In The Palm of Her Hand [Radasanth]

[Veatrix]

((SOLO, a writing exercise))

And then the fat lady came out to sing.

In all honesty, she was a spectacular vocalist and performer. Adorned in beautiful black crystals on a silky lavender dress, she looked like a very beautiful drag queen, more lavish and fabulous than any Veatrix had ever seen. The ending aria that she sang brought tears to the more pretentious opera-goers in the house, the ones that had a “more concise understanding of the depth of the art of opera,” as one tweedy little man explained to her before the show. Veatrix sat quietly in her comfortable seat, taking in all that she heard, the emotion and the power of the fat lady’s song. She sniggered to herself as the woman beside her wiped away tears. She didn’t cry though; she didn’t understand the use of tears for a show so wholly confusing.

First there was the man, who loved the woman who he couldn’t have. But the man was betrothed to some other woman he didn’t love, but he did lust for greatly. On the other hand, the woman lived in poverty, sweeping and washing dishing throughout her day, the only job she was qualified for. But of course, she was amazingly beautiful, and when the man first laid eyes on her, and her him, they instantly fell in love. When word of their relationship came out, all hell broke loose on both sides of their families. Contradictory to most operas, the one Veatrix watched ended happily, as every broke out into tearful song, somehow bringing together all the characters in love. Said man and woman were married the next day. Include in all that drama political power and deception and you have the longest three and a half hours of Veatrix Bane’s life.

This was the general gist of it, money well spent for many an opera aficionado.

When the fat lady finally ended her wailing with a glass-shattering whistle note, Veatrix bolted out of her seat, mumbling under her breath.

“What the fuck.”

Her golden blonde hair swished as she walked briskly out of the opera doors, her feet making soft padding sounds in the large, expensive-looking atrium of the house. Snarky men and woman dressed in suits and ties and dresses and jewellery poured out of the double doors behind her, chatting about how exquisite everything was. Veatrix sighed – she hadn’t found the opera exquisite at all. Walking past the suited up security standing nobly by the door, waving away the glass of water they offered her, stepped out into the cool night air of Radasanth.

Veatrix grumbled. Not money well spent.

Shifting her sword and its scabbard to the other side of her hip and fixing her silky-smooth white dress shirt and black corset, she breathed in fresh air. Not that musky, perfume-stinking opera air they had in the building. Relishing the darkness around her, Veatrix yawned widely, not caring about noble etiquette. She hadn’t realized how tired she was… but then again, the little power nap she took during intermission was quite the energizer. Even so, Veatrix stretched wide, bones and muscles unwinding from sitting down too much. Home, or rather, house, or more particularly, inn was where she wanted to be. The feeling of a feathery bed beneath her would be more satisfying than ten thousand fat lady songs.

[Veatrix]

Corner after corner she turned, making her way towards the dodgy inn she had found a few days before. Veatrix had just lodged in with The Mouse Pad temporarily, since it was such a grimy, unsanitary place. But it was the cheapest she could find – all she really needed was a bed, not luxury. As she turned a dark corner, maybe ten minutes from the inn, she heard a commotion back from where she came from.

Curious, Veatrix doubled back, trying to find the source of the sound. She creeped behind large garbage bins, populated by wormy maggots and angry-looking mice, and the sounds became clearer. The smell was unbearable, but curiosity got the better of her. Careful not to interrupt what was going on, she placed her soft hand on the hilt of Gainsborough, her steel short sword, and crouched down.

“Give it!” sneered a young man’s voice.

“Or I’ll take it from you!” said another voice, a girl’s.

“Hey, Nash… I don’t think this is such a good idea…,” came another voice, this one sounding younger and innocent. Scared, most especially.

“Shut the hell up, Freddie!” the other boy shouted, revealing his anxiety and impatience.

Veatrix crouched even closer, trying to see from behind the trash bin what was going on. Peeking, she saw four figures, two lean teenage boys dressed in peasant clothes, both looking extremely nervous. There was a girl with them, likely the same age, fists clenched nervously. Lastly, a small, unassuming figure stood before, cowering in fear. She had a small jewelled purse in her hand, she held on to it like her life depended on it. Veatrix glanced at her face and saw that it was a simple old lady, and she looked like she had just left the opera house, maybe even minutes after Veatrix herself walked away.

