Last edited by Jericho; 12-30-08 at 01:12 PM.
When the night is at its darkest, look upon the eastern sky. The Light is on its way. ((ToC Profile))
The overcast stain that had slicked over the sky showed no signs of breaking, and precious little light found its way through the leathery wrinkles in the cloud cover. The dark continent clawed at Jericho as he passed through endless tangles of bracken; a black, thorny species of woody vine he'd never seen before massed over the trees and the forest floor, and his staff had accumulated a host of new scars from beating the path clear.
If it could be called a path. Occasionally, Jericho encountered a passage of undergrowth broken by the hooves of some game animal, but more often than not, his own hooves broke the trail for the first time, guided only by the silken tugs of his spirit.
His antlers snagged on a dangling vine, and he paused, patiently and methodically pulling the snare free. It took some time with his thick fingers, but he was in no hurry. His spirit told him he had plenty of time, despite the urgency he had felt when he first received the call.
Stars above, how long ago had that been? Months. Never before had a call led him on so long a journey—from Corone to Fallien to Scara Brae, and then to the other side of the world, never with further foresight than where to step next. On other assignments, he'd been given a name, a face, or at least a place and time. Not so now. He had only a direction, and the faith that he would know his charge on sight.
As the thornvine came free, a heaviness settled on his heart, and he froze. The elkin's ears pivoted back and forth to read the forest, but silence lay still and dead beneath the dark, bony canopy. He could see no movement between the trees, smell nothing besides dry bark and decaying underbrush, but he had other senses at his disposal. Brooding, hungry presences lingered at the edges of his spirit like chill breaths on the back of his neck, but they kept their distance. Fingers tightening over the quarterstaff, he waited for a long moment, an odd addition to the weave of moss-covered trunks and bare, reaching branches. After a long, breathless, motionless pause, he crept deeper into Kebiras.
Each snap of weeds under his hooves made him wince, but he knew that whatever predators stalked the bracken were small threats compared to the unseen shadows he felt moving over this place. He felt a movement deep beyond his fathoming; this assignment would be like nothing he had faced before.
And he couldn't help but wonder if he was ready for it.
Physical confrontations were small obstacles—straightforward, easy to face with the help of the One. But the sort of attacks these principalities could work were something else entirely. They targeted gaps in his defense, flaws in his spirit. And his vulnerabilities there ran wide and deep.
He felt something tickling at the back of his mind, and musk, her fur so soft, contours beautiful as she struggled, imagining the mead on his breath a little stronger, Abihu's chortling laughter at the mouth of the alley—
He gasped as though wounded, his hooves taking root as he dropped his staff to grip his temples. Like juice from an overripe fruit, hot tears gushed from his eyes as he tried to squeeze the memory out of his mind.
"No," he whimpered, to no one in particular. "I am forgiven...He has forgiven me..."
But then, of course He had. He always did. That did not reshape the past, did not repair the gaping scar he had gouged in his soul that night. How could he hope to face whatever battle lay ahead with such weakness? The One had called him to be a light, an agent of hope in dark places, but he had broken from that plan before it had even begun. He had committed a sin so despicable that even the touch of the One had not burned it away, and now he came here, with the audacity to think—
A shrill, chittering cry ripped the air behind him. He spun—where was his staff?—but too slow. Four trails of sharp fire tore down his back as the monster lunged past. Through his grimace, he glimpsed his quarterstaff on the ground and picked it up, wincing as the movement stretched the fresh lacerations. He hadn't felt it coming. He couldn't hear the Voice—
The creature turned to face him again. It was a spidery nightmare with a black, chitinous hide, a host of obscenely long and slender arms, two curved and quivering fangs, and eyes that bore a terrifyingly human expression of hate and bloodlust. For the briefest moment, Jericho once again heard the crewmen of the schooner that brought him here whispering of the dark continent and its Wilderfolk, and then the creature pounced again.
He raised a barrier, but the fiend crashed through it as it would a cobweb. So weak! He brought his staff to bear, but the spider batted the twig aside, lancing his left arm with its fangs. Ice spread through the limb like a thin oil, and his grip went slack.
