drinking. He was always drinking. Ever since the battles between the orcs and the men had come to a slow halt, there was nothing to kill, no fighting to do. He had nothing to do with his earnings from being a mercenary. So he drank at the Heavy Barrel Tavern in the city of Muurnil. Muurnil was a dusty, densely populated port city. It contained mostly men, but you would spot the occasional Dwarf mercenary or Elf scholar. Even the Halflings of the Harlinn Hills come to trade every once anda while. There was a great castle in the center square, surrounded by a wall that kept any Intruders from breaching the castle, if by chance they got past the outer wall of the city, a two hundred foot tall wall of stone, twenty feet thick and with Steel doors manned by twenty archers each, plus the city militia and guards. The Heavy Barrel was a dim, warm, loud tavern where the drinks were all the same: Dwarven ale, and the finest. Kollek, however, was too adventurous to return home to the Mountains of Kingore, land of his forefathers. Kollek was a dwarf warrior, who had tasted victory and wasted his enemies. His skin was tan from travel, his beard, long and brown, grew from a grim face of experience. His eyes were always alert and ready, and his arms were like steel cables under skin where there should have been muscle, the size of tree trunks, and probably more dangerous than a full grown bear. He wore a red shirt, underneath which was a chainmail shirt, with rough wool pants and tough leather boots. He always carried his axe, a broad two bladed two handed axe that a powerful man would struggle to lift. Upon it was a rune that at first glance was insignificant, but when inspected closely glowed with a fiery light. Kollek wielded it in both hands with ease. His eyes told stories of loss and of victory, of theblood he and his axe have spilt, and of the battles he won. Most of all, they spoke of the battles he lost. He winced at the memory, and took another sip of ale. A noise brought him from his thoughts and back to reality, a short crash, followed by and angry yell.
“Hey! Watch it, pointy ears!” Said a loud anddeep voice, that of a man who was just covered in ale thanks to the clumsiness of another man—wait, this was no man. Further inspection revealed that he was actually and elf, and a young elf at that, not a hundred years of age. He had thetelltale signs of being an elf: the Robes of green and pointy ears, mid back length brown hair, and a long bow, that he carried on his back with a quiver of arrows. He was probably a wizard fresh from the Elven Academy. Kollek, lucky for the elf, was not like most dwarves who shared a strong hatred of elves. He merely saw themas tall, skinny humans with sharp ears, sharper eyes, and an even sharper tongue for lies. This elf was different from other elf mages, however. His skin was tanner than that of a normal elf, and hishair more tattered. He wore a leather Jacket and a wool cloak, underneath which, cleverly concealed, was a gleaming longsword. He still showed telltale signs of inexperience, but harsh discipline and a knack for fast learning. He was, after all, the youngest elf that Kollek had seen abroad.
“Terribly sorry sir! You see, I’ve never been in a tavern.” Said theelf, though he probably shouldn’t have. Kollek’s suspicions were proved correct when the tavern burst into laughter.
“Never had a drink, eh pointy ears? Well that’s no reason to interrupt mine!” He said, readying a fist. The elf flinched as the man’s fist flew forward, surely to connect with the elf’s face. With the speed of lightning striking the trees over the forest of Berikk, Kollek’s own hand shot out and caught the aggressor’s wrist. There was an audible cracking sound, and the man shouted. A murmur spread across the tavern as Kollek easily caught the punch, crushing the man’s wrist in one beefy fist. He swung with his right fist, a punch of a lifetime straight into the man’s face. His head jerked back, and he fell unconscious on the ground.
“That’ll teach you to get drunk and tryto pick a fight around me. You want a fight, you find a worthy opponent.” He said, sitting back down at his table. At these words the elf showed no shame. In fact he showed only shock. Shock maybe because he had been rescued from a powerful blow to the face, but probably because his rescuer was a dwarf.
The friends of the man who assaulted the elf, five men with tattered clothing andmean
looks in their eyes, were rising from their seats, and brandished knives, swords, and clubs. “We’ve got no business with you, dwarf. Go away from here and you may survive to tell
your family you stuck up for a snotty elf!” Said the one in front, who had dark hair, and the mostpeculiar eyes, one blue and one green.
“You can leave,” said Kollek, scooping his great axe from the corner. “and I will spare you your lives. Stay, and surely die, for I hate bullies. Make your move.”
“You’re outnumbered! We are five, and you are one.”