The boy named Nash stepped forward, raising a fist to the lady, daring her to make a threatening move. “Give me the purse!”

Apparently, the old lady wasn’t as scared as she looked, because she stepped right up to the boy, her face contorting into a fiery growl. “Treat your elders with respect.”

Silence broke the quiet. The teenage thieves all shifted uncomfortably, not knowing what to do.

“Let’s just go, Nash. C’mon Cass,” Freddie said, gesturing for the girl to follow him out of the dank, dark alleyway and back on to Radasanth’s regulated streets.

“Hell no, Freddie,” the girl snapped, cocking her head fiercely at the old lady. She made a slight motion towards her hip and Veatrix saw the flash of small blade. It gleamed in the darkness like the full moon in the sky, only the blade assured a brutal and bloody death. Veatrix glanced at Cass’ face, and she look wild, wilder than Nash who still had a fist raised, ready to strike. “We’re going to get that purse.”

And in all honesty, Cass wasn’t only after the purse. Cass wanted blood that night.

[Veatrix]

Veatrix reacted on pure instinct.

It wasn’t that she wanted to be a heroine – Thayne forbid, that was the last thing she wanted. She didn’t need all the glamour and spice a heroine had, she didn’t need the praises or the adoration, and she didn’t need the responsibility that felled many heroines of her time. Heroines were public icons of goody goodness, their popularity exceed the noblest royalty or the smartest people. Veatrix as a heroine didn’t sound right… even though the power and influence of that was certainly. Being a heroine would have been too much of a hassle anyway.

Nevertheless, Veatrix sprang from behind the trashcan she was crouching behind. She looked ominous, like a dark phoenix rising from the dead ashes of waste, golden blonde hair ablaze, silver-framed eyes fiery and crystal clear wings glowing in the moonlight of the Radasanth sky. Gainsborough sheathed inside its wooden scabbard, but painfully obvious that it was there, Veatrix looked more heroic than any of the noble adventurers plaguing Scara Brae.

“What the hell?” said Cass, turning to look at the figure that mysteriously popped out from behind the trash. Her voice, for just a fragment of a second, trembled in uncertainty.

“I told you, Cass! We should have gone!” Freddie looked floored at the appearance of a dark protector to the old lady, Veatrix looking much more dangerous to him than she appeared to be.

“Shut up, Freddie,” Cass spat back. “It’s just a woman…”

Nash spoke meekly up from his faux-mighty stance. “I think we should just let her go…”

“Don’t be a pussy like Freddie.”

Veatrix took a tentative step forward. Looks like these kids, or the fierce girl in particular, weren’t going down without a fight. How impotent, how ignorant, how juvenile. They were just kids, barely 17 or 18, probably just looking for a bit of spare change for more ice cream. They probably still even asked their mommies and daddies for allowance – they didn’t look poor enough to be actual beggars. They’re probably snarky rich kids looking for adventure. So what if the girl had a feisty attitude backing up that small knife. That they were any match for her. She had a sword and her spells – what could go wrong?

“Just leave us alone, lady.” Cass sneered.

Absolutely nothing.

“Just leave the sweet woman alone,” Veatrix said sweetly. “Or I’ll have to kick your asses.”

“Bring it on, bitch.”

[Veatrix]

Stepping out of the shadows and into the pale moonlight, Veatrix revealed herself fully. She didn’t really look the part of the heroine, nor did she look the part of a dark knight. She didn’t look like a fairy, or a warrior, or a sorceress. She looked more like a bitchy opera audience member in a bad mood.

Hips swivelling, she walked towards the small party they had going on, smirking at the three teen thieves like they were… well, teen thieves. Nash had lowered his fist, and slowly backed away into a wall. He looked like he didn’t even want to be involved in what was to happen next. Freddie was standing behind him, looking mousier and more scared than a little boy in a haunted house. Cass stood her ground though, seething. She didn’t seem normal – maybe she has a psychological disease, Veatrix thought. Who knows?

Cass stabbed the air threateningly with her puny knife, though she wielded it like it was a brave long sword worthy enough for the famed Godhand Striker himself to carry. Like he would even bother with a weapon like her knife, though he could probably kill a hundred men with such a thing. Cass gave the air another fierce swipe, nothing girly or petite about the threats she was giving Veatrix.