He couldn't hear the Voice. He couldn't hear the Voice. He felt naked, helpless, terrified—
The beast chittered again in a shivering approximation of a chuckle as it leapt and pinned him to the ground. As its fangs twitched and dripped, baring the writhing mouthparts behind them, time slowed. He had come so far to end here, picked apart and digested in a land few knew the name of. But he had no strength to fight this creature. There was nothing he could do.
Have I given you new life that you may lie down and die?
His eyelids flickered at the sound of the whisper. It seemed so far away—had he truly heard it?
Have I given you new life that you may lie down and die, Jericho?
It came stronger now, and it was a Voice he recognized, a full and warming breath that filled his meager body. The One had led him here. The One had called, and he had followed. The One would not bring him all this way to die. There was more yet to do, more yet that the One willed be done, and this thing would not stand in the way.
He felt the spirit filling him again as light burst from his hands as from twin newborn stars. The spiderthing screamed, tumbling backwards, writhing in the touch of the Light, finally twisting upright and dashing away into the shadows. As the beacons faded, Jericho fell slack against the moldy carpet of leaves and rot. A few more tears found their way down his muzzle as the Light worked, slowly closing his wounds and chasing the venom from his blood. Still, the Voice echoed in his heart.
Have I given you new life that you may lay it down and die, Jericho?
When the night is at its darkest, look upon the eastern sky. The Light is on its way. ((ToC Profile))
What in Althanas am I doing here?
Thoughts nagged and pulled at his mind as vicious wind swept through his hair and across his clothes, sending shivers down his back. He glanced around, red eyes piercing the shadows of the rocks and stone, looking for any kind of shelter from the elements while his feet pressed on and upward, over the brown tufts of grass and weeds and into the menacing heights of the Dagger Peaks. Snow lay on the hard ground and, while it was not cold enough to warrant snow to fall, Kryos knew he needed shelter quick. He rounded a large boulder, snow resting against its base, and stopped.
A blackened maw stood against the brightened backdrop of the mountains, alight with the afternoon sun. The cave mouth was a little taller than he, and four paces wide. But Kryos did not move towards the possible shelter. For he had been in another cave, in another country, where he had lost part of himself. Not that he particularly cared about that; the experience had shown him part of the truth of the world and had made him, despite the pain involved, stronger. But he did not enter in haste, because this cavern’s entrance appeared identical to Darken’s Cave, the one not too far from his home. From the cragged stone that lay littered about the mouth, to the ebon stone that lined the roof. Even from here, the Dwiilar could see the transition of color; obsidian melting into the lifeless slate at the bottom. The resemblance to the stone tomb where his friend had been killed was unnerving.
But the shrieking wind bit at his nose, ears and lips, reminding him how vulnerable he was just standing in the open. Besides, what did he have to fear? He moved his legs forward and approached the darkness. At the entrance, the freezing wind screamed into the abyss and Kryos could hear the moaning resonate within the rocky corridors, bouncing back to him, bringing a new set of chills to his skin. Soft tufts of grass gave way to hard, cold rock and deep shadows floated upon his body and face. Eyes adjusting to the darkness, he saw the smooth channels running vertically along the walls and disappearing somewhere above him, no doubt made by rivulets of water over the years. Sharp, jutting pieces of stone breeched the walls and into the center of the cave which, as he slowly moved forward, made navigation all the more difficult. Water had not eroded these jagged edges and there was a greater risk of getting wounded.
His thoughts began to wander again, with the simple task of pushing deeper into the cavern keeping his body busy. He moved automatically, moving between obstacles, climbing over horizontal columns, shifting his weapon occasionally when it bumped into a rock that he had just passed under. He scraped his elbow once, against a hidden outcrop of black stone, but even then, his mind lost itself to memories. His soul remembered that night, so many years before. The darkness of the cave, the derisive stares of the one’s who had ambushed them, their laughs as they merged with shadows. And the screams, both his and his friend’s, that echoed through the void; a thousand songs of hell that ripped and gnashed and drained their young souls for hours, until the blood that once filled their bodies with joy and life soaked their clothes and spread along their skin. He couldn’t see it in his mind, but he remembered the feeling of his blood falling from his mouth and from the corners of his eyes. He could remember the sound that had stained his soul. Lorin’s agony fill scream that continued on to eternity.