“Fine. Would you like me to kill you all in one stroke, or one by one?” He retorted, menacingly. His eyes spoke thetruth, and hisaxe looked honest as well. A bead of sweat formed on the brow of the man who spoke.
“I don’t have time to bloody my axe on cowards!” Said Kollek, swallowing the last of his ale. He turned to the bartender and said in a low voice: “Let me know when a real threat is causing trouble.” Then he turned to the elf. “You!” The elf flinched. “Come, elf, lest you wish to be killed.”
The elf wavered, weighing his odds at beating a full tavern of bullies with swords or this frightening dwarf. He decided to leave with the dwarf, though he was suspicious.
Smart to fear a dwarf, Thought Kollek. Even smarter to fear me.
When they were halfway to yet another tavern, Kollek spoke up. “Kollek.”
The elf looked puzzled. “What?” His voice was gentle, but held slight power. “Kollek. My name is Kollek. Don’t misuse it.”
“Oh.” Said the elf. After a long, silent pause, he finally said “Kiroy. I am Kiroy, arcane magister of Rialem, over the Sea of Rieln.”
“Arcane magister, eh? Fought one of those once. Until you get within five feet, they’re verydangerous” said the dwarf, a serious look upon his bearded face. It didn’t trouble him long. “So, elf. What’s your story?” he asked, looking up at Kiroy.
“Not much to tell, really. I went to the College of Magic in Magisteria, trained in the
ways of the arcane magister, and left. It’s safe to say I know every offensive spell out there. Any time you need someone struck by lightning, yell for Kiroy.” said the elf, pride slowly taking control of his tongue.
“Why did I have to bail your hide out of that bar fight, oh master of magic?” Kollek retorted, grinning. Elves.
“I’m afraid I don’t enjoy slaughtering men as much as you do, oh warrior of the axe.”
said the elf, hiding a grin himself. Dwarves.
“I am no manslayer,” said Kollek, “But a bully, one who picks on weaker foes, only fighting on the advantage, gets no mercy from me.” His face spoke of grim tales, of heroic deeds, and of death. Mostly, however, it spoke of pain. Pain of loss, and of grief.
“What is it, exactly that you do, Kollek?” Said Kiroy, sounding almost concerned, but one never knew with elves.
“When there’s a war, I fight the battles. When there is not, I fight the threats. I am a Mercenary and a vagabond fighter. I fight. I drink. Repeat.” Said Kollek flatly. “Yes, but what for?” Pressed Kiroy, wanting seemingly to understand.
“Sometimes for money, sometimes for something to do, but usually for what’s right.” Kiroy nodded. Hefound himself looking for fights for the good of humanity all the time.
They reached the tavern at 9 o’clock. There was scarcely a person in the place, and those who did come in left within the minute. The silence was deafening. Kollek spoke up more forthe sake of his own sanity then to make conversation.
“What kind of, er, spells can you do?”
“Hm? Oh, all kinds. Mostly offensive spells, minor enchantments, and shields against magical effects.”
“What’s your favorite spell?” Asked Kollek, feeling awkward.
Equally awkward, the elf replied “I like to use lightning. It’s impossible to dodge, uncannily affective, and fills you with this sort of power that…” But he was cut off by the sound of a door slamming open.
“Horan, come quick! It’s Yev!”
The bar tender, evidently named Horan, jumped over the bar and rushed out the door. Kollek rose as well.
“Where are you going?” Asked Kiroy.
“To what may well be the start of something worth fighting for.” Replied Kollek, a glint in his eye, and a look on his face that was almost joyous. “Come, you may want in on this, Elf.” Still grinning, he took off at a run toward the sound of a crowd murmuring, though as a dwarf that equated to an easy jog to the elf. He kept up easily. The crowd was indeed thick, and alive with cries of “What happened? What is it?” “Sorcery! There’s magic afoot!” “What does that symbol mean?” “So much blood…” This only encouraged Kollek, and Kiroy couldn’t help feeling excited himself. This could be the start of my first great adventure. I should write a journal about it!
“Hoy, move aside, coming through! What’s all this?” said Kollek, his voice silencing the
crowd. But the sight he saw next was a sight that would have daunted those who knew just what they were seeing. A man lie on the ground there, pale as snow and a look of sheer terror upon his face, still as stone. Kiroy’s gaze was drawn to the man’s eyes, one blue and one green. This was the man from the tavern. His motionless corpse laytheir, a scorched sent mixing with thesmell of rain and tears. This puzzled Kollek, but Kiroy knew right away that this was the
work of the queen of all that is hopeless and dark, the creator of orcs and goblins and trolls. He moved past Kollek and knelt before the body, andunbuttoned his shirt. This brought outrage from some of the crowd.