“I don’t want to turn this into something ugly, lady,” the teenage girl said, hints of fear careful hidden within her mask of mock courage.

“Sure you do,” Veatrix drawled. “Now let’s see if you can back up your words.”

Drawing upon the mounds of power hidden within the deepest recesses of her soul, Veatrix’s hands closed. The chill of the night became an unnatural chill emitting from Veatrix, cooling the surrounding area like a sudden winter. Her pale hands glowed ice blue in the darkness, chalky dust falling from it, glimmering and shimmering. Wind picked up from somewhere, probably from the energy being drawn from within Veatrix. Whispering a single word, hoping that her power would just send these nuisances away, Veatrix smirked.

“Hiela.”

A flash of blue light exploded from her hands as she opened them, like an oyster revealing its pearl quarry. The blue flash was so blinding, Cass and the others had to cover their eyes from looking at it. The spell was flashy, bright and definitely effective. There was no actual power in the ice spell, there was nothing to hurt any of them – it was a simple dud. But damn, was it effective. When the white spots dancing in Veatrix’s eyes subsided, the three teens were gone. Apparently, they weren’t as courageous as they all thought they were. Cass’ knife was on the dirty ground, shiny and new still, and in the distance, Veatrix could hear the poor Freddie whimpering something about the dark protector killing them all.

Smiling at her impressive efforts, Veatrix turned to the old lady, who was standing still, looking only slightly perturbed. “You okay?”

[Veatrix]

“I could have handled them, ja,” said the old lady, dusting off her black sequined dress like she wasn’t just robbed by a bunch of teenage thieves in the middle of the night.

Veatrix powered down her hands, chilling ice energy sucking back into her body harmlessly. All the unused energy came back to her in a small rush, she didn’t expect herself to have so much power in such a short amount of time. When she fooled the thieves with her fake spell, apparently all the power that was supposed to be used for the spell, had it been directed at anything, came rushing back like a jungle stampede. It had only been around approximately one year since she left her hometown – the massive growth that she’s had came a small delight.

With her power all sealed within her, the half-Pharoas approached the old operagoer, a tinge of resentment burying itself inside her heart. “I thought you might need my help,” Veatrix began, her voice calm but her mind clearly offended. How pretentious of this old hag. She probably couldn’t lift a bat for her life.

“I can take care of myself, ja. I don’t need any help from you adventurers.”

“I’m not an adv-“

Well… that wasn’t true. Veatrix didn’t consider herself an adventurer, she was merely… unemployed. She simply searched for power, she didn’t adventure for it. That was too… novice to do.

Firmly, Veatrix frowned. “I’m not an adventurer. I’m just… in between jobs.”

“Whatever ja say…”

The old lady dusted off her dress and looked Veatrix straight in her silver-framed eyes. She possessed puke green marbles, sickly and unnerving to look at. They bore deep within Veatrix – as they say, the eyes are the window to the soul. She looked the girl up and down, assessing her like a mercenary might check out his horse, or the night’s “physical companion.”

“I guess ja want to be invited to my house for some tea, ja?”

Veatrix was slightly taken aback. “What? Oh no… I was just heading home.”

“You have no home.”

“Wha-?” Veatrix’s eyes lit up. Who the hell was this woman?

“Follow me. My house is just around the corner.” The old lady shuffled around a dark corner and came out into the moonlight of the Radasanth streets. The wind was warm, humid, disgusting, the perfect night to take a cool, refreshing shower. But apparently, there were better things to be done.

[Veatrix]

A mighty attack of incense hit Veatrix like a boulder as she entered the old lady’s humble abode. It was a strange mix of vanilla, blackberry and various others spices, making the room seem mystical but severely cough-inducing. And for a classy operagoer, black dress and all, the woman had a rather wild sense of style. Colourful tapestries covered the walls to its ends, scenes of war and dancing and love-making and merriment and destruction all meshed into a very chaotic living room. Lavish maroon sofas seemed to be placed in random areas of the room, but a closer analysis showed that it was a fashionable unpredictability.

Or it could just have been mindless furniture placement. One never knows.