Kryos froze, as if he had been suspended in time, and turned his head sharply.
The faint murmuring of the wind overshadowed, he was certain, a boy’s cry of anguish. Straining his ears, the voice faded into the wind.
He turned around, only now realizing that the light had vanished. How had he come so far in without light? He summoned the ebony flames of the Charity spell to his hands, lighting up his face and body, making his eyes gleam crimson and throwing shaking shadows throughout the area he stood in.
He was in a large cavern, with pillars of stone plunging down from the ceiling and into the ground ever few feet or so. A labyrinth within a cavern. He listened for an abnormally one last time before weaving though the stone pillars. The shadows cast by his light through off his depth perception, and he constantly watched for anything that moved. There was no noise save for his footsteps along the rock floor. He glanced to his left.
Lorin face stared into Kryos’ eyes, expression a mask of dread.
Kryos yelled, spinning backward. But when he looked again, a pillar of stone stood in the place of his dead friend. His heart raced and his eyes flashed across the cavern. A shadow moved, or was that just caused by the flames on his hands. He spun again, dodging through two more columns. With every footfall, he was sure that an inhuman chuckle resonated from the heart of the labyrinth. Each one slow and leisurely, yet impossibly quick so that he had to second guess himself. He replaced the flames on his right hand with the abyssal glow of a Bane spell.
. . . kry . . . osss . . .
The voice, a serpent’s whisper from the thickest mist, came from everywhere. It spoke to his mind.
Kryossss . . .
His eyes narrowed and his face shifted into a snarl, eyes and teeth gleaming. The shadows shifted and Lorin’s face appeared for an instant, becoming rock when he looked. Again, behind him. To his left. Several, now. The pillars, once solid rock, lost their substance and began to drip in slow, long pulls of acrid tar. The ceiling around him too, dripped down. Kryos stood, waiting.
“Such hate and anger, and that burning need for judgement.”
The words were spoken at his ear; Kryos could feel the air on his cheek. But, as he strained to leap away and counterstrike, his body would not obey. Thick, oozing chains of coal and tar wrapped around his ankles, slowing climbing his legs, effectively holding him in place. Similar bands from the pillars reached and bound his arms, black tentacles breaking into smaller offspring at the end.
“I wonder, Kryos. What do you plan to do with those passions?”
Still, the man, for the Dwiilar was sure the person who spoke was male, did not reveal himself. He clung to the shadows, whispering into Kryos’ ear and mind with the ease of sliding a worm on a hook. Kryos shuddered, suddenly feeling violated and he struggled to push him out.
“Would you . . . bring him back?”
The face of Lorin appeared again, in the liquid, black rock before him. His face did not show pain, this time. No. This time, it pleaded with him, eyes alight and filled with fear, and the hope that Kryos would save him. It tightened, eyes locking with Kryos, before fading away.
“We have that power. And you have the drive, the reasons, the ability, to succeed. Will you fight for him?”
Doubt crossed his mind. Why would, as the person claimed, such powerful figures bother with granting him such a wish. Besides, not even the elves could bring back the dead.
“You have captured my interest, Kryos. You have potential. The methods are insignificant. What matters is, will you fight for a chance to regain that which you lost?”
The past nine years flowed through his mind, evoking emotions and desires within him. His goal to become strong and exact revenge on those who killed Lorin. Even if he couldn’t win back his friend, he would certainly become stronger in this. Perhaps the time of vengeance was drawing nearer.
“I will fight,” he said.
The darkness converged upon him and he vanished from the foreboding cave within the forgotten valley of the Dagger Peaks.
When he awoke, Kryos was lying under the shade of a brilliant tree. The leaves seemed to drip aquamarine tears and a deep, soft, velvet blue shone through the crisscrossing patterns that cast light shadows on his pale skin. A slight breeze caressed his face and, for a moment that seemed like an eternity, he wanted nothing more than to lay there forever, perfectly at peace. The warmth in the air and the cool, seductive touch of the wind. But he remembered what had just happened. What his vow had been. He sighed, disappointed that the moment had passed, before sitting up and beholding the land of the powerful.