“Respect the deceased, elf!” “Get off of Yev, you pointy eared freak!”
More cries of anger rose from the crowd, and Kollek yelled for silence which was obeyed. Kiroy uncovered the bare chest of the man, and saw what he knew was already there. There was an X shaped incision in hischest, that was scorched away by hellfire no doubt. There were runes inscribed on his chest around the incision, written in his own blood. Hisheart was missing, probably sacrificed to Haraax, goddess of darkness. There was magic at work here, and Kiroy didn’t like it. He voiced this aloud.
“I’m no magician,” said Kollek, agreeing, “but I don’t need to be. Those are runes I’ve
seen before, when I was wandering in the Forest of Berikk, and I came across some Haraaxian cult. Can’t tell what they mean, though. Not that I want to know.”
“Aye, they are Haraaxian.” said Kiroy, nodding. “The question is who in Muurnil is worshiping the dark goddess?” he said, glancing up and behind him at Kollek. There was a murmur of questioning in the crowd, and the air temperature dropped twenty degrees in an instant. The silence that followed may have saved the night. For had it not been for the silence just then, the far off sound of awoman screaming would’ve gone unheard and probably unknown. It was a sound that chilled the blood, the sound of terror as it sliced through the innards as it shot out of hertortured throat. Her voice rang out through the night, followed by the ring of steel on steel.
Kollek and Kiroy exchanged a quick glance, and broke into a run toward the sound of screams. Over the pounding of their feet and the throbbing in their chests, the screams were barely audible. Only when they got closer did it become clear.
“Call for help! Orcs! Orcs!” The sound of steel on steel continued. Why were orcs in
Muurnil? Hadn’t the warbeen over for almost a year now? And could this woman be fighting off orcs alone? A great, deep guttural scream echoed through the night, like a roar mixed with a burp, and the noise of a battle continued. The word ‘Orcs’ seemed to spur the dwarf warrior on like a mad beast of malicious intent. His feet pounded on the stone at double the pace of before, a ridiculous speed for the dwarf. After nearly a minute, they rounded a corner into a torch-lit alley, to find a woman fighting off five orcs with a gleaming broadsword, flashing to parry the attacks of the orcs. It was all she could do to defend herself with her one arm, while theother lay wounded ather side, a wide gash across her shoulder. The way she fought could only bedescribed as desperate, a flowing wound in her left shoulder, and a small cut over her left eye. Her left defenses are weak, thought Kiroy. He thought of going in to cover her left, but Kollek hadn’t thought of thinking. His axe seemingly took over, the single rune on it glowing brightly as it anticipated blood. Just before the thing came down on an orc, it burst into flame. Theblazing axe cleaved left and right, taking an orcwith each swipe. An orc stabbed at him with a wicked scimitar but Kollek was no longer there. His speed and strength couldn’t have been matched by a tornado, and hisface had a twisted look of what at first glance would’ve seemed as pain, but he actually exhibited euphoria. The crazy dwarf is actually enjoying this, Kiroy thought. His blade arced in a flaming plane of fury and destruction, felling foes everywhere it touched. None could escape the flaming arc of his axe, burning permanent streaks of light into Kiroy’s retinas. He fought making whirlwinds around the woman, who stared around dumbfounded at finding her foes dying from burning gashes, with charred stumps where their heads had once been. Within seconds the lastof the orcs were slain, and the axefell slowly dormant. Kollek was laughing.
“I haven’t fought such an easy fight since I was a recruit! Even you could’ve handled them, Elf!”
Kiroy grinned, but only for an instant. There was a yellow pair of eyes piercing faintly through the darkness, so faintly that Kiroy barely noticed it. His arms were a blur as he drew his bowfrom beneath his cloak, nocked and arrow, and fired. There was a sound of arrow piercing flesh, and flesh impacting with earth. The dwarf froze.
“You tryin’ to kill me,Elf? After I saved your sorry hide?” Kollek said, his voice rising.
Kiroy remained calm.
“Before you kill me, you should turn around.” Kiroy said. Kollek was hesitant at first, as though hethought that if he did, Kiroy would shoot him. As he turned around, his shoulders relaxed. Into the torchlight that lit the alley, the Orc had fallen. Near his fallen corpse lay a crossbow, which would have surely killed Kollek had it hit the right spot.