Strips of luxurious satin dangled from the ceiling, where an ever-changing sky rested, seemingly powered by some very intricate magical arts. Papers and pens and pots were scattered everywhere. Veatrix almost stepped on a dainty little white teapot, its cover splashed with purple-pink, trimmed with yellow and its base covered in floral design. She had to push the little thing away with her foot, behind a sofa, so it wouldn’t be accidentally stepped on.

“Ja sit there.”

The old lady shuffled about in her kitchen, which Veatrix didn’t bother entering. Instead, she was forcibly sat down on one of the sunken red sofas, her body being swallowed by the furniture like a hungry animal. Smiling to herself, Veatrix felt strangely at home – it had been a while since she had actually been in a real home. She’s been living in inns for the past couple of months since she arrived at Radasanth. A small bed, desk, side table and dresser wasn’t alwaus to pleasant when you had to live off of those for days on end. Not having your own bed, your own space, your own private privacy was slowly taking an emotional toll. Even though the old lady was slightly gruff and headstrong, Veatrix felt for her. After all, living alone at that age must get pretty dull.

And dull is what I’ve become, Veatrix mused.

After a few loud crashes, a guttural and amazing string of curses, and a sweet little chirp, the old lady came bursting from her kitchen, carrying a cute tea set, steaming streaming out of the pot.

[Veatrix]

The old lady came out of the small kitchen, shuffling her way back to where Veatrix was sitting uncomfortably, back erect like a disciplined soldier’s. Placing the tea set on the small coffee table sitting before them, she motioned for Veatrix to lean back.

“Why do ja look so awkward? Make ja-self at home.” She flapped her hands around in a very old lady-like fashion, beckoning for her to try and make herself comfortable.

Veatrix picked up one of the tea cups as she slowly leaned back on the red sofa, feeling its soft cushioning caressing her back like a passionate lover. The sofa felt like heaven, it was clearly specially made, quality like this couldn’t be found in many places. Especially not Radasanth. Taking a small sip from the cup, Veatrix tasted hints of chamomile and vanilla, mixed in with some other herbal ingredient she couldn’t pinpoint. Smacking her lips together very quietly, she turned to the old lady.

“This tea is very good. Thank you.”

“Ja very welcome. I just mixed in some special things up, nothing spectacular. I made it myself.”

“Really?” Veatrix smiled politely. “It’s very good, better than most I’ve had. Thank you.”

“It’s no big deal, ja,” she replied warmly, her voice filled with lonely joy. To Veatrix, the old lady seemed like she didn’t get many visitors. “Ja helped me out tonight, it’s just right that I at least give ja something to drink.”

“It was nothing, those kids shouldn’t have treated you that way.” Veatrix took another sip of the tea, the mystery ingredient making the steaming drink exceptionally relaxing.

“They should really learn to respect their elders, ja?” Pausing for a bit, the old lady’s eyes widened. “Oh! How rude of me! I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Mildred.”

“Veatrix Bane.” The half-Pharoas put out her arm for Mildred to shake.

The old lady took the hand and shook it weakly. Taking another sip of her wonderful tea, Mildred leaned forward, catching Veatrix’s attention. “This may seem awfully of me, but may I read ja palm?”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, it’s my job, ja see. I’m a palmist… but I think that’s the least I can do for ja help tonight. It’ll be my payment for my debt to, ja?”

Well, why not?

Stretching out her hand more comfortably and folding up the white cotton shirt that was partially obstructing it, she placed her smooth hand in the wrinkly palms of Mildred. The old lady worked her often-fallible knowledge, tracing hand lines and nodes mysteriously as she gazed at the young pale hand. Her forehead crinkled occasionally as she surveyed it, eyes glazing over with full concentration.

[Veatrix]

“What time where ja born?

“Two hours past midnight, I think.”

“So, what’s ja sign?”

“The Lady.”

“What type of flower are ja born under?”

“Philodendrons.”

“That’s not a flower.”

“Oh? Well… that’s what my father told me.”

“No matter,” the old lady said, tracing yet another line across Veatrix’s hand. “I think I’ve got all the information I need.”