Everything glowed with surreal vibrance; the hills were wreathed in emeralds and amethysts, and pure, inviting lakes of liquid sky lay nestled in the natural beds of the valley. For indeed, a valley he was in, one of the most magical making. Cliffs rose on all side, their black faces stretching upward to an incredible height. And a great forest adorned the sides of the valley, until that gave way to the plains he now found himself on. But then, perhaps the most unexplainable thing in this already impossible sanctuary was the great structure of gray stone that rose from the ground like a monolith. Above this tower, a large ring of light hovered, illuminating the entire valley.
Kryos did not move for a minute, letting his eyes soak in the majesty of the magnificent valley. He could not have imagined a place so wondrous in all his years, although it probably had a darker side. He had found out in his life that most things worked in opposites.
Rising to his feet, he stretched, breathing in the pure, delicious air. He did a quick scan of his belongings and, finding that nothing had been lost in the dark corridors of power, took off at an easy, but quick, pace toward what seemed like the center of the valley. His steps were filled with life, as the soft grass pushed him onward. Toward what, he hadn’t a clue.
Then he saw the ruins, and the small groups of figures walking among them. He was in need of information as to what he had agreed upon, so he adjusted his course. The distance passed quickly, and the ancient stone structures and people got larger. Soon, he found himself passing fallen column after heaps of stone. He saw a group of four sitting on the side of the hill, facing the halo of light. He said no words to them, mearly nodded in acknowledgment as he dropped to the ground within hearing distance.
“So, it’s a two-on-two elimination tournament, right?” a tall, elf woman asked.
“That’s what I heard, so I grabbed myself a partner right off. Lucky for me, Joel and I have known each other since we was kids,” a brawny, tanned human man said, reaching over and patting his apparent partner on the shoulder. “Funny, that. That we should both find ourselves at such a grand event. Thought I might make history, but nothing like this.” He laughed, enjoying himself.
The other woman, a tall, lean elf with long, red hair, spoke up next. “Remember, though. You are up against the best of the best. Are you sure you can afford to be this confident?” She grinned at the man, and his laughter died off.
But Kryos had stopped listening, for he had found out what he had gotten himself into. An epic battle between the best in Althanas, and maybe even realms beyond here. Fear resonated in his heart, but with that, the unmistakable urge to begin. He wouldn’t die, that he was sure of. The masterminds behind it all would have to ensure a system like the that of the Citadel, or not many would participate. So he felt eager, ready to walk the path were nothing waited for him save an opportunity to learn, grow and become stronger. And maybe, just maybe, a chance to undo what had been done. A chance for reconciliation.
Last edited by Kryos; 12-30-08 at 11:25 PM.
Team Penumbra Intersect
Good day. Well, I see that you wanted to continue this thread but I have to judge what is in front of me. Since your characters never get to interact, this will be a somewhat limited review. Below is my score, some of the logic behind it, and some comments for future improvement of your writing.
Story: 3.25/5
Getting the obvious out of the way, pacing was an issue as you didn’t even get to meet each other in the space allowed. Within each post, the pacing was good for the slow gradual introduction to the characters. On that point, you both did a great job of revealing the history of your characters and showing the kind of choices they would make under pressure. The settings were evocative and clearly written. I especially liked how Jericho showed the thickness of the forest growth by stopping to disentangle his antlers.
Character: 3.5/5
Both characters were consistently portrayed and well detailed. Most of the dialogue was internal but it sounded natural and flowed well. The Voice and the whisperer in the dark were evocative voices that were good foils for the main characters. Jericho fought like a man losing his faith and Kyros was convincing as a one who would consort with dark powers.
Writing Style: 4.0/5
On the whole, I enjoy both of your writing styles. Grammatically, there are a few comma issues with all the complex sentences but nothing major. You both make excellent use of metaphor and simile. “His hooves taking root,” is a lovely image. In fact, I had to reread it to be sure it wasn’t literal. I also loved the flash of Lorin’s face in the darkness. The scenes were clear and easy to follow. Good stuff.
Total: 10.75/15
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