Kollek was ashamed. “Sorry ‘bout that. Will not happen again. Unless, of course, you do shoot me. As for you,” he said, turning to the woman. She had blond hair and fairskin, and her eyes were the most piercing sapphire blue. Her face was that of a goddess, flawless despite the blood dripping down the left side of her face from a cut over her eye. She bore upon hera blue woolen shirt, underneath which, to a trained eye, chainmail wasvisible. She, though seemingly delicate, carried herself with the pride of a warrior, and had the prowess to match.
“I owe you a debt…” she said, her voice pausing between gasps of breath. Doubtless she was fatigued after fighting off orcs for a solid ten minutes.
“Kollek. Kollek Kollarsson.” said Kollek, shouldering his axe. She then turned to Kiroy. It took him a minute to realize that she meant to know his name as well.
“Kiroy Methrirr, of Rialem.” he said, turning slightly red in the face.
“Gwendolyn.” she said, straightening up. “Gwendolyn Helena.”
Hellooo meth!
Before I comment on the chapter, I feel the need to point out the numerous times when you don't space words or start a new line when it would be grammatically incorrect. A glitch, perhaps?
Regardless, this wasn't bad! It shows many of the traits of oh-so-cliche low fantasy, but that's not a problem, because people dig cliche low fantasy, right?
Well... not everyone, actually. Dark cults, bantering dwarves and elves, orcs and medieval towns have been done so many times it's pretty much a discredited meme or the equivalent of such in fantasy. If you do want to do them, you might want to aim for some satire or at least introducing quirks and unusual elements in your character. As of now, I'd think even Tolkien would get called out on it if he attempted another LotR. The storyline is interesting, but then again, many low fantasy storylines appear to be so. Of course, this may be high fantasy, like oh yes, LotR. I shall see in the next chapters. I stress you might want to throw in some unusual elements in the character and plot, cause my cliche meter is breaking. You even have the archetypical man struck dead in a town, sudden invasion of orcs, crossbow-shot from behind and the sexy female warrior. Oh and banter. That was good banter. Very LotR style. Oh yes indeed.
So, now that I've expressed my general opinion on plot and the oft-unreadability of this due to annoying spacing mistakes, let's get down to the grammatical nit-picks.
First, it should be 'home's' with an apostrophe as it's possessive, secondly 'in which' because it indicates place. Thirdly, I would rephrase this. You describe the back yard (and frankly you could mention a little more), but then throw in Aaron's about to turn nine and he's being taught magic. Since the poor child is going to be some sort of sacrifice to a dark goddess of sorts, you may want to focus a tad more on the introspective side of things before swinging to tavern-brawlin', arrow-shootin' action. I know it's hard to resist that impulse (but BUT tavern fights!!), but sometimes it's a good thing to pace things. Also (fourthly?) oh my god italics my eyes my poor eyes.
It must be special indeed, not to level the whole city! I get the feeling it's pretty big, that's an equally big impact and equally massive damage. Of course, it might not be, as all remains of it is a silvery magical necklace. At which point the poor horse pastures would be pretty much all right. Hm.
Now, as for the big, ohmygodthepoorboywhomIknownothingofbecausehewasn'tmadecuteenoughtobeasacrificallamb dark-goddess possession, that could be worked on! Feelings, emotions, sensations and so forth. The castle-destroying is also a leeeetle cheap. Since you've pretty much started on this dark path of fantasy, you might as well include the smell of smoke and burning flesh, the screams and wails of the dying, dead and terrified, the demonic hiss of the flames....
Bam, tavern-brawlin', arrow-shootin' action.
Ho-hum.
Again, a sad lack of description here, and emotions, thoughts and feelings. I get those don't dominate in PG-13 low fantasy novels, but still. Also in some cases, you use the words 'fine' and 'bully'. This is set, of course, in a medieval world, so those words wouldn't be used. Same goes for your sentence construction at times. Just a thought.
Now, cut to the orc invasion. Very sudden, unannounced, and unexplained, over in the chapter as quickly as it came. That could be remedied in further chapters, I suppose! Maybe.
At the risk of sounding horribly sexist, most women can't fight with a broadsword. Hell, most people in general can't carry one for long. Do you have any idea how much those weigh? And here she is, doing a masterful job of fending rabid orcs off, with a broadsword, one-armed.
Cue the chapter ending with mysterious, curt introductions in the middle of a battlefield.
Hoooo-hum.