Despite the art of palmistry being iffy at best, Veatrix wasn’t a believer in it, she just let the old lady observe her hand like it was an ancient rune. In palmistry though, hands were sacred, revealing past hurts and future endeavours, scars and trophies and much more. To palmists like Mildred, the hand was just as prized as the heart or the mind. The hand was a person’s external force, the hand was a person's direct contact with the world, and in the palm of her hand lay her secrets.

“Ja have left home recently?”

Slightly taken aback at Mildred’s accuracy, Veatrix nodded.

“And there is nothing left of ja home, ja?”

Veatrix thought on her words. Truly, there was nothing left of her home, her parents were dead, and nobody really wanted her in her old town anyway. Llewelyn and Lacey Johns, the father and son duo that had taken her in as family in Scara Brae were Thayne knows where. Veatrix decided to leave to their own devices, they would have been better off without her anyway. Musing, Veatrix again nodded, grimly.

“And ja have come across death many times?”

“Yes.”

“Well.”

Mildred traced another line across Veatrix’s hand, this one seemingly harder drawn than the others. Almost at once, Veatrix felt like banging her head against a wall to make herself puke out that night’s opera house snacks. Mildred drew another line on her palm, finger working against what was Veatrix’s lifeline. Bile and food chunks began travelling upwards from her stomach, begging to be freed. Another line was drawn, on the line dictating children and family, and the half-Pharoas’ head spun wildly, like the drastic effects of a hard tequila were taking place. Very faint black-blue energy emitted from Mildred’s tracing finger as it travelled around the expanse of Veatrix’s hand. Magical energy left her body like a fleeing population. Veatrix Bane, budding warrior and power-searching young woman filled with pride and cynicism, had never felt so vulnerable.

The smell of incense and vanilla wafted around her, but it everything seemed rather… lifeless.

[Veatrix]

“How are ja feeling?”

“What are you doing to me…?”

Mildred clamped her hands on Veatrix’s palm, fingers tracing her skin and sucking magical energy straight out of her body. “No moving, please.”

“Get away!” Pulling away from her tight grasp, Veatrix pulled her hand out of Mildred’s grip, spilling her tea on the maroon-coloured carpet. Standing up in fury, she took steps back, getting away from the evil old lady. In a blind rage, she kicked the coffee table over, making the tea set Mildred set out shatter to the floor, pieces of expensive-looking china left lifeless on the ground.

“Ja broke my tea cups!

Veatrix made to pull Gainsborough out of its sheath, preparing to swing the sharp blade at the traitorous Mildred. The blade swung out of the wooden sheath, pearl inlays gleaming angrily at the old lady. Holding the weapon threateningly, Veatrix tried to draw the hidden magic within herself, attempting to summon one of her powerful spells to aid her. Light bolts of energy sparked out of her fingertips, but other than that, no magic power came to her.

“Don’t even try to use ja spells,” Mildred explained, grinning, teeth bared like an animal. “Ja don’t have the magic for it.”

“What did you do?” Veatrix sneered, noticing the lack of energy coursing through her veins. Without thinking, she burst at the old lady, sword in hand, ready to hack the evil hag to bloody pieces.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Stretching out a hand, Mildred’s hands crackled with life, magic searing her blood into life. Veatrix’s body was thrown violently back, as if an invisible bull it her square in the chest. Her body soared across the room, her back and fragile-looking wings crashing into a wall. Pain exploded into her back like a bomb, spreading across her spine like wildfire. Blood trickled from her mouth and nose from the cruel impact, the taste of salt and iron resting on her tongue. Determined, she held her breath in and stood, Gainsborough in hand.

The smell of incense and vanilla burned brightly in the room smelling vibrant and alive.

“I’ll kill you for that.”

“Ja kill me? Ja never killed anyone in ja life!” Mildred laughed openly, improper energy pulsating within her. “But I must say, ja magic is very powerful, for such a weak-looking girlie like ja.”

Wiping the dripping blood from her mouth with the back of her hand, Veatrix stood behind the red sofa, positioning herself in a frightening offensive stance. She spat the rust-tasting blood on the floor, the stain disappearing into the maroon of the carpet. With all the physical force she could muster, Veatrix kicked the sofa hard, sending it across the room, towards the dumbstruck Mildred. It flew across the floor, denting the carpet but effectively catching the old hag off-guard. Too old to move very fast, and too magically unprepared to protect herself from the blow, the old lady took the pain. She tumbled over clumsily, bones as brittle as ice, cracking and bending in places where they shouldn’t.

Dragging herself back to her feet, Mildred huffed a painful sigh.

[Veatrix]

Veatrix took a step forward towards the back-suffering Mildred, and another, and another, and another. She brandished Gainsborough vengefully, her lack of magical energy fuelling the inevitable downpour of revenge. The pearl decorations of the blade glimmered in Mildred’s aging eyes as she met the half-Pharoas’ own silver-framed ones. The elderly lady trembled at the sight of the angry she-warrior, feeling powerless because of her old age.

No magical power, owned or stolen, would save her now.

Stepping over the red sofa, overturned by the sheer force of anger in Veatrix’s kick, she tightened her grip on the short sword. The black leather of its grip felt cool, felt right in her hand. Gainsborough had been more than a friend in many battles Veatrix had faced, Gainsborough had been a sister. The weapon gave her strength, courage, power to do what had to be done – Veatrix hadn’t actually killed anybody before. Not intentionally; when she stabbed the savage Pharoas assassin that murdered her mother and father, it was more an accident than anything else.

She pointed at Mildred’s chest, the old lady’s hands raised up in honest surrender. Gainsborough danced dangerously close to her skin, weapon trembling like an earthquake. Blonde hair, blue eyes, silver eyelashes and beautiful clothes, Veatrix seemed an unlikely murderess. But her mind was set, and the least thing that bothered Veatrix was her outer appearance. Things were not what they seemed in Althanas, they never were.

Mildred’s eyes passed over the sword warily. The smell of incense and vanilla caressed the room gently, an intimate lover witnessing an intimate situation.

“Ja don’t want to do this-“

The elderly woman didn’t even get the chance to finish her last words when her wrinkled face twisted into an ugly scowl. The feeling of the blade making direct, lethal contact with flesh felt awkward in Veatrix’s hand. Gainsborough dug into Mildred’s neck, biting it like a snake and detaching it from its body, like it would its hopeless prey. The corpse’s head lopped off the neck, landing on the carpet with a dull, inanimate thud.

THUD.

Blood gushed out of the stump of a neck, spilling carelessly on Mildred’s black opera dress and dripping on to the floor. Dark red stains, uncleanable and unforgivable, blotched the maroon carpet with death. Looking at Gainsborough, Veatrix saw dark red liquid dripping from its blade. It dripped and dropped on to the carpet, joining its watery brethren in stain-making.

She felt nothing.

She was nothing.

There was nothing.

Glancing at the body before turning away, Veatrix saw her work of art. It was a clean cut. Very professional-looking. Not many people execute such perfect work the first time. Usually, Veatrix thought grimly, kills are a lot messier… flashier… more colourful. This one was beautiful in its brutality. It was a chilling thought.

Almost immediately, Veatrix turned and walked over to the kitchen, casually stepping over the bleeding corpse of what was the palmist and magic thief, Mildred. Her shoe snatched on to one of the old woman’s dress, pulling the rest of her young body down. Falling clumsily, Veatrix landed on to a puddle of Mildred’s blood, soaking her clothes with the thick, red liquid. Veatrix, caught in the moment, tried to stand up from the disgusting blood, but slipped, her face diving into the puddle. Waddling pathetically in her victim’s scarlet life force, the half-Pharoas warrior had never felt so unclean.

Gainsborough, grasped in the palm of her hand, swimmed in the blood. It relished in its victim’s death, the pearls glowing red, reflections of a corpse.

((SPOILS: Anything the judges see fit to award.))

[Ataraxis]

Quest Judging
In the Palm of her Hand


Here it is at last! It was short, simple, but engaging read. All in all, I liked it, and people never use opera houses anymore. In fact, last time I heard of operas in a role-playing world was FFIV. Bonus points for nostalgia!

STORY

Continuity ~ 5/10. I honestly don’t know much about what Vea’s doing in Radasanth (well, the word ‘nothing’ comes to mind, and I guess that does count in a way), where exactly she came from, and what was going to happen after the climax of this story. On the other hand, there was insight into fragments of her past, of the things she’d done, her family, what happened to them, and the goals she has. Basically, I managed to get a feel of Vea’s character without reading her profile, though I’m still missing a fair number of key elements.