So yes. I'm sure lots of people will enjoy this, because who doesn't like this type of thing? If you want to differentiate it, however, from the masses of other novels like this, your chapter needs a lot of work. Lots and lots.
Hope this helped
~Ita
Dude! What happened with Rovaalin? Here I am, waiting for you to come up with the next chapter with that, and you’re starting a new story on me? c: Never mind, I’ll just read this story then.
~ In this case, home’s is possessive, so it needs an apostrophe, but I’d recommend cutting that word. “playing in his backyard” is sufficient. People assume he’s home.I know that you don’t enjoy grammatical reviews, and you know that that’s the main type I give. So I’m going to try to lay off the grammar, but expect it to pop up some.
You’ve got a couple typos in your first paragraph, really just missing spaces between words.
I love how you ended the paragraph, though. “Like rain that never reached the ground” is very nice description.
Alright, you’ve got typos throughout. Send your piece through a word processor, and it’ll put a line under the words that are crammed together. I’ll not plague you with an example of every place it happens, but you’ve got quite a few.
~ How can you touch something ‘slightly’? You’re either touching it or you’re not. Maybe try another description. “His fingers brushed it gently” or “touched it carefully” or something would better express his hesitancy.
~~~
Overview of Prologue:
Why is your entire prologue italicized except the goddess’ words? That seems backwards to me, like her words should be italicized, but nothing else.
You’ve crafted an interesting start, I must say. I find it interesting that an eight year old little boy was able to kill his entire family without a second thought. It doesn’t seem very realistic. But, at the same time, if Aaron is to be an evil dude, that might have some important character whatever. Moving on to Chapter one...
Be careful. Elves and dwarves, trolls, goblins, dragons, things of that sort are common fantasy topics. Orcs and Halflings are Tolkien’s. You don’t want to rip off other writers’ creations.
~ Why do you capitalize ‘Intruders’ and ‘Steel’?
Dude! Paragraphs, please. You’ve got a quality story starting, but it’s hard to read. The effort it’s taking to keep all of the scenes and information straight is taking away from your wonderful descriptions.
Try to put one scene per paragraph. Each new paragraph seems to take a breath. That’s why I separate my reviews into paragraphs, to make them easier to read and understand. Besides, spaces are a kindness to the eye. It gives the eye a break before it moves on.
~ Do you mean ‘two bladed’? Or do you really mean ‘double edged’? There’s a big difference.
~ This sentences are tedious to read. Also, if he had green robes and a longbow, shouldn’t it be obvious and not need ‘further inspection’ to reveal so?
“It was an elf, and a young one at that, probably not even a hundred years of age. His brown hair fell to his mid-back, a loose strand tucked behind his pointy ear carelessly. He held a longbow in his hand and wore a quiver on his back, filled with many sharp arrows.”—I know, I know, I’m the person who’s always advocating long sentences. I just think that in this particular case, shorter sentences would have more punch, and would be more effective.
~ I...don’t see him admitting this. He might stammer, and make it obvious that he’s never been, but I don’t see him actually saying “I’ve never been in a tavern”. He’s a young elf. He’s not a kid. He knows better than that.
~ Ah...right, well this might stem from elves being my favorite fantasy characters, but...YOU’RE BUTCHERING HIM! Elves are known to be graceful and powerful, but also deadly warriors. An elf wouldn’t just flinch and wait to be punched. Especially not by a man.
I know you’re coming from a dwarf’s perspective here, but even so, the elf should have a bit of dignity. A dwarf moving faster than an elf is a bit farfetched, but okay. Maybe rewrite the elf into dodging. You could say the elf stepped out of the way and the drunkard’s fist passed through empty air, but he tried again, and that’s when your dwarf stepped in. That would maintain the dignity of both races.
~ Your spacing is all wonked out.
>.> Elves. Don’t. Flinch. And elves don’t fear dwarves either.
Okay, I admit, the banter between Kiroy and Kolleck is amusing. It reminds me of Legolas and Gimli. But the ‘bully’ in the bar was *not* picking on a weaker foe. A drunkard who picks fights can get no mercy, perhaps?
~ “His motionless corpse lay there, a scorched scent”
~~~
Alright!
So I did like this story quite a bit. It needs a bit of love, but I think it’s got a good storyline behind it. You’ve got interesting characters and an interesting world. Very nice. I’m also interested in seeing how Aaron and the goddess play into the story with Kolleck and Kiroy. Gwendolyn also seems to be quite an interesting character.
As always, if you need any more help or have any questions, message or wall me.
Keep Writing!
~Shady