As a note, you never need to go in-depth when speaking of these things, but just answering the usual questions like ‘who’, ‘where from’ and ‘why’ can already net you a 6. And a question: why did she go to an opera? She doesn’t seem the type and, upon reading her reaction, she still isn’t. If it was just to kill time, I’m sure she would’ve found something else more fitting, but if it was due to curiosity, then it’d start making sense.

Setting ~ 6.5/10. You usually always dealt with the basics, and a little bit more, so congratulations. Some of your descriptions painted quite the picture, and the rest was adequate. There might have been a time when you focused a little too much on the vanilla and incense, but that’s not really grave. The alley scene and the one at Mildred’s house never left me in a blank. If you work on giving the setting more emphasis, a more dynamic and evocative feeling, then you’ll do great in this category, next time.

Pacing ~ 5.5/10. The opera was an interesting start that grabbed my attention because it was so unusual. The alley scene dragged on a bit, but was still swift enough to not be tedious. There was finally some tension when Mildred took Vea’s hand, because ‘being nice by offering free service as thanks’ never bodes well. Everything after followed at a good pace, though it ended rather abruptly without even a hint of closure, or of what would happen next. It actually feels more like the end of a post, with about three or four more to follow. Still, it was an interesting, well-paced enough story. Try to put more emphasis on the important parts, cut back on the transitional moments and be sure to have a conclusion that actually feels like one, next time!

CHARACTER

Dialogue ~ 6/10. There wasn’t much that was special here. You’re definitely not in the realm of two-dimensional or unreal dialogue, but the ‘kicking ass’ and ‘bring it bitch’ parts were a bit cliché. The typical ‘villain who just screwed you over without you even knowing’ bit that Mildred had going after stealing Vea’s magical power was predictable, but its rendition didn’t annoy me. Vea was interesting in the sense that you did show many of her moods through the way she talked, making her neither a girl on the search of badassness, or as you said so well, a ‘public icon of goody goodness’. She seems like a well-rounded character and talks line one too. My suggestion is to try and spice things up a bit with perhaps a bit of wit, the occasional tongue-in-cheek comments or offhand lines of unexpected depth. Be careful not to turn all of that into Hollywood clichés/Aesops, though!

Action ~ 6.5/10. There’s not much to say here, since it fit well enough. You explained well why Vea saved the old woman, you had her react accordingly when the old crone wasn’t grateful at all. What I found suspicious is that Vea wasn’t suspicious when Mildred went from rude to courteous, by inviting her for tea. It didn’t ring the ‘evil intentions’ alarm in my head, but it did feel a bit odd. I’m also not sure how she managed to cleave the old gal’s head off so easily. Heck, I thought she was stabbing her at first, before I read that the head lopped off the neck. I also didn’t quite understand if there was any purpose to the power theft, or if her power returned after Vea killed Mildred.

Persona ~ 6.5/10. This pretty much refers to Dialogue, though I’ll add that Cass’ psychotic personality was interestingly displayed. The bluster of Nash and Freddie’s sheer wimpiness (not a word), though hackneyed in many forms of literature, was still amusing. Vea came off well as a freelance spirit on a well-paced search for power, unlike those power-hungry fools who look for artifacts of doom as fast as possible. The hesitation before killing Mildred, and the ensuing appreciation of the clean kill was a chilly, interesting detail.

WRITING STYLE

Technique ~ 5.5/10. You can easily get higher Technique, if you put a bit more effort into the flow and your use of words. You do depict rather interesting scenes with uncommon similes and metaphors, which is enjoyable. Your style of writing has a certain freedom to it, which makes it easier to read without losing any of its impact. It’s simply not consistent enough, as the technique sometimes shies away in the background. That’s easy to improve on, and it’s already pretty impressive to start with, so I’m not worried about it.

Mechanics ~ 4/10. You could have gotten twice this if you’d taken the time to reread, or perhaps run this through Word. Lot of missing words, lot of repeated words, and the grammar was pretty dicey. This was a ten post solo, but if you look at the notes annexed to this judgment, you’ll see the amount of corrections is pretty hefty in comparison.

Clarity ~ 8/10. It was pretty clear, except for the parts where sentences were left incomplete, with missing words that threw semantics out of the window. Otherwise, nothing to worry about here!

MISCELLANEOUS

Wild Card ~ 5.5/10. It was a good read, didn’t take long and it wasn’t boring. It may have lacked a clear plot, but it did well enough on its own!

TOTAL ~ 59/100.

EXP Rewards

Veatrix Bane gains: 1307 XP!


GP Rewards

Veatrix Bane gains: 50 GP!


Other Rewards

Because Gainsborough was bathed in Mildred’s blood, which had been recently infused with the very magic she had stolen from Veatrix, it gained a very minor special property: the pearl inlays of the sword can glow a faint, sanguine red under certain conditions (rare and specific conditions that you can come up with yourself, but which will have to be approved when you level up) for a maximum of ten seconds. Cuts dealt by the blade in this state will be slightly more painful and will bleed a bit longer than they should. In numerical terms, damage and bleed time both increase by 1.1x.

On the off-chance that you don’t want this minor ability, PM me and I’ll take it away (as well as restore your initial GP rewards, from which I took a bit for the impromptu enchantment)! Edit: I have received your answer. The enchantment stays! Enjoy it!


FINAL NOTES

Congratulations! It was a good read, and I’m looking forward to the next installment, or if there isn’t one, to any other of your future stories.


woman he didn’t love, but he did lust for greatly. (1) I suggest: but lusted for greatly/but he did lust for her greatly
sweeping and washing dishing throughout her day (1) washing dishes
as every broke out into tearful song (1) everyone broke out
Snarky men and woman dressed in suits and ties and dresses (1) and women, ‘dresses’ and ‘dressed’ in the same sentence
Note: the fact that she carried her sword into an opera house that actually went through the trouble of hiring security was a detail that bothered me a bit.
commotion back from where she came from (2) repeated word, ‘from’. The second one is grammatically redundant.
Lastly, a small, unassuming figure stood before (2) stood before them
Veatrix glanced at Cass’ face, and she look wild, (2) looked wild
sprang from behind the trashcan she was crouching behind (3) r.w., behind. I suggest: sprang from the trashcan behind which she’d been hiding
Looks like these kids, or the fierce girl in particular, weren’t going down without a fight. (3) This sounds more like something that’d go in Vea’s dialogue rather than the narrative. ‘It looked like these kinds’ might have been more fitting
They’re probably snarky rich kids (3) Same as above
Note: Kids of 17, 18? Considering Vea’s not that much older, calling them ‘just kids’ and all was a bit strange.
So what if the girl had a feisty attitude backing up that small knife. (3) So what…small knife?
That they were any match for her. (3) I’ve no idea what this sentence was supposed to look like. It wasn’t like they were any match for her?
psychological disease (4) Not inherently wrong or anything. I just think the term mental illness is what usually comes to mind. Of course, no points deducted for this.

enough for the famed Godhand Striker himself to carry (4) For references to other characters such as these, I have a rule. As long as they’re above a certain level (and answer to a few other factors), I consider them characters whose fame would warrant that kind of recognition. It works out here, but still be wary of referencing other characters of lesser fame without going more in depth.

The chill of the night became an unnatural chill (4) r.w., chill
Her pale hands glowed ice blue in the darkness, chalky dust falling from it (4) from them
the massive growth that she’s had came a small delight. (5) The massive growth (or change) that she had undergone came as a small delight
half-Pharoas (5) I know it wouldn’t be easy to explain without disturbing the flow, but I wouldn’t exactly know what being a Pharoas of any kind entails. Long-winded explanations aren’t needed, just a small nudge to what they are would be amply enough.
They bore deep within Veatrix (5) considering you mean ‘bore’ as in ‘drill a hole’, I believe ‘bored’ would have been the past tense.
alwaus to pleasant (6) always too pleasant
steaming streaming out of the pot (6) steam streaming
“This may seem awfully of me, but may I read ja palm?” (7) awfully forward, I presume
Veatrix decided to leave to their own devices (8) to leave them to their own
but it everything seemed rather… lifeless. (8) everything, or everything else? Either way, the ‘it’ is out of place
“Ja broke my tea cups! (9) missing the second quotation marks
invisible bull it her square (9) hit her square

[Zook Murnig]

EXP/GP ADDED!